


Back to Basics

by corneroffandom



Series: Back to Basics [1]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 185
Words: 571,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corneroffandom/pseuds/corneroffandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miz has just won the Money in the Bank briefcase. The last thing he ever expected was that it would put him on the road to reuniting with a former tag partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: In July 2010, Miz won Money in the Bank. This idea was born from it, and even though initially it was only supposed to continue on until Miz cashed in his briefcase, I grew more and more attached to the story in the nineteen weeks that I spent on it. So when readers suggested I continue it past that point, I was an easy sell. It's now well past its third year and, after a friend encouraged me to join AO3, I decided to upload it here as well. I'll be posting a chapter a day. Hope you all enjoy!  
  
  


It was barely twenty four hours ago. His head is still swimming with the fact that the red briefcase which his hands are clutching is all his.

As much as he enjoys being US champion, the briefcase opens up new possibilities- with a world title at the end of it all. Something he has been working harder at since Sheamus came out of nowhere and won the WWE title- a fellow competitor who had gained notice on ECW and quickly moved to Raw and the main event, a fact that makes Miz sick. He's been derailed by many things on the way but now he's determined to make it to that brass ring that has always seemed so far away from him.

It seems a good time to let this be known when Sheamus is in the ring going on about his truce with the Nexus so it's almost a relief when "AWESOME" blares through the arena, interrupting the thick Scottish brogue that Miz generally has to force himself to focus on just to understand a single word coming out of the man's mouth. After he mocks his accent a bit and even quotes Police lyrics- which probably goes over a lot of the audience's heads, not to mention Sheamus'- he's finally face to face with the enraged world champion. "I can hold any title I want, be it the US title, Unified tag titles, the world title, anytime I want because I'm the Miz and I'm... awesome!" He's just finished talking when the lights flicker and that obnoxious GM email sounder echoes through the arena, followed by buzz from the audience.

"If I could have your attention, please!" Michael Cole calls, quickly walking over to the stand the laptop resides on.

Miz huffs, as if this couldn't get more annoying, and alternates between watching Sheamus and Cole as he reads off the email. "Our anonymous GM says, Miz, if you want a chance to cash in your Money in the Bank, you better get ready- you have a match next!"

Miz scoffs in disbelief as Sheamus laughs at him, hiking up the WWE title higher on his shoulder before heading to the back, not even bothering to hang around and watch.

Miz turns and watches as Cole talks seriously with Justin Roberts for a few moments, obviously explaining the match to him. The longer the explanation takes, the more dread Miz feels. When Cole looks over at him, he looks almost sympathetic- considering he's been pro-Miz since the whole Daniel Bryanson nonsense, this only makes Miz worry all the more about what the Email GM has in store for him.

When Justin joins Miz in the ring, Mike storms up to him. "What's the match?" he demands, voice low and dangerous. "What is it?!"

Justin coughs awkwardly but shakes his head. "I have to announce it to the audience, Miz, I can't tell you. I'm sorry."

Mike's lip curls in disgust as he scoffs at the ring announcer. As Justin begins to talk, he paces from one turnbuckle to the other, kicking at the mat randomly as he goes.

"The next match is a gauntlet match!" Justin says, stopping Miz in his tracks as he goes for a second trip around the ring.

"WHAT?" he demands, eyes bugging out. "No!"

Justin looks uncomfortable at his outburst but continues talking anyway, each word making it all the worse for Miz. "By order of the General Manager, if The Miz loses to any of his competitors tonight, the match ends and he must compete with the victor for the Unified tag team titles. Refusal of these terms means he will be unable to cash in the Money in the Bank briefcase. However if he defeats all three opponents, the briefcase is once more his to do with as he sees fit."

Mike gapes at him in disbelief. "WHAT?!" He's sore from the match last night and now this... "Fine!" He's not really ready to compete, physically or emotionally, but he does what he can to prepare with only moments to spare, his distraction evident as he looks up at the ramp before handing over the briefcase, barely watching as his greatest achievement thus far in the WWE is put safely behind where the timekeeper sits.

He looks a little more confident as Break the Walls Down begins to play. Jericho was also in Money in the Bank, not to mention the #1 contendership match earlier in the evening, and must be just as- if not more- sore as he feels right this moment. The match starts off slow, Miz reluctant to get too close too soon and Jericho obviously taking his time with deciding how best to go after Miz. A few loose holds, some power struggles, and it's almost obvious when Chris grows tired of stalling- attacks with a perfect enziguiri that Miz almost envies before he's ducking to avoid getting his head taken off and follows up by sweeping Jericho's feet from under him.

Once he's down, Miz slips behind him, working on wrenching his head back and digging his fingers of one hand in anywhere he could grab, his legs wrapping around Chris' torso. He uses his free hand to focus the bulk of his attention on stretching and wrenching the arm that Jericho was being careful of during his earlier match. He tires of that after awhile and kicks the older man a time or two in the ribs, knowing that every man he beat last night has to be feeling it there especially. He's about to pull Jericho up when something shifts- the next thing he knows, he's down on the mat and Jericho is on top of him, punching and yelling hoarsely. A moment later, he's left laying there, somewhat dazed by how fast it all happened, when something blocks out the bright lights overhead before crashing down on his chest, all of the air rushing out of him at once.

He gasps and sputters, rolling onto his side but it's not enough as Jericho grips his arm roughly and returns him to his back, quickly grabbing his legs and putting him into the Walls of Jericho. Pain spasms through his lower back as Chris tweaks it, lifting his legs high above where his head is resting on the mat. He's still trying to catch his breath despite the uncomfortable position he's now in, gasping and clawing at the canvas, the same thought echoing through his mind. No more distractions... no more distractions... His fingers inch and inch and inch and oh the bottom rope is just a fingertip away, he can almost feel it but Jericho's found his second wind apparently because he pulls Miz back out into the middle of the ring and reapplies the hold, shouting at the ref all the while. "ASK HIM!"

The ref is saying something but everything seems faded, inconsequential behind the fact that he can't breathe normally and his back feels like Big Show is jumping up and down on it repeatedly. His eyes flutter and he realizes in the process of moving him, Jericho has twisted him so he's staring at the announcer's table and, and, and the timekeeper's area. Where his briefcase waits for him to reclaim it, use it to win the Heavyweight title, something he's worked for since before he first arrived in Tough Enough years back. He sputters around a breath, his awareness returning in one fell swoop, and he wills his body to do what he needs it to do. He forces himself up on his elbows, alleviating some of the agony to his back and one quick twist of his hips later, Jericho's hands slip as he's thrown off. He's free.

He scrambles away as Chris stands, a look of annoyance on his face, and the two men stare at each other for a minute. The unified tag team championships holds a lot of bad memories for them both- between Miz losing his big Wrestlemania moment a few years back to the Colons of all things, and all of the drama for them both with Big Show, then their own failed attempt at winning the tag titles. He thinks the general manager is a demented person, putting them both in this situation, and he dreads seeing who his other two opponents will be, though he has some idea.

But for now he has to beat Jericho and get one step closer to reclaiming his briefcase with no strings attached. Forcing himself back to his feet feels like fresh torture but he manages it just as Jericho lunges forward, obviously gearing up for a codebreaker to end it. Mike is nowhere near full strength so he's never sure afterward how he finds the energy to keep his face from being driven into Jericho's knees and, after a few seconds of scrambling to hold on, slam Jericho down hard on the mat. He's in enough of a daze that the pin that follows feels more like a dream, only comes to when he rolls off of Jericho and the referee raises his hand in victory. How am I going to get through two more of these? he thinks with a pang of dread, catching his breath as quick as he can as another referee runs down to help an unbalanced Chris to the back so the second match can begin.

The sounds of Radio filling the arena makes his eyes slip closed. He's wrestled against and with Zack Ryder a time or two- kid's not a lightweight but his second match could've been someone much worse. He thinks about who his third opponent will probably be and grits his teeth, determined not to dwell on it until he has to. As Zack poses on the top rope, holding his hands out in the LI shape towards the audience, he takes a minute to think. Would it be smarter to throw it now? Zack and I make an ok tag team, I guess... but I really don't want to take that step backwards. I need to be focusing on the world title. He watches on, eyebrows drawn down as Zack jumps down onto the mat and grins cockily at him. Ugh. Decision made, he waits in a defensive position as Zack rids himself of his headband.

When they lock up, it's obvious that Zack has a lot more energy- he didn't have a match last night, after all. Miz scrabbles for control, already sweating anew as Ryder pushes back. Ok, I have to finish this quickly, he thinks desperately, breathing heavily out of his nose. After a few moments of being at a standstill, Ryder gains control and clotheslines him to the mat, smirking as Miz grabs at his still tender back. "Woo, woo, woo!" he yells from overhead.

Why do I always get the loud, obnoxious guys? Miz thinks ironically, forcing his eyes open as Zack pulls him to his feet and slams him into the turnbuckle, drawing more breath from him. He tries to move but is a bit too slow as Zack grabs him by the shoulders and drags him back to the middle of the ring, going for a Rough Ryder. Propelled a bit by Ryder's forward motion, he manages to turn things around and reverse the move into a Skull Crushing Finale.

He remembers this pin, as each breath he chokes down while holding Ryder's shoulders to the mat feels like a new possibility. He barely manages to roll away from Ryder when his relief at getting this far is hindered by remembering... his third opponent has yet to appear. Struggling to his feet, fighting to once again catch his breath- and Oh God, his ribs, his back, his everything is starting to throb, which will make NXT tomorrow a real delight, but that's not important at the moment, he'll think about this later- he leans against the turnbuckle and sucks in deep breaths, waiting with his eyes locked on the titantron.

He's known as soon as the gauntlet was announced who at least one of his opponents would be, only fate could be so annoyingly cruel a mere twenty four hours after being so rewarding. And of course it would've been the third and final. As Ain't No Make Believe begins and the audience reacts as they always do, he drops all signs of weakness as best as he can, standing up straight and trying to even out his breathing as John Morrison heads to the ring, stopping only long enough to give a kid his sunglasses.

It doesn't surprise him that Morrison doesn't look thrilled either as he enters the ring but a long buried part of Miz wonders briefly if it's because of the possibility of them tagging together once more... or because Miz is so trashed from the first two matches and Money in the Bank that it's far from a fair fight... or maybe a bit of both. As soon as the bell rings, he forces all thoughts from his mind and focuses on his opponent, who doesn't seem in any hurry to lock up or do anything, just standing across the ring from him, a vaguely uncomfortable look on his face.

All this does is annoy Miz, who wants this over with as soon as possible, so he motions angrily to Morrison. "What are you waiting for, huh?!" he yells, leering as the goody-two-shoes shakes his head, a stoic look returning to his face. Morrison inches closer as Miz keeps a sharp eye on him, almost worried that if he tries to move too much too fast, his legs would give out on him and where would he be then? He finally risks a step and walks right into a kick from Morrison that slams into his shoulder and he coughs, almost collapsing right then and there. None of this is fair, by any stretch of the imagination, and Miz thinks it's only his anger at the whole situation that's keeping him on his feet as he takes an almost blind swing at John, hitting thin air. "Dammit!" he yells hoarsely, once more almost falling down.

Morrison grabs him, stopping his downward momentum, and for a minute he's confused, thinking his former tag partner is actually trying to help him. His betraying thoughts are quieted, however, as John pushes him back into the turnbuckle and presses him into the hard steel back there a minute before slinging him forward. His legs give out before he's even half way across the ring, though, and he slams into the mat, his arms and legs taking the brunt of the damage, a sick stinging across his flesh that feels a bit like a very bad rug burn. He feels moisture dripping around his eyes and tries convincing himself that it's just sweat but he's not sure anymore what a lot of things are.

Morrison returns into his vision, his arms wrapping around Miz's shoulders and he groans as he's lifted up and supported briefly, his many injuries stretched and pulled on. He wearily opens his eyes and blinks at Morrison, who's staring at him with an odd look on his face, before something impacts with his upper torso and drills him back into the mat. His eyes are open just enough to watch as Morrison climbs the top rope and he swallows a sigh, his eyes fluttering closed. He barely feels Starship Pain or the pin that follows, but somehow senses that they have. The bell ringing a moment later followed by conflicted noise from the audience collaborates his thoughts and he rolls his head to the side, eyes reluctantly reopening.

Morrison is standing a few feet away, obviously uncertain on what to do now. His fist clenches as he wants to get up and punch John in the face for ruining what should be the most fulfilling period of time in his life. Sad fact is he just can't move, his whole body aching and tired from his head to his toes. When Morrison kneels down by him, he glares viciously at him for a long moment. "What are you doing?" All he can think is why why why...

"Trust me, I didn't want this either," John says after a few moments of staring down at him, that conflicted, almost uncomfortable look back on his face. "We were all told if we didn't comply we would be suspended without pay. We didn't have a choice."

Miz finds the energy to slam his fist on the mat. "Join the club," he spits, trying to sit up. When hands reach out to attempt to aid him, he freaks out and almost knocks himself back onto the mat as he fights them off. "I don't WANT YOUR HELP!" he all but screams, uncertain if it's the ref or Morrison or both that he's just knocked away. It takes an embarrassing amount of time but he finally gains his footing and swallows as dizziness overtakes him. When his vision clears he focuses on the referee lingering in front of him. Spotting his briefcase in the man's grip, he grabs it and holds it close to him, huffing out desperate breaths as his injured torso struggles against the pain.

He finally gets himself under control and makes his way out of the ring, ignoring the referee as he holds the ropes open for him. He clings to the briefcase, using it like a lifeline, as he makes his way to the trainer's room. He doesn't bother waiting for Morrison.

He's not sure how much time goes by as he sits in a locker room, holding a bag of ice to his ribs and using the wall he's sitting against to press another to his back. The trainer's checked him over and let him go, with the command to ice everything that hurts (which... is everything) and come back to him if anything feels off. People are in and out but mostly they avoid him so it's not hard to figure out who it is when someone walks over and sits next to him. He doesn't even bother to look over, simply says, "I hate you."

"I know," Morrison responds almost instantly, sounding unsurprised.

"You're so fake," he mutters, pressing the ice into his abdomen so hard it makes the pain flare up anew. "Becoming friendly with everyone we used to mock, getting in good with the audience. It makes me sick."

"It's not like I'm the only one- we used to mock Jericho and Show and you teamed with them both."

He sniffs angrily. "That has nothing to do with anything. They were a means to an end. Look where I'm at now. What has you being friends with everyone done for you? Stuck on Raw, watching as I gather all the glory. I told you over and over it would be this way. If not for this General Manager crap, I would be world champion right now."

Morrison's face is still blank but Miz can tell his words are digging in deep as his once-former tag partner stands up. "Catch you later" is all he says before leaving the locker room tensely.

Somehow this just makes him feel worse.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been a week and one day since Miz won the briefcase and the best opportunity thus far in his life. What should've been the happiest time in his career is railroaded, however, by the ridiculous rules put in place by the faceless General Manager who can only announce his orders via email.

He's now stuck in a tag team with his former friend, John Morrison, and can't cash it in until they win the unified tag team titles. Which really is a laugh when you think about it because Morrison is too busy dealing with Ted DiBiase AND being a part of the team against Nexus to even think twice about the tag titles right now.

He scrubs his face and sighs.

"Problems?"

He tenses up even more at the voice and looks up reluctantly, glowering at Morrison as he stands a few feet away. "What do you want?"

Morrison looks annoyed, obviously still remembering their final conversation, but doesn't go there, opting instead to get this conversation over with ASAP. "I've been thinking we should discuss when exactly to go after the tag titles."

Miz's eyebrows raise, an irrational anger overtaking him. "Wait, you think I'm really going to listen to some email about what I need to do with my briefcase? Well, I'm not. If the GM wants to dictate what I do, he can show himself and tell me to my face!" As Morrison looks unimpressed, Mike stands and pushes past, using his briefcase to get John out of his way easier.

Even easier is ignoring the muttered comment about denial that is obviously directed at him as he leaves the locker room. He's above such childish, jealousy-based comments so he goes towards the gorilla position as he spots on a monitor in the hallway that Sheamus is at ring side witnessing Orton's match against... someone Miz has never heard of before this moment. Morrison had distracted him momentarily but now his head's back on straight as he watches the relatively short match.

His opportunity comes as Sheamus ends up getting RKO'd and he heads to the ring, dragging a confused referee along with him. No one else seems to understand that he doesn't care what the email GM said, he's cashing in here and now because he deserves that friggin world title, no matter what some abstract power figure says or thinks about him.

"What are you doing?! The General Manager said last week you can't cash in until you've won the tag titles!" the referee cries as he follows Miz down the ramp, unable to get the man to listen to reason.

"I don't care!" he bellows after a few moments, turning sharply and glaring at the cowering man. "Just do your job and count the pin. ¿Comprende?" He doesn't wait for a response, rolls into the ring and stands ready and waiting for Sheamus to stumble to his feet, move into position for the Skull Crushing Finale. This is it, in mere moments he'll be champion- except that once more fate works against him, two-fold.

His attention is diverted from Sheamus as the lights overhead flicker and that annoying as hell GM email sounder echoes through the arena- then arms wrap around his neck and he can barely blink before he crashes against the mat, briefly focusing on Orton's smug face overhead before his eyes slip closed.

A referee's checking on him when things finally quiet down enough for Michael Cole to read off the email. "As I said last week, The Miz is not allowed to cash in his Money in the Bank briefcase until he does what he claims he can do. Further attempts to ignore my authority will result in the US title being stripped."

Miz's eyes narrow in anger as he struggles to sit up and hold his neck all at once. The news only gets worse when Cole reads on to say that the GM is placing him in a tag match with Sheamus against Jericho and Cena later that night.

He slams a fist against the mat. I hate tag teams!

After the tag match goes as well as can be expected (well, he wins and gets a little further under Sheamus' skin. Everything else doesn't really matter), Miz takes it easy in the back as the show winds down. Much as he hates the GM's demands and likes spitting in the face of authority, he doesn't want to completely screw up. Things tend to snowball more and more now-a-days, one minute you're champion and the next, you're fired- he doesn't want to become the next Drew McIntyre, after all. As awesome as he is, he doesn't have it in good enough with Vince McMahon to get orders rescinded almost immediately... obviously.

Thus his simply taking his briefcase and going home, in a manner of speaking. Despite his claims earlier in the evening, he needs his US belt if he's going to get anywhere close to cashing in and man this has to be illegal somehow, but shadier stuff has gone down in and out of a WWE ring before so...

He watches critically as Cena's team hits the ring- he's barely been paying attention to this whole Nexus vs Cena drama, too caught up in his own issues, but he did get to see first hand earlier as R Truth and Morrison argued all the way back to the locker room, Morrison's jaw almost twitching in anger as Truth tried again and again to explain that whatever had happened was an accident. Morrison always was ridiculously stubborn and single-minded like that sometimes.

Miz smirks as he watches R Truth and Morrison once more begin to argue, the whole team imploding around Cena. He ignores the lurking discomfort that dulls his amusement as John is caught in the middle of the melee.

He needs a healthy partner to win the tag titles eventually, after all. Yep. Nothing more.


	3. chapter 3

Miz is settled in front of a monitor, getting ready for his match against Orton. He's only main evented a time or two before and each time makes him nervous- especially now, when he knows that the email GM hates him. It's really a make or break situation. Thankfully he does well at difficult challenges so he chooses to put it out of his mind, watching as Morrison and Khali talk for awhile. He rolls his eyes as Morrison mentions the Magnificent Seven- such an outdated reference- but things grow a bit more interesting as Morrison leaves and Tarver and Otunga approach Khali, inviting him to Nexus.

John enters the locker room a few seconds after the segment ends, fiddling around with his cell phone when Miz clears his throat obnoxiously. Morrison looks up, his stance immediately wary as he peers at his forced partner. "Gotta problem, Miz?"

"No, but I think you do," he says and _damn_ it brings some satisfaction to see the look of doubt in Morrison's eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"Nexus just approached Khali," he comments with a gleeful smirk. "They want him on their team. Why, I don't know, but hey... they do seem to enjoy the powerful, dim-witted types..."

Morrison shakes his head. "I was just with Khali-"

"Yeah, it happened after you left. Guess the old powers of observation are off today, huh?" With another cocky smirk, the money in the bank holder secures both his briefcase and US title, overdramatizing each movement to draw attention to them even more to aggravate John further, and leaves.

Morrison scrubs his face and sighs.

He's relieved he left the locker room when he did as he watches hell freeze over- Jericho and Edge abruptly patch up their problems based on their mutual hatred of Cena and the Raw team. Where egos tore apart the Raw team last week, their opinions of their own self-worth had made these two former friends come together- it may not last forever but it still makes Miz feel odd as he witnesses it. He tugs at his briefcase handle as he watches the Canadians hug and shakes his head. "How disgusting," he mutters, an odd look on his face. Despite himself, he wonders what Morrison is thinking from wherever he's watching at.

"Whatever," he grumbles, returning to mentally preparing for his match against Orton.

He feels stupid as he talks about how he'll make Orton pay for RKOing him last week, and how his moment will occur as soon as possible whether Orton beats Sheamus or not- the threat against his US title still lingers over his head and he doesn't want to risk the email GM's wrath again so he bites his tongue almost hard enough to taste blood, cursing how he has to censor himself about the plans for his briefcase before his match.

The ending to his match against Orton comes quickly- it feels like one minute he's thisclose to locking in the skull crushing finale, the next he's laid out from an RKO, staring up at the lights in confusion, his ears ringing. It's the second RKO in a week and he's still not used to the pain that stabs through his neck down to his back. Even though he's put on a good match and gave Orton a challenge, he feels aggravated- he's _better_ than Orton! Why can't he beat him?! He slams his fist down on the mat and closes his eyes as the audience seems to mock him with their cheers.

It's his luck that the first person he sees upon reaching the back with a ref's assistance is of course John Morrison. He glares at him for a long moment before snapping, "What?"

He shrugs calmly, hopping off of the crate that he's been stretching on probably for lack of anything better to do, and takes a few steps closer, his eyes locked on something over Miz's shoulder. "Nothing. I didn't have a match tonight so I was just hanging out."

"Yeah, that's the problem with you, isn't it? _Hanging out._ When did you become so _lax?_ " Miz spits. "If you do something to cause us from winning the tag titles when the time comes, I swear, Morrison. What I've done to you since the draft will feel like _child's play._ " If his neck doesn't throb at the end of every word, he'd be up in his tag partner's face, prodding him physically as well.

After a few moments of glaring, Miz turns and sees what John's been looking at- a few feet away, Edge and Jericho stand, talking calmly through strategy for next week.

Morrison mumbles something that sounds like _can't be that easy, can it?_ from behind him and Miz spins around, blinking against the sudden dizziness. _Stupid,_ he berates himself. "What did you say?" he demands, breathing heavily to keep his wits about him.

John shrugs once more. "Nothing, Miz. Nothing at all." He looks blankly ahead as Miz glowers.

"Keep it that way." He turns more cautiously this time and heads back to the locker rooms to check in with the trainer, ice his neck again and get ready to leave. No matter how Morrison's words, which he _had_ heard, would stick with him, even they're not enough for him to stay and continue snipping with John. Not tonight.


	4. chapter 4

The Miz watches blankly on the monitor as the Hart Dynasty gets attacked by Nexus. After the screen dies away to commercial, Bret Hart and Natalya's worried race up the ramp the last thing seen, he smirks. It quickly slips into a grimace as he turns to hunt out John Morrison. He hates having to run things by another person again, used to doing things as he wants and when he pleases. So much control was taken from him by the email GM's little declaration weeks back. It makes him sick.

He finally finds him in one of the other locker rooms, cleaning up one of his coats. Miz rolls his eyes at the flashy wear- way too hot for August, or any other time except for the dead of winter- and is tempted to push it off of the bench onto the floor. The only thing that keeps him from doing it is the fact that he _does_ need to stay on John's good side- however reluctantly, because... well. "Hey," he says, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. "Put that on, we're going to the ring." A little blunt but he can't take the command back now.

John jerks at his voice and takes a deep breath before turning. "Why?"

"Weren't you watching? The tag champions got jumped. Best time to challenge them for the tag belts is right now. Come on." He turns towards the door but can almost _feel_ Morrison shaking his head. "What?" His jaw clenches as silence proves that Morrison isn't moving.

"I'm not going out," he says simply and the rough sounds of him running a lint brush against the inside of his coat starts grating at Miz's nerves like it always did when they would room together.

"Why not?" Miz's fist clenches next and he wants to turn and punch the stubborn stupidity out of Morrison.

"Because I have a match already tonight and I need to focus on beating Nexus this Sunday. Besides, there's little point in going after the tag belts if they keep taking people from my team out- what would stop them from going after me during the match?"

Miz snorts. "You have all of your little excuses just lined up in a neat little row, don't you?"

Before Morrison can answer, he leaves the room. John sighs and rolls his eyes.

Miz takes his anger out on Evan Bourne, beating him after a crazy move off the top that leaves Miz dazed for a bit. He's still a little winded when he grabs a mic and, purposely digging into Morrison a little, says he doesn't care if it's Orton or Sheamus, he's ready to cash in by this Sunday.

Sure enough, Morrison is waiting for him at the gorilla position, a frown on his face. "What was that?" he asks, dogging Miz back to the locker room. "I _told_ you..."

"I know what you told me," he says, throwing down his title belt in aggravation. "I honestly don't care. I see that you're fine coasting along doing nothing substantial with your career but I'm not. We're going to do this my way or else. You will be ready to go after the tag titles when _I_ say you are, nothing less and nothing more."

The look of dumbfounded amazement on Morrison's face would almost be funny if Miz wasn't boiling with fresh anger.

"Do you understand?" he demands, glaring at John, his voice lowering dangerously. His lips twist unhappily as he glares back so Miz prods him roughly in the shoulder, knocking him back a bit. "I said _do you understand?"_

Morrison glowers and pushes him back. "Get off of me, man."

Miz is gearing up to swing, consequences for their forced team notwithstanding, but they're interrupted as R Truth gets between them, smoothly pushing Morrison back. "Come on, John, you don't want to do this," he says quietly, patting his shoulder.

"I don't?" he asks with a snarl, glaring over Truth's shoulder.

"Yeah, you don't. Come on, let's go talk about Sunday..."

Miz watches in annoyance as John is led out of the locker room and rolls his eyes, looking down at his still clenched fist. _It would've felt so good too._

Self-destructive tendencies run wild in the WWE- guys tend to do things that will just end up bad for them, stupid decisions after stupid decisions that just ruin anything good they may have going for them. Miz has tried to learn from his peers but something about the situation with Morrison takes all of his common sense and throws it out of the window.

So he's not surprised when he sees Cena and Bret Hart heading to the ring for their tag match against Jericho and Edge and starts prodding them to ask him to join Team WWE. He's not really interested in it, it's just another attempt at annoying Morrison and show him that in the end, _Miz_ has all of the control and momentum if two of the bigger names in the team would beg him to join it. They _do_ actually ask him and his ego rises once more as he imagines the look on John's face. He walks off with a smirk on his face. _What a couple of idiots, thinking I'd really consider joining_ their _team..._

"You have got to be joking me," Morrison speaks from behind him, surprises him, cutting into his thoughts. "What was that? I thought all you could think about was the tag belts and cashing in money in the bank."

He chuckles, shaking his head as he stops and turns to stare at his partner as he leans against the wall of the hallway, obviously waiting. "R Truth not here to protect you this time?"

John scowls as he walks closer. "He wasn't protecting me- he protected _you."_

"Is that what you think?" Miz's eyes gleam as he glances around the empty hall. "Wanna test that theory out?"

"Not until you tell me why, Miz. Why hint that you might join Team WWE? You hate everyone on the team."

He laughs for real this time, leaning forward. "Why, John? Because it's _fun_ , seeing how people react to sudden swerves. You used to enjoy it too," he says lowly. That said, he pushes past and continues on to the locker room, leaving a bewildered Morrison behind.

Miz enters the quiet locker room and breathes, some of the tension easing from his shoulders as he rests the briefcase on the floor next to the bench. _Yeah, NXT tomorrow should be a joy,_ he thinks quietly.


	5. Chapter 5

The Miz grimaces as he shifts his US belt from one shoulder to the other. Things aren't going well lately. First the GM blocks him from cashing in his briefcase, then Morrison refuses to concentrate on the tag belts for even a _minute_... then, after Cena, Bret and Jericho all tried convincing him to join the team, Cena changed his mind and announced at the last minute that he had recruited Daniel Bryan, obviously timed just so to embarrass him. What _was_ that?! His fists clench as he thinks about how ridiculous it was to take him off the team and replace him with the wanna-be, and the smirk on Morrison's face at the reveal.

His stewing is interrupted as the Hart Dynasty walks past, talking with Bret Hart. He gets one look at the new tag titles and shakes his head. They're ugly. Second rate, like all things bronze are. The Unified belts did hold some intrigue for him- he had lost out on them more than he had _won_ them, after all, and after all of this time, winning them with John Morrison did hold some ironic appeal for him... but looking at their replacements leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth. They don't look deserving of being _The Miz's_ titles.

 _Morrison probably_ loves _them._ He huffs.

John Morrison looks unimpressed as he walks back with R Truth after losing to Nexus. Truth's attempts at consoling him has fallen short so he doesn't look around as they head for the locker room, not ready to see pity or anger on the faces of his fellow competitors- he's not the only one who's lost tonight, after all, but it still grates at him.

Not looking around doesn't block his other senses, unfortunately, as he hears an obviously sarcastic clapping nearby. He's leaning over his bag when the sound comes closer, and he reluctantly looks up, somehow not surprised that it's Miz standing in front of him, a sneer on his face. "I see why you don't want to go after the tag titles," Miz says, his voice low and angry. "You've lost all tag ability. It's sad, really."

"Shut up, Miz." He's too tired and aggravated to deal with this so he grabs his bag, planning on giving up and just going to the rental car in his wrestling gear but his bag doesn't move. He looks down to find Miz standing on one of the straps, refusing to let him leave.

"No, no, you're not getting away from me until you hear me. And I mean _seriously_ hear me."

R Truth moves closer but Miz glares warningly at him as Morrison holds a hand up. "It's fine, Truth. Go ahead."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'll see you at the car, man. It'll be fine," he reassures his reluctant friend, never looking away from Miz as they stand at an impasse. "Say what you want to say, I have places to be."

"Sure you do." Miz doesn't move away even when Morrison drops his bag's handle, sitting down on a bench and mindlessly unwrapping his wrist tape. "I plan on challenging for the tag belts before the next pay per view."

"Good for you," Morrison says quietly, scraping at the remnants of the tape on his skin.

"When I _do,_ you will not screw up the opportunity for me. You'll be at the top of your game and we _will_ win. Or else..."

"Or else what?"

"I'll _end_ you," he spits, his blue eyes boring into John's darker ones. "So don't mess up." They glare at each other tensely for a long moment before Miz grabs his briefcase and leaves, the only sign he was there the shoe-shaped depression on Morrison's bag's strap.

He groans, abruptly dreading next week. "Damn."


	6. chapter 6

Morrison is picking at his pants, boredly scraping his fingernails against the sequins as he watches Raw. He has a match later in the evening but for now, he has nothing to do but wait. He's rolling his eyes at Sheamus on his throne when he senses more than hears Miz enter the locker room. Despite himself, he tenses up as footsteps come closer to him.

Mike says nothing, simply looks over his shoulder at the TV and Morrison reluctantly relaxes, his fingers now anxiously pulling at the sequins, loosening the strings and glue holding the intricate design to the fabric. After a few moments of stifling silence, his forced tag partner wanders off and John releases a soft breath, wondering why he hadn't said anything.

R Truth enters the room a few moments later and Morrison forgets the strange moment as they talk quietly about Sheamus and Morrison's opportunity later on, Truth rubbing his aching ribs in aggravation. Their discussion stalls as Miz is interviewed and says that he was thinking about the Summerslam team and that's why he didn't attempt to cash in for the world title that night.

"Ya think sometimes he's forgotten what the GM has ordered?" Truth asks with a huffed laugh, grimacing as his midsection protests.

"Only sometimes?" John asks, patting his friend on the back before getting up. "Gotta go get ready."

"Good luck," Truth calls after him and he waves, heading out of the room.

He's only a few steps past the door when Miz's voice startles him. "Notice Hart Dynasty isn't around tonight."

He stops short and clenches his fist at his side, trying to not react visibly. "So?"

"They're hiding from us," Miz says simply. "They know as soon as we go after the tag titles, it's over and done with. They won't win, couldn't possibly. As long as you don't screw up, that is."

John closes his eyes for a brief period before turning to face Miz, tension thrumming through him as he decides to drop the passive, "ignore it, it will go away" attitude he had been using since beating Miz to gain the dubious honor of being his tag partner weeks back. "If you want a chance at these titles, constantly putting me down won't help your cause any."

Miz's eyes flash. "Aw, is wittle Johnny's feelings hurt? Suck it up. This isn't daycare. I'm not catering to your needs. I'm only in this for the World title."

"And what am I in it for?" Morrison snaps back, unaffected by his words. "If the GM didn't threaten me with suspension, you'd be all on your own, Miz."

"It _should_ be that way!" he exclaims, blue eyes almost gleaming with anger despite the gloom of the hallway as he stomps closer, glowering at John. "I don't want to be in a tag team, I'm _beyond_ that now, but this GM's screwed with my plans royally so don't act like you're the only one who's being held down here. Besides it's not like you have any titles or future plans that are being delayed."

"Fine, it's your funeral," he says, frustration mounting. Rather than do something stupid- after all, the threat of suspension still hangs over his head if he doesn't handle this situation carefully- he gives up and pushes past Miz, heading for a quiet area to stretch before the match. Somewhere preferably where there isn't a monitor- he's seen enough of Miz for one night, he doesn't need to watch his match too.

He's barely able to focus as he walks down the ramp, lingering aggravation from his argument with Miz and tension from the last few weeks following him to the ring, so it's almost not a surprise a little later when he's staring up at the lights overhead, his back and neck throbbing from the RKO he was caught in moments earlier. As he struggles to sit up, he wonders how Evan Bourne shook off a similar RKO from a few weeks earlier, his hand rubbing futilely at his neck and upper spine.

The ref attempts to assist him to the back, trying to keep up as Morrison walks stubbornly towards the trainer's office, wanting only ice and some alone time which has been in short supply for him this evening.

He's almost to the door when he sees someone standing in front of it, arms crossed over his chest. _What do I need to do to have one Miz-free hour tonight?_ he thinks despondently, raising an eyebrow at the man. "It's ok," he tells the hesitant referee who obviously feels the sudden tension in the air, based on the look on his face as he looks from wrestler to wrestler. "I can get inside on my own. Go do...whatever you have to do."

As the ref's footsteps fade away, the former tag champions stare at each other, Miz clutching his US title tightly as if afraid it'll run away from him. Morrison waits for a few moments but Mike doesn't even move so he shrugs. "Yeah," he mumbles, moving to brush past him into the trainer's room.

"Wait," Miz says finally, his fingers suddenly wrapping around Morrison's upper arm and stopping him. As John turns to face him, a snarky comment on his lips, Mike's fingers loosen slightly and he looks almost nervous, an emotion that generally is never visible on Miz at all. His words die away and he watches quietly as Miz shifts anxiously. "Listen. I was thinking..." He pauses, his eyes darting here and there- Morrison recognizes it as Miz's way of trying to decide how to word something he'd rather not say.

"Just spit it out," he says finally, perhaps a bit more brusquely than he intends to as his neck throbs anew at the awkward position he's standing in, caught midstep with Miz's hand still wrapped around his bicep, his head tilted towards his former friend.

"Thought about what you said," he says finally, looking up at Morrison. "If this is going to work, we at least need to be on the same page on _something._ Even if it's just getting this over with as soon as possible."

He hesitates, uncertain if he should believe in anything being said right now but something causes him to agree, however reluctantly. He knows they can't stay in this limbo of hatred and arguing forever, after all- not now. "Yeah, sure. What do you suggest?" he asks awkwardly when Miz's words die away.

"We should start traveling to shows together again."

John blinks. This is the first time they've really talked in a year and a half without anger suffusing every word, not to mention how strange it is for Miz to be touching him at all in a non-aggressive manner, and he's suggesting they travel together? He's tempted to slap his hand away and laugh in his face but that something once more makes an appearance and stops him. Despite the distance between them now, he can read Miz better than most still and there's a sort of sincerity behind his gaze, lurking beneath the annoyance and uncertainty that still remains. "Not share a hotel room," he says hesitantly, gauging his reaction.

"No, not that, just... riding to events together," he says simply, face twisting at the awkwardness of the whole situation.

Some tension fades from Morrison as he sighs, relieved that they're in agreement on the fact that at least traveling AND rooming together would be a bit too much. He supposes that's why he ultimately nods, Miz's hand slipping completely from his arm with his acceptance. "Fine. We'll try it for awhile. Ok?"

"Sure." Miz steps aside, allowing him into the trainer's room finally and he's got ice in sight when... "Maybe do something about the grizzly bear thing you've got going on... I can't be seen out and about with _that..._ "

He groans, already regretting his decision.


	7. Chapter 7

It's hard to remember sometimes that the last year and a half has passed, Miz thinks blearily as he wakes up from a nap and finds Morrison driving the car he's slumped down in, the engine rumbling as wheels roll over the pavement the only soundtrack to this trip, Morrison's attempt at being thoughtful towards his sleeping companion. His thoughts race at this- previous travelmates he had had since breaking away from John had never bothered, content to play music or talk loudly on the cell phone even when it was obvious he was attempting sleep. He figures it was karma, so this is different. It's almost... nice.

They're not friends, far from it, tension still thick and part of the reason he had retreated into sleep in the first place but it's just so _familiar_ that it feels weird not to be carrying some kind of tag belts or Slammies- he wonders where John might've put his after the abrupt dissolution of their team before shaking the thought from his mind- right now. Instead, the luggage holds his briefcase- which is a pain to get onto an airplane with security being as it is now-a-days- and his US title belt. A step up, he thinks, but it all seems so clinical, almost _lonely_ , looking back at it. After years of having someone to celebrate wins and mourn losses with, he had been all alone for both big happenings in his career. His fingers twitch idly at his side and he gives up on the guize of sleep, straightening up in the passenger seat as Morrison shifts in response, glancing his way momentarily before turning his gaze back on the highway before him.

Neither say anything but Miz fumbles around, still uncoordinated from his brief but deep sleep, and pulls out a CD- one of Morrison's favorites, he remembers- from the small compartment on the dashboard that had been playing before he settled down for his nap and pushes it into the player, turning up the volume as the music begins. He can't help but feel pleased with himself as he spots Morrison's small smile in his peripheral vision.

The rest of the trip goes quietly and both men go their separate way as soon as they hit the arena- one thing they had agreed on was there was no need to push things, their relationship tenuous enough as it is. The show, after all, is hours away and they'll see each other then. For now, Miz needs to get caught up with his NXT Rookie and Morrison will probably find R Truth and do... whatever it is those two do before an event. He rolls his eyes before turning down a hallway. "Hey, Riley!" he calls, finding just the man he was looking for. As they head off to a locker room, discussing the match they've been put in that evening, Miz mentally sighs as things return to what's been normal lately- his chief worries being getting revenge on Daniel Bryan and showing Kaval who the better NXT Rookie is.

After the match, Miz is a little sore but he thinks the tag match could've gone worse- his agendas were fulfilled, after all. His team won _and_ Daniel Bryan was knocked down a peg or two. Again. Riley is somewhere ahead of him, blending into the crowd of people shamelessly watching the diva match currently going on when he turns and finds Morrison watching him with an indescribable look on his face. "See that?" he calls out to him, riding high on adrenaline and cockiness. "Just do what Alex Riley did just now and those tag belts are ours with no problem."

John's face twists in annoyance but before he can say anything, Teddy Long of all people steps between them, an annoying grin on his face. "You think it's going to be that simple, playa? Look at the monitors."

Both men turn to watch as Cole heads for the laptop platform, yelling out to the audience for attention as he does .time. he gets an email. "Oh great," Morrison mumbles, brushing past Teddy and stepping up next to Miz so he can hear easier.

"By orders of the anonymous General Manager, there will be a number one contendership match for the tag titles _next!_ " Cole announces. "The Miz and John Morrison vs Drew McIntyre and Cody Rhodes!"

As the formerly greatest tag team of the 21st century gaze at each other, varying degrees of aggravation and shock on their faces, Teddy chuckles and claps both men on the shoulder. "Good luck!" he calls out with a joyful little shuffle as he retreats, their glares turning to him.

"I hate surprises," Morrison grumbles.

"What the hell?" Miz all but yells, almost throwing his briefcase down. He's already wrestled once tonight- why should he have to do so again? Especially for something as vital as a chance at the tag titles, the one thing keeping him from cashing in his briefcase? He's almost vibrating in anger as they reluctantly turn back to the ring. As they wait for their separate entrances to start after the commercial break, he casts a weighing glance over at Morrison. They may not have teamed together in almost seventeen months but as far as he knows- since watching Smackdown is low on his list of priorities especially on Friday nights- Rhodes and McIntyre have only worked together for a few weeks and tag matches weren't a part of that. Add in that he knows enough about Rhodes and Morrison's wrestled McIntyre fairly often, he feels less tense about this.

Morrison starts the match off and it's going so-so when Cody takes a swing at Miz and knocks him off of the apron. For a moment, Miz sees red as he stares up blindly at the ring, anger from tonight, the last few weeks, _everything_ suffuses every movement he makes. He's inside within seconds, ignoring John as he attacks Cody with wild punches and kicks, sending him into the corner. He notices as Drew enters and Morrison grabs him; within seconds, all four men are going at it with no rhyme or reason. Things break apart briefly when the ref gives up on order and the bell rings, distracting Rhodes enough that Miz punches him and sends him face first into the turnbuckle before slinging him thoughtlessly over the top rope.

He turns to locate Morrison just to find him on the other side of the ring about to get sent shoulder first into the steel turnbuckle. He's too far away to help but rushes forward anyway, trying to reach in time but- Morrison manages to get free and kicks McIntyre, sending him face first into the laptop stand. He rolls back into the ring and the two exchange glances, quickly gauging if the other's ok before separating to face McIntyre and Cody as they stagger out of the arena, the jeers of the audience a proper send off.

As soon as they're gone, Miz's aggravation returns and he kicks the bottom rope repeatedly, mumbling curse words that WWE management would frown over but he doesn't care. Morrison's hand on his shoulder grounds him, keeps him from doing anything else and he turns to stare at him, weariness and anger bleeding through his very pores. "What? We just lost our chance, dammit."

The audience seems to be holding their breath as the tentatively reformed tag team examine each other. John ignores everything around them, instead squeezing his shoulder quickly after a tense moment. "Come with me," he says simply, slipping out of the ring.

"What the-?" he grumbles, reluctantly following him up the ramp and to the back. The confused buzz of the audience would amuse him any other day; tonight it just grates at him. "What are you doing?" he demands, tired of following Morrison around as he heads down another hallway- his jaw drops a little as John stops in front of Teddy Long's office. "Oh, _hell_ no. You make me go in there, I will do to him what I did to Daniel Bryan earlier."

Morrison turns and stares at him. "Look, you can stay in the hallway if you want but I _am_ talking to him. His superstars cheapshotted you- I don't think Teddy will defend that, no matter what he thinks about brand loyalty."

Miz's fists clench around his briefcase handle but, after a few seconds of glaring into Morrison's earnest gaze, nods jerkily anyway. "Fine, but I don't trust him."

Morrison opens his mouth, looking like he's about to say something about trusting _him_ but shuts it with a click, blinking. "That's fine, we don't need to _trust_ him." Before Miz can say or do anything, he reaches up and knocks on the door.

"Come in!"

They both enter and John looks over in surprise. Miz shrugs and motions at him to carry on. "Teddy," he greets the Smackdown General Manager cordially. They had left things on good standings when he was drafted over, after all, and he has no problem with the older man- just his superstars.

"John! Good to see you, playa." He shakes his hand and smiles before he spots Miz lurking in the doorway, his lips twitching uncertainly. "What can I do for you?" Professional attitude back in full force, he stands against his desk and waits patiently.

"Did you see what McIntyre and Rhodes did just now?"

"Yes I did, I apologize for that. I had no idea they were going to do that." He does look sincerely regretful but Miz bristles anyway, biting his tongue almost hard enough to draw blood. _Let Morrison handle this... let Morrison handle this..._

"Well, Teddy, we have no way to talk with our own General Manager for obvious reasons," he says, cutting into Miz's thoughts. "I know this is kind of an odd request, you're not in control of what happens over here, but is there anything you can do?"

He looks back and forth between them, obviously thinking hard. "I'll see what I can do for you two. I can't make any promises but I'll try to work something out."

Morrison's face relaxes into a smile. "Thank you." He turns and raises an eyebrow at Miz. _See?_ "It was nice seeing you again, Teddy."

"Good seeing you too, playa."

Miz slips out of the room as they trade farewells, rolling his eyes. His time on Smackdown was what had made Morrison soft and that little display just proves it. But he supposes it's better than nothing- there's a chance he may get another shot at the tag belts and that's good enough for him.

For now.


	8. chapter 8

"Have you heard from him yet?"

John Morrison sighs, resting a palm against his forehead as he stares at the edge of the cell phone pressed to his ear. He's been asked this every day since Monday and to be honest, it's gone beyond a little annoying now. "I'm fine, how are you?" he snips. When Miz doesn't respond, he sighs again. "I haven't heard from Teddy since Raw. I'm sure he's busy with... Smackdown things."

"Smackdown things?" his tag partner's voice goes highpitched like it does when he's about to explode and John winces, a headache forming. "Like what, tea parties with Hornswoggle? He's dodging us, Morrison."

There's no good answer for that- Morrison knows that Teddy has his focus elsewhere, say on his own superstars, but Miz won't appreciate hearing that and he does understand it because Miz _is_ in an annoying position, trying to gain the tag belts and being ignored by the one man who's promised to help, but he can't do or say much else. "I'll try to get in contact with him but I don't want to annoy him, that won't help matters any."

It's Miz's turn to sigh this time and it almost blasts Morrison's eardrum as he flinches away from the phone. "Fine."

"See you in Washington?" he asks after a minute of tense silence.

"Yeah." With various media appearances and it being a long trip, flying in was a no-brainer this go around. The phone clicks unceremoniously after that clipped response and, after staring at his phone in aggravation for a moment, John returns to packing with a thoughtful grimace.

Ice feels like heaven right now as John leans against the wall at the trainer's office, his leg propped up on a chair. He's had knee problems for awhile now since the MCL tear awhile back. Tweaking it in a match is never fun but here, now, when Miz is expecting him to help win the tag belts... well, he and Mike may have issues but he doesn't like to leave people in the lurch, no matter what the circumstances are. Thankfully the trainer says it doesn't appear to be worse off, he just needs to take it easy, keep it iced, elevated. The usual things he's heard since the initial injury.

He's drifting off when the trainer's door is pushed open. "What do you need?" the trainer sounds crisp, professional. It's a superstar he doesn't particularly care for _or_ doesn't know very well. A rare thing, considering the trainer's a friendly guy and very hands on, gets to know every superstar that goes through his door.

Morrison's curiosity's piqued so he opens his eyes to find Miz staring at him with a strange but familiar look on his face. It's brief but it's there- worry mixed with maybe a bit of anger before he catches John staring at him and makes his face blank. Miz always had impressive poker faces- except for his eyes, which betrays every thought. He sits up quickly and waves the trainer off, shifting his leg so the ice is more thoroughly on his achy knee. "It's ok," he offers after a moment. "I just need to ice and rest it; I'll be fine."

"I heard the rumors," he says quietly, John almost needing to lean forward to hear. "That you had knee problems, but..."

He grins a little. "My pants do pretty well at hiding the brace." He shifts his leg again and figures he may as well be forthcoming with him as Miz's eyes track his movements. "An MCL tear a while back," he explains. "It wasn't severe but sometimes, like tonight, I mess it up."

There's a quiet kind of respect in Mike's gaze now and John closes his eyes, dropping his head back against the wall. He's unaccustomed to seeing that look on his face since their split. The moment passes as quickly as it comes and Miz turns to the door, pausing briefly. When John turns to look at him once more, Miz is staring at him with an intensity that will perhaps one day help him to become world champion. "If you can win a match against Jericho despite all of this, winning the tag titles should be simple."

His lips twist sardonically and he nods to himself as Miz leaves. "Yeah..."

A little later Morrison watches Miz unveil his magazine cover in the ring as he goes through his career up to this point. Considering he skips a lot- like his start on ECW, and the brief time he went after the ECW title- John is almost relieved that he doesn't skip over their initial runs as a tag team, even if he starts harping on the Janetty/Michaels comparison again... but he doesn't exactly go into a tangent against Morrison. He shakes his head, smirking a little. The truce is holding, as strange as it may seem, some of the bitterness fading away bit by bit with it.

He sits up when Daniel Bryan comes out and challenges for the US title. Miz doesn't seem too affected, even accepts after a little digging by the former NXT rookie. Despite Miz's reaction, Morrison can't help but to feel that this will change everything. He slowly gets up, stretches his knee out a little, bending it. Finding that it's a little painful but not horribly, he sets off for the gorilla position to meet Mike. When he stumbles through, a mulish look on his face, Alex is with him and John stares at him until he wanders off, grumbling under his breath about the gall of Bryan.

"What?" Mike asks upon noticing that Riley's left and Morrison is now standing before him, a solemn look on his face.

"What are you going to do about Daniel Bryan?"

Miz snorts. "What do you think? I'm going to show him who the pro was way back in NXT season one and why." He peers at John's face despite the badly lit area and shakes his head. "Don't tell me you think that runt has a chance of beating me. In case you haven't noticed, I'm unstoppable right now. I have the US belt, money in the bank _and_ I would be number one contender for the tag belts if those Smackdown punks weren't so pathetic." He laughs lowly, slapping John on the shoulder a little rougher than is neccessary before pushing past him. "Don't worry about me, Morrison. Focus on your own role in all of this."

John sighs, his shoulder stinging now. "Oh... I am. Are you though?" he mutters, turning to watch Miz leave seemingly without a care in the world.


	9. chapter 9

Miz paces around the locker room, grumbling to himself as he ignores everyone around him. He generally brushes off nervousness and laughs in the face of uncertainty but with Daniel Bryan getting the upper hand today _and_ beating Alex Riley, he _is_ becoming a little worried that accepting Bryan's challenge on top of everything else going on is just a little too much, even for him. But that very thought means that Morrison was correct for worrying last week so he stuffs it down and scrubs at his face, finally tiring of pacing. On top of that, Morrison hasn't heard from Teddy about their chance at the tag titles. Of course no match has been announced as of yet, so that's something, but still... He feels like things are going off-track badly and he's so frustrated, he can't think straight long enough to even figure out how to fix the simplest of his problems.

He's barely sat down when John sits across from him and, when he doesn't even look up, begins to repeatedly kick his boots against the bench's legs to annoy him. _Thud... thud... thud._ After awhile of this, he looks up with a glower. "Stop that."

John blinks as if surprised, as if they've never had this conversation before. "What? Is there a problem, Miz? Is it your hernia?"

Mike huffs, glaring harder at his tag partner as snickers and mocking whispers come from the guys around them. "Shut up, Morrison."

He shrugs, a smirk forming on his face. "Cranky, cranky." All in all, he doesn't seem to be too bothered by it.

"Is there something you want?" he finally asks dully when John is still staring at him a few moments later.

He looks a little weird, almost unsettled, as Mike looks up and their eyes lock. After an awkward stare down, he eventually looks away. "Not really," he says quietly. "I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah, whatever," Miz mutters as he gets up and wanders off, not in a good enough mood to figure out what exactly's going on with Morrison.

He does happen to be watching later on as Morrison faces off against Sheamus after showing off his parkour training. He's seen it a time or two before in their original run as a tag team but had forgotten just how dizzying it looked. He shakes his head- _I'll keep with the basic stuff, thank you very much._ John actually does well against Sheamus, it almost surprises Miz, but then Jericho comes out. One steel chair shot and it's all over.

That one chair shot is all that happens- Jericho takes the chair and goes quietly to the ring as Miz blinks back to awareness, discovering he's on his feet, as if he's about to run out and do something should Jericho continue beating down Morrison. When all that's shown is Jericho afterwards, Miz slowly walks to the trainer's. He's seen Morrison taken out before- _heck_ since their tag team's reformed even- but this felt... different. This wasn't just worry about what effect it'd have on their chances at getting the titles and how long he'd have to wait to cash in his briefcase if John should get injured.

This was genuine worry for his former friend.

Shaken and a little annoyed by this realization, he stands outside of the trainer's room and closes his eyes, shaking his head. Chance had brought them back together a few months ago and what should've been a simple road to the tag team championships had morphed into something else... something personal. Something he never necessarily wanted to feel again, not after how his alliances with Big Show and Chris Jericho himself had fallen apart. Tag teams just weren't for him; required too much, caused too much drama and bad blood in a business where most people were "every man for himself" types anyway. He had kept Alex Riley at a distance and thought he was breaking himself of the tag team mindset perfectly when this whole Morrison nonsense began anew.

He's about to give up and leave, his thoughts too jumbled and all over the place to face Morrison, when the door opens abruptly, of all people, Alex Riley himself standing in front of him, shifting his arm around carefully from the affects of Bryan's LeBell Lock. "Oh, Miz," he says in surprise. "You here to see me?"

He's frozen, staring inside the room as the trainer picks and prods at Morrison's back, his tag partner wincing every few seconds. He gapes for a second before shaking his head, once more focusing on Alex. "Uh, no. I need to talk to Morrison," he says in a monotone.

Alex looks even more startled as Miz brushes past him. "Uh. Yeah, ok. I'll catch up with you later."

"Sure," he says in a disinterested fashion as he echoes Morrison's earlier actions and sits across from him, waiting for the trainer to finish his examination.

"Miz?" Morrison greets him questioningly. "What are you doing?"

"I wanted to know what you were going to say earlier," he says calmly, his hands resting on his thighs as he watches Morrison cringe once more as the trainer pokes a sensitive spot.

"Uh," he says, breathing through his nose as finally the trainer turns away and grips the usual bag of ice, pressing it against his spine. He hisses but leans into it, anticipating the relief that would soon follow.

"No broken ribs for once," the trainer comments, thoughtlessly cutting into their barely started conversation. "It's gonna be sore and maybe a little bruised, take it easy for awhile and you should be fine. If you feel sick or strange at all, come back to me right away."

"Yeah, thanks," John responds before turning his attention back to Miz. His very posture screams hesitancy and Mike isn't sure if it's because of his back or just... what, but it unnerves him so he stiffens instinctively when Morrison begins to speak. "I just wanted to tell you earlier- you've proven yourself as a capable singles competitor and I know you have Alex Riley in your corner now but... if you need anything else on Sunday, well, I'll be around."

It sounds lame. Awkward. Maybe a little forced. Even so, it's so completely Morrison that Mike can't help but smile a little- an expression he quickly shifts into a smirk. "Aw, is Johnny worried about me?" he mocks.

In response, Morrison rolls his eyes. "As if. I'd rather you not screw up and lose the US title- the sooner we win the tag belts and you can cash in the briefcase, the sooner I can focus on my own goals."

Miz snorts. "You have goals?" Even so, he feels a bit of gratitude at Morrison's words. This may be a cutthroat business but he can't help but feel a little better with people watching his back. "On this feel good note," he says dryly, standing up. "I have things to do, people to annoy. See you at the rental car?" They're still traveling together and with each passing week, it becomes less and less awkward, almost natural.

"Yep, see ya." As soon as Miz is gone, Morrison's expression turns solemn and he grabs the cell phone that's been mocking him for as long as Miz has been talking to him. He dials a by-now familiar number and closes his eyes, aimlessly counting each ring. When it hits voicemail, he lets out a deep huff. "Hey, Teddy, I know you're busy and everything but you've not contacted us at all about what we discussed a couple weeks ago- about the tag belts? With Night of Champions this Sunday, well... I guess you were just appeasing me when you said you'd see what you could do?" His face starts to darken with pent up aggravation and he takes a deep breath to steady his nerves. "Listen, I don't want to annoy you about this but I _was_ hoping you'd be able to help... so call me back, alright?"

He snaps the phone shut and rubs his forehead. _It's going to be a long week._


	10. chapter 10

_Tuesday, September 14th, 5:52 PM_

Morrison frowns as he looks around his apartment. Despite his call to Teddy Long the night before, he's not heard from the man. The usual excuses that he's busy with Smackdown and dealing with the board of directors is starting to wear a little thin. He can't help but wonder if perhaps Miz is correct after all, that Teddy has no intention of helping them. He shakes his head, thoughtlessly thumping his hand against a table before going to train, desperate for a distraction.

_Wednesday, September 15th, 2:17 PM_

Miz yawns slightly as he gets into the taxi as soon as his bags are secured in the trunk. His head hurts a bit and all he wants is to sleep off the media events he's been busy with since the end of Raw. His eyes flutter closed before a thought strikes him, causing him to sit forward in the taxi as he ponders asking the driver to take him to Morrison's apartment, to see if Teddy's contacted him yet. Before he can vocalize the question, he shakes his head- _I don't even know if he's home._ His cell phone starts mocking him from where it's held in his jacket pocket but again, something stops him. He sighs as his home appears, welcoming and warm looking in the mid-afternoon LA sun. All thoughts of contacting John slip from his to-do list as he envisions his bed waiting inside.

_Thursday, September 16th, 11:29 AM_

The beach is mostly abandoned at this time of day, only a few older couples and young children with their parents playing or walking sedately along as Morrison quietly focuses on his breathing, letting the sounds of the birds and water lapping against the sand wash over him, easing the tension that's been following him around since Teddy began ignoring his calls. After awhile, his eyes blink open and he watches the landscape for awhile, hands making shapes in the sand at his feet. _I should probably call Miz,_ he thinks. _But... I have nothing to tell him, anyway. So what's the point?_ He sighs.

_Friday, September 17th, 7:39 PM_

Miz is sitting at a bar, slowly sipping at a beer. He'd normally go for something a little stronger but with Night of Champions inching closer, better safe than sorry, he figures. His phone is sitting a few inches from his hand where he can see it if it should vibrate, because the music and people talking loudly around him makes it impossible to hear it ring. He's about to pay for his beer and leave when it _does_ start vibrating, clinking against his glass as he watches it. After a moment, he answers. "Hello?"

"Miz?" Alex Riley greets him, sounding a little weird. "Where are you? Can you turn on Smackdown?"

His lips downturned, he motions to the bartender. "Hey, can you turn one of these to My Network?" He motions distastefully to the multiple TVs streaming various sports channels, football and golf and other things that no one appears to be paying very much attention to. When the bartender looks reluctant, he pulls out a $50 and slips it to him, his curiosity piqued as Alex waits on the other end, his breathing loud in Miz's ear.

It takes the bartender an embarrassing amount of time to even _find_ My Network and Miz rolls his eyes, ignoring the fact that he doesn't know the channel number for MNT either, tempted to clap mockingly at the man when he finally finds it- just in time for Miz to see Drew McIntyre and Cody Rhodes facing off against the Hart Dynasty. His face pales as he watches it, eyes glinting in anger. "A-Ri? Yeah, I'll call you later." He doesn't wait for a response, snapping the phone closed. Deciding that the $50 can cover his weak beer along with the bribe, he storms out and heads for his car, immediately dialing Morrison's number.

"Hello?" John asks after a few minutes, sounding breathless.

 _Probably training again, the idiot,_ Miz thinks angrily, wanting to punch something. "Are you watching Smackdown?"

"No, why?"

He sucks in a deep breath, pinching his nose as he slams his car door closed and slaps the steering wheel, briefly molified by the echoing sound that follows. "Teddy Long hasn't called you."

"No," Morrison hedges and Miz can almost see the confused frown on his face as he runs his free hand through his obnoxiously perfect hair. "What's going on?"

"Alex Riley had me turn on Smackdown. Drew McIntyre and Cody Rhodes are wrestling the Hart Dynasty right now."

"For the tag belts?" He sounds a little incredulous and it serves to make Miz even madder.

"I don't know! Probably! So much for your best friend, Teddy Long, helping you out!" he spits, tempted to throw his cell phone into the ocean.

John takes a deep breath and Miz twitches, wondering why people keep breathing into their phones like this. "Listen, just calm down. I'll try to figure this out and talk to you later," he says after a minute of tense, awkward silence.

"Wai-" Click. Miz looks in disbelief at his phone flashing that the call has ended before returning to his wallpaper, of course of himself holding the briefcase and US title. He glares for a minute, trying to picture the tag team titles- and maybe, if he's feeling charitable, Morrison- being a part of that picture and shakes his head. In this moment, it feels unreachable. "Dammit," he mumbles, slamming the phone down on his dashboard.

_Saturday, September 18th, 3:28 PM_

Morrison's spent almost twenty hours thinking and pondering. He has to leave for Chicago early the next morning and should be packing and doing other last minute errands but right now, all he can think about are ways to get an answer from Teddy. Emails and phone calls have gone unanswered, he's even called Michael Cole after digging around for his contact information. Cole is unhelpful with contacting the mysterious Raw General Manager, as always, but Morrison's not ready to give up yet.

 _"So much for your best friend, Teddy Long, helping you out!"_ he remembers Miz saying, his eyes closing in aggravation. Smackdown's General Manager and he barely talk and he thinks that it's the old Raw vs Smackdown bias causing the man to cut most contact with John since he's been drafted over; even though they don't have hard feelings, it's still not very helpful circumstances when in need of a favor.

He's still poking through a pile of paperwork, trying to get some idea of how to make things work out before tomorrow night when he remembers something, sucking in a deep breath. "Got it." He quickly brushes aside some sheets of paper and grabs his cell phone, dialing a number. "Hey, I need some more contact information. Yeah, I know, it's a Saturday. Can you help me out anyway? Night of Champions _is_ tomorrow. Come on... I'll owe you big time." After a moment of focused listening, his face relaxes into a bright smile. "Thanks. Yeah, I need the number for..."

_**Night of Champions** _

Miz mumbles as he paces around the locker room, his hands tightly wrapped around both the US title and his briefcase as if afraid that both will disappear if he lets go for a split second. Tag match or no, there's a slight- miniscule, really- chance that he may lose the US belt and if he does, well, what then? The email GM has made it clear he has to hold both the US title and tag belts in order to cash in the briefcase... Daniel Bryan doesn't worry him but stranger things have happened. He sighs, pressing his flushed face against the wall as he tries not to dwell on the prospect of losing the belt _now_ on top of not even having a tag title match. Things are falling down around him and he struggles not to panic.

"Miz?" Morrison's voice breaks into his thoughts as he stiffens. "You alright?"

Reluctantly he turns and stares at John, glowering as he watches him worriedly. "I'm just _fine,_ John!" he snaps, eyes flashing angrily. "Why wouldn't I be? No tag team title opportunity, that loser Daniel Bryan thinking he's good enough to even step in the same ring as me and no chance in cashing in my briefcase when _I_ want to! Yeah, I'm perfect!"

Morrison blinks, his lips twitching.

"Something funny about this to you? Huh? Are you trying to _sabotage_ my chances? That's it, isn't it? You never called Teddy, _that's_ why you never heard anything. Oh my God, why did I ever think a partnership with us would work again? Did I lose my _mind_?" he demands, pointing at Morrison.

"Miz-" John starts, his eyes widening as Mike pushes past him, sending him back first into a locker, the handle digging into his spine as he gapes.

"Stay away from me. God..." He's still mumbling as he grabs his duffle bag and leaves in a huff to get ready to face Daniel Bryan.

Morrison releases a sigh, rolling his eyes. "Show's over," he snaps at the smirking, murmuring guys who've witnessed the whole thing.

Bryan has more of a fight in him than Miz expects, it's almost enough to send him further off of his game, but he focuses his anger as best he can and succeeds in injurying his arm. He gets a sick kind of pleasure as he locks in a submission hold, tweaking Bryan's arm and shoulder viciously. Unfortunately he realizes a little too late that he's close to the ropes and Bryan hooks a foot quickly, breaking out of the hold after a very short period of time.

Alex Riley tries helping when it seems Bryan's about to get the LaBell Lock but when Miz scrambles free, Daniel sends him into the ropes and knocks Alex off of the apron to the floor. Aggravated, Miz grabs Bryan and sends him flying over the top rope onto the floor next to Alex. Riley's attempt at getting an advantage backfires when he runs towards Bryan just for the indy wrestler to duck, Riley running right into the post. Miz groans and immediately goes for Bryan's shoulder when he returns to the ring, kicks and punches and knees burying into his injured appendage as he tries to keep him down. Somehow it doesn't work and the next thing Miz knows, he's tangled up in the LaBell lock and his arm is throbbing as he tries to maintain his focus, desperation and agony making him thrash around as much as he can with Daniel's full body weight holding him down.

Nothing's working, the hold's unbreakable and Daniel's wrenching him back so viciously that his vision is swimming a little. "No," he groans, trying to hold on to the hope of maintaining his US belt, someday winning the tag belts and cashing out his briefcase to become world heavyweight champion. His hand is shaking, raising just a little above the mat. He thinks he can hear the audience around him holding their collective breaths, waiting for the tap and as much as it disgusts him, he's anticipating it too, just so the pain will stop ...when something stops _him_.

He blinks and looks ahead at the ramp, thinking he's seeing things. But... no. John Morrison stands a few feet from the ring, looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Something about his stance brings other things into focus for Miz, like how close the bottom rope actually is, and distracts him from the rest- such as the pain, and how Bryan keeps wrenching his body around, hungrily demanding the tap with each forceful move. He will _not_ lose in front of John, not like this, never...

"No!" he repeats, a little stronger this time as desperate adrenaline pulses through his body, giving him the strength to lunge forward and wrap his fingers around the bottom rope. As the ref rushes forward, ordering Bryan to break the hold, his eyes lock with Morrison briefly. He looks almost... proud? Relieved? Not bothering to waste time dwelling on it, Miz twists around to stand facing Bryan and they glower at each other, confusion on the other man's face. He's obviously trying to figure out how Mike broke free when he was so weak moments earlier but it's enough as Miz lunges forward, a rough uppercut followed by a sweeping clothesline that pushes Bryan to the mat. He covers him but it's just for a quick breather as he kicks out at two, _again._ Miz is on his feet within seconds, feeling a little less dead-on-his-feet and grabs Bryan in a rough armbar, twisting him around so his forearm is pressed against his own throat. The Skull-crushing finale that follows is definite and so abrupt that the audience gasps as their precious Daniel Bryan is laid out for the three count.

Miz staggers out of the ring, clutching his US title with a startled gleam in his eyes. "What was that?" he asks, joining Morrison on the ramp.

"What was what?" his tag partner asks with an innocent shrug.

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for the usually overly verbose US champion to think of something else to say. "Why did you come out?"

John stops, his fists clenching and unclenching as he stares over at him intensely, and the audience quiets as they watch, waiting for the two men to come to blows or _something._ "I told you last week I'd be around if you needed me." That said, he walks up the ramp, ignoring the shocked look on Miz's face as he watches him.

"That jackass," he mumbles. "He used my anger towards him to insure I'd win..." He shakes his head in amazement. Even after a year and a half of distance and arguing, Morrison somehow still knows what works and what doesn't with him. It's almost... _frightening? Freaky?_ He shakes his head. _Nice...?_

Miz feels a little better with the US title still safely against his shoulder, smirking at every wrestler who looks twice at him as he walks through the hallways, reveling in showing off his win. After all the doubt about who should've been the teacher and who should've been the student, this feels _awesome._ His smirk grows as Daniel walks past, a mulish look on his face, obviously ignoring Miz. He's about to turn and go into the locker room when someone clears their throat behind him. He blinks and turns to find John standing behind him, a ridiculously pleased look on his face. "Morrison? What're you-"

"Come with me for a second," he says, his lips twitching as he tries not to smile.

"What's going on?"

"Just come on," he insists, turning and walking off without another word.

Miz gapes after him before his natural curiosity wins out and he chases after him, bristling internally that Morrison knows something he doesn't. They arrive at the gorilla position in time to find a few of their fellow competitors hanging around. Miz looks unimpressed as he eyes Mark Henry and Evan Bourne. "John, what are we doing out here?"

"Look at the ring," he says.

Miz shifts to the side so he can see past the curtain and blinks. "Is that...?"

"Yeah, Usos versus Santino Marella and Vladimir Kozlov," Morrison affirms. "It's a tag team turmoil match. Five teams. Hart Dynasty already lost the tag belts to the Usos- there will definitely be new tag team champions after tonight."

Miz grimaces in annoyance as he looks once more at Henry and Bourne. "What options," he deadpans, causing Morrison to chuckle a little. "What does this have to do with-" Before he can finish his thought, the Usos finish off Santino and Kozlov and Henry and Bourne straighten up. "Are you kidding me? They're seriously in this match?" Once again, John grins as Cody's music plays.

Evan and Mark both look confused and whisper loudly to each other as Cody and Drew rush past Miz out to the ring, as if not expecting their cue. Miz frowns at a confident looking Morrison. "What _do_ you have planned?" His easy grin in response does little to ease Miz's hatred of not knowing what's going on.

The Usos lose to Cody and Drew quickly and Miz hmphs, eyeing Evan and Mark as they once more head towards the gorilla. "Hey, playas, hold up a minute," Teddy's voice cuts into the tense silence.

Miz stiffens at that sound, his anger growing as he looks up at Smackdown's general manager. He's on his feet before he even thinks about what he wants to do. "Hey, Teddy-"

John intercepts him though and pushes him back down on the crate he was sitting on. "Just listen for once, Mike." It's the first time he's used his first name in awhile and that more than anything makes Miz's mouth clack shut as he watches Long stand between Evan and Mark.

"Change of plans, playas. Sorry to say a tag team match has already been promised to Miz and Morrison, they'll get their chance right now. I'll see what I can do for y'all later on. Sorry about this."

Miz thinks with annoyance that he'll probably grant them a tag team match tomorrow night before his brain processes what was just said. "Wait, are you serious?" He looks to Morrison, who's now grinning fully, nodding. "You- you planned this from the beginning!" he gasps, pushing Morrison back a few steps.

John just laughs, not offended. "Surprise."

"God I hate you," Miz mutters, his head spinning with the news. _He did this for me, even after I accused him of trying to sabotage me. Damn..._

"Hate me later," he says calmly. "We have tag belts to win right now."

The audience buzzes as Morrison's music plays and... Miz comes out with him for the first time in over a year. Somehow, it just feels right as he smirks at the crowd, brandishing his US title and briefcase at them all.

Morrison kicks off the match, facing off with Cody Rhodes. This reminds Miz of their last match up with these two and before the action can begin, he nudges Morrison. "Keep your eye on them," he says simply before stepping out onto the apron.

"You too," John responds, nodding. He quickly shifts into his fighting position, waiting for Cody to do something. Cody's first punch is dodged as Morrison ducks and whips him into the corner opposite of Miz, kicking him in the abdomen. Cody staggers out when the referee demands separation between the two, giving Cody time to recover. Morrison barely has time to get the ref out of the way when Cody's on top of him, punching him like there's no tomorrow. He finally gets some distance, reversing it so Cody's back is to the turn buckle and punches him, sending him back first into the corner. Cody staggers towards Drew but Morrison snaps off a quick kick to the back of his head, sending him face first into the mat.

John steps back as the ref goes to check on Cody and heads over to Miz, tagging him in. Mike's still a little sore from wrestling Bryan but his arm feels better than it did directly after the LaBell lock so he rounds on Cody, looking like a predator going after its downed prey. He takes a perverse kind of pleasure digging his heel into Cody's back with each kick that he offers the younger man, smirking as Cody struggles to attack Miz with desperate kicks of his own. The ref intercedes after awhile and Cody scrambles over to Drew, quickly tagging him in. Miz shrugs as the taller man faces off with him, an aggravated look on his face. "Those tag belts are _ours,_ " the Scottish man yells over at him but he just grins, infuriating him further. "What are you smiling at?!" he demands, punching him squarely in the jaw.

Miz licks his lip experimentally, blinking up at Drew as he tastes his own blood, coppery and warm. He's never wrestled Drew so this is something interesting, as he lunges forward and sweeps his legs out from under him, opening the corner up as he leaps over him and immediately locks in an arm bar, digging his fingers in to heighten the agony. After a few moments of this, he switches smoothly to a necklock, twisting on his jaw as he steps backwards, dragging the Scots-man over to his and Morrison's corner. He imagines Striker, Cole and King babbling on about the return of their old chemistry due to their frequent tags as Morrison quickly tags in and takes over, punching Drew down to the mat just to get a running start and kneeing him straight in the face as he struggles to sit back up.

Drew's still down on the mat, dazed, as Morrison runs to the middle rope and slingshots off of it across Drew, folding him up into a covering attempt. The ref gets a two and John immediately goes back onto the offensive, dragging Drew into the corner across from Cody and holding him there with a series of kicks and punches. He barely notices as Cody enters the ring but before he can get to Morrison, Miz is on him, sending him over the top rope onto the floor below. John punches blindly, looking over as Miz sends Cody face first into the announcer's table, causing the commentators to scatter. _Miz seems to like abusing Cody's face,_ he smirks, before Drew takes his opportunity because of John's distraction, a solid forearm to the face dazing Morrison enough for the following punch to send him to the mat.

Drew pushes out of the corner, breathless and his hair all over the place, as he glowers down at John. "Damn you," he mumbles, brushing some of the hair out of his eyes. He runs against the ropes and grabs John by the throat, slinging him down into the mat with all the force he can manage.

Morrison's eyes flutter as Drew covers him, gripping both of his legs tightly. He's looking upside down at the back of Miz as he continues to hold Cody away from the ring and all he can think is _No. Not after all of this..._ _Not like this._ He somehow knows instinctively as the ref counts one... two... His hand is inches from the mat when Morrison kicks out, a look of repulsed shock on Drew's face. "That was three!" he screams at the ref, who denies it.

Miz rolls into the ring then, realizing what's happening, and clotheslines Drew thoroughly, sending him down crashing into the mat. "You ok?" he asks Morrison, ignoring the referee who's trying to get him to return to his corner.

"Yeah," he responds breathlessly, pushing himself back onto his feet as Drew struggles to his corner to find Cody still down on the outside.

Miz finally returns to his corner and quickly tags in when Morrison stumbles over to him. He waits, knees bent, as Drew flops into the corner next to where Cody should be standing before charging forward and throwing a harsh forearm into Drew's chest, burying him into the turnbuckle and winding him. He smirks down at the just now stirring Cody before slinging Drew back into the middle of the ring, quickly disentangling himself from between the ropes. He covers Drew and hisses as he only gets a two, quickly regaining his footing. Before he can continue with the offense, he notes movement out of the corner of his eye and looks up to find Morrison balancing precariously on the top rope. He nods at him before moving aside, wincing as Morrison hits the starship pain perfectly. As Morrison rolls off, Miz covers Drew once the ref slides into position, counting out the three.

Morrison is on the apron, kicking Cody to keep him from entering the ring when the bell dings, Miz's music following shortly afterwards. Cody immediately stops fighting, his jaw dropping as he sees the referee presenting Miz with the tag belts. Morrison enters the ring quickly and gets his own belt, the smile on his face nearly blinding. The new tag team champions examine each other thoughtfully for a moment before Miz grips his wrist and raises it in victory, grinning as confused chatter from the audience begins once more. _I think we just broke all of their simple little brains,_ he thinks with a smirk.

Morrison spots it first as Cody and Drew try to regroup outside and nudges Miz. They're ready as the two slide in to the ring with kicks and punches, holding up the offense until the freshly beaten tag team gives up and rolls back out of the ring to safety. The new tag team champions smirk at each other, feeling for a second as if they're living out deja vu, before heading to the top rope to pose with their belts (and briefcase).

Once they're safely in the back, Morrison heads towards the locker room but Miz stops him, resting a hand on his arm. "So how did you get this all to work out?"

Morrison's face goes blank, even though there's a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "What do you mean?" he asks, shrugging.

"Stop with the innocent crap," Miz orders roughly, though he can't stop his lips twitching upwards. "I know you got us put in the tag team match. How?"

"Let's just say... Teddy's not the only connections I have," he says vaguely, smirking as Miz stares at him.

"You're seriously not going to tell me?! John!"

"Sorry!" he calls back, heading into the locker room.

"Sure you are," Miz mumbles, rolling his eyes at the infuriating man. "Whatever. I didn't really want to know."

**Monday Night Raw**

"I'm not sure we really thought this through," Miz grumbles as he looks at the scheduled matches for Raw. "That GM hates me and now you, by proxy, since we're tag champions."

Morrison shrugs. "So? It's Kozlov and Santino, I think we can handle it."

"But you also have a match against Jericho."

"I can handle it," he repeats, looking up from taping his wrists. "I'll be fine."

He sighs and throws the schedule away. "Hey, uh, I was thinking-" He freezes as John watches him curiously, shaking his head. "Let's deal with these matches first, then we can deal with that."

"Ok," Morrison says cautiously, frowning as Miz stands and collects his title belts and briefcase, quickly leaving the locker room. _It's gonna be a long night,_ he thinks, before following.

Morrison is correct enough, Santino and Kozlov aren't that hard to defeat- once Morrison takes out Santino, Kozlov is distracted by throwing Morrison out of the ring and opens himself up for the Skull Crushing Finale and a pin. Even so, it still leaves Morrison with Jericho as Miz reluctantly returns to the locker room, the email GM interrupting after their match to say that Miz is banned from ringside during the match. Luckily Morrison doesn't seem too bothered by the development so Miz nods at him and goes quietly, settling in front of a monitor to watch.

Alex Riley is around, talking now and again but Miz only nods here and there as he watches the match. Morrison takes some hard hits- some self-inflicted, some not. He cringes as the foolish man jumps clear over the turnbuckles to the outside, slamming into Jericho and wonders if he's _trying_ to get himself injured before they've even held the tag belts for a week. A minute later, he shakes his head- they wouldn't even have had a shot at the belts without Morrison, so he can't go back down the sabotage route. That's not what Morrison's doing, no matter how ridiculous his moveset is becoming. When Morrison wins, Miz stands up and slaps Alex Riley on the shoulder, mind going to the next piece of business. "Come on, we have to deal with Daniel Bryan."

"How?" his rookie asks eagerly, following him down the hallways towards the gorilla position.

"This is what we're gonna do-"

Morrison meets Miz with an eyeroll after the beat down to Bryan. "Did that make you feel better?" he asks sarcastically as Miz lounges on the bench with a pleased look on his face.

"Very much so," he comments, cockily brushing off his US title. "R Truth's really gotten better at selecting tag partners," he says tauntingly after a few moments, smirking over at John.

Morrison blinks. "What does that say about you?"

"I'm just a slow learner," he responds, lining up his two title belts and the briefcase in front of him. _Damn, that looks good. Now I just need to trade the briefcase for the Heavyweight title and it'd be perfect..._

"Whatever," John mumbles. "So what were you going to ask me before the tag match?"

Miz's hands still as he polishes his tag belt. "Oh. Yeah. That." Awkward silence follows his stilted answer as Morrison watches him.

He takes a deep breath after a minute and looks up. "I was thinking..." Words fail him as he frowns over at John.

_"We should start traveling to shows together again."_

_"Not share a hotel room..."_

He shakes his head, wondering what his problem is. _It's not a big deal, Miz. Just ask. It's not like him saying no will make the world end. Come on, you're a big boy._

"Uh, is there a problem, Miz?" John looks almost worried as they stare at each other.

_"I know you have Alex Riley in your corner now but... if you need anything else on Sunday, well, I'll be around."_

Miz swallows, trying to ignore the memories. _We're actually starting to get along again... what if this screws things up again? What if it's too much, too soon?_

"Miz, you're kinda freaking me out here," Morrison mumbles, leaning closer. "What's going on?"

"We're co-tag team champions again," he says needlessly, huffing out a stifled laugh as Morrison nods expectantly. "I... should we start sharing a hotel room now?"

His face immediately goes blank as he leans back against the wall.

 _Oh God, I shouldn't have asked. He's never going to let me live this down,_ he thinks. _Mock me with R Truth and..._

"Huh. Um, can I think about it?" he asks after a few moments, surprising Miz.

"Really?" _He didn't say no? What the hell?_

"Yeah," he responds, that weird look still on his face as he watches his tag partner.

"Sure, yeah," he mumbles, eyes wide. "We'll talk about it later?"

"Sure."

Miz stares at him for a minute before returning to polishing his title belts, hands shaking a little. _God, I hope I didn't just screw things up. The truce was starting to work so well..._


	11. Chapter 11

Miz leans against a wall, watching quietly as Morrison sits on the floor, breathing in and out regularly, face blank and peaceful, lost deep in meditation or whatever it is that he does before every event. It was something lost when Miz was drafted to Raw, this easy silence between them as Miz thinks about whatever and Morrison clears his mind. He's never really allowed himself to consider how he's missed it until this very moment, just the two of them alone in a unused locker room, their various ring gear and title belts or briefcase cluttering the shelves around them.

His breathing is starting to mimic John's easy rhythm when a knock sounds on the door. Peace shattered, Miz groans and pushes away from the wall, mouth twitching as Morrison's eyes flutter open, his lips twisting in annoyance. "What?" he snaps, pulling the door open. He blinks, surprised to find Michael Cole waiting on the other side. "Uh. Cole, what are you doing here?" The ring announcers and commentators usually mind their own business, avoiding the wrestlers like they have the plague so this is definitely strange.

"I have a message for you and John Morrison," he says, hands twisting nervously as John joins them at the door, obviously still aggravated at being interrupted. "I received an email from the general manager."

Miz bites back a groan at the tired line, raising an eyebrow. "And what did the esteemed GM have to say now?" he asks, sarcasm dripping from his very gaze.

"He's making a tag match." Cole pauses until Morrison shifts and Miz motions impatiently at the man to continue. "It's starting the show off- you and Alex Riley vs. Daniel Bryan and..." His gaze roams over Miz's shoulder briefly before dropping to the floor. "John Morrison."

Miz's jaw drops as his hands clench unknowingly into fists. Cole glances between the two for a moment before bustling off, relieved to get away in one piece after relaying that message. Morrison stands still for a minute, trying to wrap his mind around this development before gripping a frozen Miz by the shoulder and guiding him back into the room, shutting the door behind them so they can talk in private. The door slamming shut drags Miz out from wherever he went after the announcement and he frowns at John. "What do we do now?"

John shrugs. "What can we do?" He's not forgotten that his career is on the line, the email GM's threats reverbating through everything done and not done in the last two and a half months. "We don't even know who the GM is, much less how to fight him."

Miz grimaces, annoyed. "Dammit," he mumbles. Normally he'd have no problem facing Morrison- they've wrestled a few times when teaming a couple years ago, after all, but this is different. Their truce still feels a little too tenuous, a bit too fragile. _That GM really has it out for me..._

The match is a disaster from the get-go. Miz is torn between wanting to win, cheering on his NXT apprentice to do the same, and not wanting to go too far against Morrison _despite_ wanting to lay into Daniel Bryan once more. After spending the whole match being tugged at by every angle, he's almost relieved when he's sent into Morrison and sends him flying off of the apron, just because it gives him one less thing to consider as he sets Bryan up for the Skullcrushing finale. Despite attaining the victory, he and Alex quickly resume attacking Daniel, all thoughts about Morrison leaving his mind until he spots a flash of movement behind him, Morrison pushing both of them off of the rookie. For a minute he forgets where he's at and attacks John before finding himself on the floor outside of the ring, confused and shaking his head.

John is attacking him and Riley and he grimaces, uncertain what exactly is happening as he tries to fight back, when there's another blink-and-you-miss-it movement and he's crashing into the security wall, Bryan this time on top of both he and Morrison. The confusing battle between them all continues until the lights flash and the by now unfortunately familiar chirping noise echoes through the arena, causing all three of them to pause wherever they've ended up.

Cole once more provides another unwanted announcement and Miz closes his eyes, his brain spinning with all of the crap he's being put through... a triple threat match now for his US title? Submissions count anywhere, no less? He looks up and locks eyes with Morrison, who looks thoroughly pissed. He groans. _Could things get any worse?_

"Oh, and the GM has one other match to make," Cole says, cutting into Miz's morose thoughts. "Later tonight, the Hart Dynasty will have their rematch for the tag team titles."

"WHAT?"

"What was that? Huh?" Miz demands, staring at John as they meet back at the locker room to regroup before the tag match later on.

"Why do you keep attacking Daniel Bryan? He didn't win the US title, you're just making things worse by repeatedly going after him," John grumbles, rubbing the back of his head carefully. It's still sore from where he hit the security wall. Multiple times.

"So you come to his defense, against _me_? He may be pathetic but he _is_ a grown man, John." Mike shakes his head and huffs out a deep breath. "Who's your tag partner here, me or him?"

"Tonight, both of you apparently," he mumbles, not looking Miz in the eye as he stretches his bad knee out in front of him carefully.

Miz's mouth opens and closes a few times at this, uncertain how to respond or if he even wants to. "Whatever." He rolls his eyes. "I'll see you out there for the rematch."

John looks up but before he can think of anything to say to explain further what he means, Mike's gone, the locker room door slamming forcefully behind him. He cringes and sighs, his headache getting worse.

Considering everything, the tag match goes alright. Miz and Morrison have tagged together often enough in the past that it's become almost second nature to stuff down their issues and just go out and do what they need to do as if there are no problems between them. In fact in the end, it's the Hart Dynasty that leave arguing as Miz and Morrison stand in the ring, triumphant and watching. As soon as David Hart Smith storms off, they glance at each other and chuckle a bit, some of the tension fading away as they show off their tag belts.

Miz's gaze follows Morrison as he leaves the ring first, reflecting on the triple threat match and what just happened with the Hart Dynasty. _Not that long ago, that was us,_ he thinks with a tinge of bitter sadness. _Arguing and struggling to make things work... and back then, we didn't even have a General Manager making things worse._ He sighs and watches as Morrison slowly turns at the middle of the ramp, their eyes locking once more. Morrison looks almost expectant, as if waiting for him to make a move. He allows himself another moment or two to think before biting his lip and shouldering both title belts, slipping under the bottom rope. His shoulders relax fractionally as he joins John and nudges him companionably.

"Took you long enough," Morrison says, unable to completely stop the smile on his face as they wander up the ramp together.

"We still need to talk," he responds solemnly, twitching a little as the smile disappears from his partner's face. Even so, John nods and they make their way back to the private locker room that Miz had talked his way into. Alex Riley is inside, nursing his own bruises from earlier but he takes one look at the tag team champions and collects his things, discreetly leaving. _Knew I trained him right,_ Miz thinks cockily, before settling down on the bench.

Morrison hesitates for a moment before sitting across from him, his lips twisted thoughtfully as he stares ahead. "What do you want to talk about?" he asks finally after the stifling silence draws on for much too long.

"This Sunday," Miz says, closing his eyes as John winces a little.

"I honestly didn't want to be put in that match, Mike. You were there, it just all snowballed and happened..."

"Then why did you attack me and Alex?" he asks, looking down at his hands. He normally would have no problem looking John in the eye at this moment but not-so-old insecurities and anger are brimming right at the surface, threatening to boil over and make him say something he doesn't neccessarily mean that could ultimately ruin their chances at holding onto the tag belts long enough for him to cash in his briefcase.

"I told you earlier- I don't understand why you keep attacking Bryan. Doing so just keeps him coming after you and the US belt..."

"I can handle Daniel Bryan," Miz snaps, finally looking up. Morrison barely blinks in the face of his anger. "You think I can't?"

"I didn't say that," he says, growing frustrated. "I just think you have enough going on between these tag belts and the briefcase..."

"I don't need your help in defending my US title belt," he says angrily. "I've done fine for months before you and will continue doing so after you."

John's mouth clacks shut at this and he looks blankly at Mike.

_Oh, dammit,_ Mike thinks, realizing what he's just said. "John-"

"Don't John me," Morrison says coldly. "I've wondered for a while now if you were still just using me to get what you needed, if the truce and everything was just temporary." His hand rests heavily on the tag belt. "Glad I have my answer. See you this Sunday, Miz."

This time Mike's the one too slow to stop him as John grabs his things and leaves without looking back. _Dammit,_ he repeats, hitting the back of his head against the wall. _Dammit, dammit, dammit._

Later on, when he reaches the parking lot, he remembers that Morrison has the rental car keys- which means he has the rental car. He closes his eyes and drops his bag thoughtlessly on the cool cement, wondering what else could go wrong on the road to Hell in a Cell.

"Sir? Are you Mike Mizanin?" an unfamiliar voice asks. He blinks at the balding security guard as he holds out something towards him. It glints in the pale light overhead. "John Morrison left this with me to give to you, said he didn't need it."

A flood of emotions run through Miz as he takes the keys from the man, eyes locked on the rental tag from the car that they had picked up just that afternoon. He huffs out a deep breath, trying not to lose control. "Thanks," he says tonelessly, walking towards the rental car that's waiting for him. _Didn't need it?_ He rests a hand on the cold side of the car, trying to think. _Either... he left it behind so I wouldn't be stranded and he's still too goody-goody to let that happen or... this is his way of dissolving our truce and traveling together._ He shakes his head, disgusted and annoyed with the whole situation... but mostly with himself. "Dammit."


	12. Chapter 12

After a week of feeling anxious and bitterly tired, Miz picks his cell phone up and stares blankly at it for a moment. His fingers move of their own accord after awhile, dialing a familiar number. As it rings, he holds his breath and waits for the expected answer. When it comes, he sucks in a deep breath, closing his eyes tightly. "Hey, wanna come over for awhile, hang out before we have to leave for the pay per view?"

Within a couple of hours, Alex Riley is entering his house with his duffle over one shoulder, already packed and ready for Texas. Miz nods in greeting at him and tells him where to put his things. As soon as Alex emerges from the guest room, Miz is settled back on the living room couch, a beer in hand. He's the picture of annoyance and Alex approaches carefully, wiping his hands on his pants before sitting down across from him. "So... what's with the invite, Miz? That's not like you," he says, trying to find a way to word things so as not to offend his NXT pro. He's far from privy to Miz's dealings with Morrison but he suspects that the other half of the tag team champions has something to do with the tension that's been bleeding from Miz since Monday night.

The Ohio native shrugs uncomfortably, casting a glance around the room. "It just felt too... large around here, I was getting restless," is all he says. Alex watches him quietly, a pang of uncomfortable sadness striking him suddenly.

He obviously wasn't around for it but he knows the history, has watched WWE for about as long as he can remember, witnessed from afar as Miz spent a lot of his career a loner before teaming with Morrison. Their split was far from friendly, and their forced reunion wasn't much better- even though Morrison went along with it, Miz fought it just as hard... But something changed when they won the tag titles. Miz actually seemed... agreeable to the situation he had found himself in for awhile, stopped complaining about Morrison quite so much... even so, old tensions resurfaced due to Daniel Bryan, of all things, and now it appeared they were back to square one in the push-and-pull going on between them.

He shifts on the chair and leans forward, attracting Miz's attention. As soon as they're staring at each other, Alex raises his eyebrows at him. "Wanna talk about it?" He fully expects a flippant answer, some mocking response, but instead, Mike's brow furrows as he watches him, as if honestly considering the request.

"There's not that much to talk about," he mumbles after a minute, eyes dropping to the rich brown pattern of his carpet.

Alex sighs, leaning back into a slouch, arm slung over the edge of the chair. "You invited me here for a reason," he insists after an awkward pause. "To fill the silence, to bitch at, _whatever_ , but I'd rather not just sit here while you stare at the carpet, man." When Miz looks up, a pissy look on his face, A-Ri raises his hands in a consoling motion. "Look, I know I'm your assistant and I'm grateful that you found a way to keep me in WWE after Kaval stole the win on NXT season 2, but this isn't exactly Raw, man. You know I'll have your back whenever you need me, but sitting in your living room, watching you pout over John Morrison of all things isn't exactly in my job description."

Miz's lips twist and Alex prepares for the man to lunge at him, scream at him to get out, tell him he's fired, something, but instead all of the fight goes out of him within moments, his body limply falling back against the couch he's selected as his own for this conversation. "You're right," he mumbles, sighing out a deep breath that seems to deflate him even further.

"I am?" Alex asks hesitantly, honestly worried now. This is as out-of-character for Mike as he's ever seen him. _What went on with him and John?_ he wonders, almost breathless as Miz shifts awkwardly on the couch.

"Don't let it get to your head," he says, too tired to sound properly caustic with the comment. After a few moments, he looks Alex in the eye. "You want me to talk? Fine, I'll talk. Yes, I invited you over here to fill the silence. Outside of obligations to the WWE, all I've done is sit around and think and wonder and honestly, I'm a little tired of my own thoughts- which, yes, _never_ happens." He stands now and walks over to the opposite wall, crossing his arms as though to protect himself from something. "This damn email GM," he continues. "He's ruined everything. I was fine with being by myself, or just having you in my corner, because it was all business. Who needs friends, after all? It all ends in anger and blood anyway, because in the end we _all_ want the same thing- fame, or a title, or prestige or just whatever. Alliances should be just that- temporary fixtures used to push one onto the next thing, maybe used to get a tag team title run under your belt until you get enough momentum to move onto the next step."

Alex watches, wide eyed, as Miz runs his fingers through his hair, his back still to his protege. He's never heard the man talk like this, intense and impassioned. Even so, the bitterness and anxiety bleeds through the words too, making Riley's head spin at the maelstrom of emotions. He couldn't respond if he wanted to.

"But then I'm forced into teaming with Morrison- and yeah, it brings back memories. Even though it wasn't all great, happy times, two years are hard to brush over as nothing. We did everything, competed against each other, helped each other through injuries, traveled together, won slammies together, defended each other... I hate it but yeah, we were _friends._ " He spits the word out like it's poison, his shoulders tense as he slaps a hand against the wall. "And y'know, for awhile, that was fun- it was good. I... didn't mind it, but then... all the talk about how Morrison was the next big thing, like John was the only reason I was still _in_ this business. And he ruined it, in the end- if he had just stayed out of my match, I could've won, but no... he got involved and I was drafted." He stops talking, his breaths coming out in rapid exhales, sharp inhales that almost makes Alex dizzy just listening to them.

"Do..." he says, voice a little high pitched as he realizes that yes, that did just come out of his parted lips. His fingers tighten around his jean legs as he clears his throat, uncertain if he should even interrupt Miz's dialogue, but unable to listen to a word more, his head buzzing with everything he's hearing. "Do you think if things were reversed... if you had done something to get Morrison drafted, would he have attacked you? To, ah, to get noticed?"

Here Miz finally turns, pressing his back against the wall to face Alex. There's a solemnity on his face as he considers his answer. After a long moment, he shakes his head. "No, I don't think he would've." It's honest, almost hurts with its bluntness. "He's stupid loyal sometimes."

Alex swallows at the deep, dark look in Mike's eyes but chooses to continue, wanting to get him out of the past. "And now? What happened last week?" he wonders.

Miz shifts. Looks around at the soft, mid-afternoon sun pouring through the blinds, casting shadows on his rarely seen and even lesser used furniture. Remembers the look in John's eyes as he stormed from the locker room after that one erronous statement. The cold feeling in his chest that challenged the chill of the late September evening as he looked at the abandoned rental car, keys digging into his palm almost masochistically. "The GM," he mumbles. "Pitting us against each other. It was just... too familiar."

"Do you think he could still turn on you?" Alex wonders after some thought.

"No? I don't know?" He huffs and rests his head against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. "A lot can happen in almost a year and a half. I'm not sure what he's like anymore- if he's still the same loyal idiot I tagged with back then, or if..."

"If?" Alex asks, but Miz refuses to answer.

"You know," he says after a few minutes, a shadow of his former cockiness returning, "if the whole WWE thing falls through, you should look into becoming a psychiatrist." He smirks as Alex rolls his eyes at him.

It's obvious early on Sunday that Morrison is avoiding Miz. He doesn't even see the man until just before the triple threat match, when they're all lurking around the shadowy gorilla position, waiting for their individual cues. Alex Riley also is nearby, making sure neither man goes after Miz. The match goes as Miz expects, with Bryan and Morrison at times working together against him and at times against each other. Morrison is obviously still angry about last week and takes it out on Miz, but ultimately is the reason that Miz retains again.

They're both down near the ramp, Miz and Bryan attacking each other viciously when they seem to spot movement above them at the same time. His eyes lock on Morrison's silhouette as he climbs up the large set surrounding the titantron. He can't help the strike of fear that stabs through him as Morrison struggles to maintain his balance, obviously planning on doing something wreckless and stupid. Strangely enough, all of the fear isn't for his own wellbeing... He huffs out a pathetic little laugh as he freezes, too jumbled and shocked to move. _It's his birthday,_ he remembers suddenly, mirthlessly.

Bryan takes most of Morrison's weight but he's not exempt from the pain, air forced from his lungs as Morrison lands on them, immediately scrambling away as if on fire, his hands bracing his rib cage. How Miz gets back to his feet, he's not sure but he just wants this match over with, so he grabs Morrison and quickly positions him for the skull crushing finale on the hard floor next to the ramp. As soon as he's done, he turns his focus to Bryan. He's still down, licking his wounds from Morrison's highflying move, easy picking. Miz is on top of him within seconds, punching him down into the ground until he tires, his head clearing a bit.

As the ref slides into position, he grabs Daniel's arm and twists it at an angle that most arms should not go to, digging his knee into Bryan's back. He plants his other foot onto Daniel's leg, grinding his ankle into the floor and causing the stuck man to scream and thrash about. It's an awkward position to be in due to Bryan's one free hand, which is flapping around desperately, trying to grab or punch at Miz, but he's too far away and finally, _finally_ the man taps crazily, his trapped arm tightening all the more as the referee calls it. Miz still doesn't release the hold, wisps of thoughts running through his frenzied mind. _If Bryan had just minded his own... Morrison defended him... I'm so sick of his_ face _... The US title stays with ME!_

The referee's words are not breaking through, all he can focus on is Bryan's weakening yells as he clings to the hold, willing his arm to break, his ankle to shatter. What does register, however, is a referee helping Morrison walk past them and Miz's attention shifts to the pained look on John's tired, sweaty face as he's helped to the back, obviously still feeling the effects of that drop off of the titantron area. He drops the hold right then, referees sighing in relief as they roll Bryan out of Miz's reach.

He pulls his title belts out of the referee's hands, Morrison's tag belt as well, and his briefcase, before stumbling to the back. He pauses as soon as he reaches the back, John no where in sight. Alex Riley is there, however, and reaches out to help him carry the collection of gold. "Miz-" he's starting to say before Miz lunges forward and grabs Morrison's title from his grip.

"No," he mumbles. "I can carry it." Alex looks hurt for a moment but Miz can't care right now- things are still tense and horrible between them, and Alex has been helpful the past week, but the tag belts just... look wrong in anyone else's hands.

After an awkward moment, Alex pats him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go find the trainer's room."

"Yeah," he nods. Wonders how Morrison's doing the whole time they walk down one hallway after another, if maybe the SCF was just a little too much after that long, hard fall his partner took.

They get turned around, the strange arena confusing Riley and Miz too caught up in his thoughts to be much help, so by the time they arrive at the trainer's room, Morrison is long gone. Miz sighs, succumbing to the trainer's examination.

He's sore but ultimately ok so the trainer lets him go within minutes and he follows Alex to their rental car, a distinction that makes his throat strangely dry as he slips into the passenger side and lets the kid drive them to the hotel that WWE's selected for the majority of them this week. They're heading for the elevator when he stops, something pulling at him.

"Mike?" Alex asks, holding the elevator for him. "You ok?"

He nods, trying to figure out what it is. "Yeah. Uh, you go ahead. I'll be up a little later."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Go ahead."

Alex shrugs, his lips pursing, as he removes his hand and steps back, letting the doors close.

Miz stares blankly at the garish red wall in front of him for a moment before turning. Raw's tomorrow and he tries not to do this before any event but it's been a long, torturous week and he just really needs a drink. Thankfully there's a bar only a few feet away so he walks in that direction, sighing tiredly. He's about to slump at the bar when he blinks, his eyes falling on a familiar form slouched in the corner, long brown hair shielding the man's face from the people scattered around the room. He automatically corrects his path, taking the seat next to John. He quietly drops his bag on the floor next to the stool, his lips twisting as the sound of their belts clank together inside. He loves that sound.

Morrison doesn't respond but Miz can feel his eyes on him, his hand tightening around the glass in front of him.

"What can I get ya?" the bartender asks.

"Vodka," he requests after a minute, peeking at the brown liquid swirling around in John's glass. "Dry."

As he waits, John shifts slightly and swigs more of his drink down. "What are you doing here, Miz?" His voice is low, tense. Whether from the after affects of last week or whatever pain he's feeling after the match tonight, Miz is unsure.

"What's it look like? I'm getting a drink." Miz regrets his words as Morrison tenses even more, his hand so tight around the glass, it looks like it could shatter at any moment. He's really not in the mood for this, so he's relieved when the bartender returns with a glass and pours his drink. As soon as he's turned to another customer, Miz tries again. "You ok?"

"What do you care? Because I'm the only way you can cash in your precious briefcase? Don't worry about me, Miz. I've taken care of myself before you, I will long after you."

Having his own words thrown back in his face feels like a cruel, hard slap somehow and his eyes close as he ponders how it felt to Morrison not even a week ago to be told that, especially after doing who-knows-what just to get them the tag team title opportunity a few weeks back. The vodka suddenly looks vile and ugly in his hand but he forces himself to swallow another sip, brain working feverously for a way to fix this despite his still being too prideful just to say what really needs to be said to the man sitting next to him.

His train of thought stops as he realizes that Morrison's trembling next to him, his hand shaking just enough that his glass clinks against the bar and he's not sure if it's physical pain, anger or something else making him react like this. It's suddenly all just a little too much and he doesn't want to know. He quickly stands, vodka forgotten, and digs into his bag. Morrison's tag belt is easy to find, waiting on the top of the pile, and he carefully lays it down on the stool he's just abandoned. He drops a $20 on the bar and motions to the bartender. "For mine, and his," he adds, motioning to Morrison's glass. Before his tag partner can decline, he turns to leave. Inches away from the exit, he stops and clenches his fists, turning to look John in the eye once more. "Happy birthday." Feeling stupid and a little pathetic, he spins back around and continues on his way, his now noticeably thinner bag thudding against his side with each step towards the elevator.

The next night, Miz stares up once more at the lights after Morrison eliminates him from the 20-man battle royal. He slams his fists against the floor and surges to his feet, oh so tempted to reach in and drag the betrayer out of the ring by his beard and show him how it feels but common sense somehow prevails and he allows a referee to motion him to the back, where he meets up with a sympathetic Alex Riley.

"I don't know why I bother," he snaps at him, tearing the wrist tape off of his arms viciously. "To think I was actually feeling... well, I don't know what I was feeling last night! It doesn't matter now!"

It's obvious by Alex's eyes that it does, very much, but he wisely keeps quiet, his gaze heavy on Miz's back as he slumps down on a bench and finishes pulling the tape off, movements a bit more subdued now. "Dammit," he mumbles repeatedly. "Why can't anything just be easy for _five frickin minutes?"_


	13. Chapter 13

Even after interrupting Cena's boring promo just so he won't fall asleep, Miz remains in the bad mood he's been in since Morrison cost him a title match at Bragging Rights the week previously. For this reason, he avoids everyone but Alex Riley, not in the mood to listen to the inane blathering that always happens in the locker rooms.

Thus, he doesn't see Morrison until just before he goes to face Cena, spots him leaving the locker room and heading for the parking garage. Something vicious comes over him, his vision turning red with anger, and he calls out, "Hey, Morrison!" His tag partner freezes and he continues, "I bet you're pleased as _punch_ that R Truth's on the team, huh? Bet it just made your _day_ , the fact that the tag partner you can't stand will be leading you and your replacement best friend _."_

Morrison slowly turns and raises an eyebrow at him, a silent intensity behind his gaze as their eyes lock, lowering his duffel to the floor. "What, would you rather we not be on the team and you get stuck with Santino and Zack Ryder?"

Miz knows he's right but glowers harder as he shifts, trying to stall for time so he can think. Morrison doesn't seem as rigid as a week prior, as if some of the anger had faded with the time that had passed... If anything, this just makes Miz feel even worse as he thinks about the past week- traveling to Australia and trying not to focus on how things crashed and burned so quickly after Hell in a Cell, when for a brief period of time he honestly had felt like things were turning around for him... and, yes, for John too. "You know, I think it'd all be easier if _Ryder_ had become my tag partner!" he yells at him, feeling almost like he could explode with a sudden wave of petulance and indignation.

He barely takes a minute to absorb the startled look on John's face as he turns and storms through the gorilla position, preparing to go out for his match. He's just so sick of the back and forth between he and John, one week he almost thinks things will be ok between them then the next he's fighting just to hold on to one second of normalcy. It makes him want to scream; he's tired of the drama and stress, misses being a singles competitor with every fiber of his being.

In the end, the match with Cena is exactly what he needs, helps get his head back on straight, for however briefly. There's nothing emotionally confusing about it, just him and Cena- and yeah, Alex Riley and eventually the Nexus hopefuls get involved- but for awhile, he gets some single action with no tag team drama cluttering his head and messing up his momentum. Afterward, he rolls out of the ring, a victor, and takes a deep breath, his smile fading ever so slightly as he realizes that he is indeed now teaming with, and the leader of, John Morrison at Bragging Rights. He takes in a deep breath and presses a fist against his forehead. _Damn._

As soon as he arrives at the parking garage, hair flat against his head from a recent shower and clothes sloppily poking out of the sides of his duffel, he's somehow not surprised to find Morrison waiting for him by his rental car. "What are you doing?" he asks, brushing past the man. "How did you know this was mine?" He hooks a thumb at the nondescript silver car and throws his duffel in the backseat, frowning at John as he turns to face him.

"Miz pendant in the mirror," Morrison comments vaguely, looking over as Alex Riley comes to a stop a few feet away and turns around, thoughtfully disappearing back into the shadows to give them some time to talk.

"Of course," he mumbles, thinking he should be annoyed at Alex Riley but somehow failing at the emotion. "So what did you want? Congratulate me on beating Cena?"

John's expression doesn't change as he watches Miz. "I think we should start over."

Mike's laugh is loud and perhaps a little frenzied as he huffs at John. "Start over? From when? Hell in a Cell? The Raw after Money in the Bank when this all began? Or maybe November 2007?"

Morrison runs a hand through his hair and sighs, looking worn out as he purses his lips thoughtfully. "The truce. Things were going ok before I lost my temper a few weeks ago. Honestly it doesn't matter if you're using me or not- we've both been dealt similar hands due to the GM, and we have to see things through or risk losing our careers. No matter what we think of each other personally, we've worked too hard to get fired now." Morrison clamps his mouth shut, giving Miz a minute to think as he looks away. "What do you say?"

"I need to think about it," he says listlessly, barely reacting as John looks at him worriedly, offput by his tone. "No matter what, we do have to work together somehow for Team Raw. What happened last year can't happen again- I _will_ prove that Raw is the dominate brand, with or without you." He pulls his door open, movements brisk and somehow final. "I'll see you later, John."

Normally the first name usage would ease a little of the tension in Morrison's stance but it's said so emotionlessly that it makes him feel anxious and a little sick. "See you," he mutters. Miz drives off without a look back.

After finding and picking up a patiently wandering Alex Riley in another part of the parking garage, Miz heads straight to the hotel, relieved that his associate can tell he's not in the mood for a stop at the closest bar _or_ a lot of chatter. They part ways at the door, actually, as Alex goes to the hotel bar for a quick drink and Miz heads upstairs, looking forward to some sleep.

He frowns at a small silver square on the floor of the hotel room that's innocently waiting for him just past the door and picks it up, unbuttoning his jacket as he examines the envelope. Once free of the clothing, he drops down on the bed and sighs, the envelope taunting him from where it lays on the comforter a few inches from his hand. Finally he gives up and tears the envelope open, frowning at the single piece of paper that falls out. A familiar handwriting is sprawled across the sheet and he buries his face in his hands for a moment before steeling himself and looking at it.

_Miz,_

_You're currently in Australia and I'm in Mexico. I'm not sure if you not being here was the cause- or if you being on this tour would've changed things at all- but I've been thinking a lot about what's been going on between us. This is being written on Friday so I'm not sure where we're at as you're reading this but maybe it'll be enough to push things in the right direction._

He sighs and pushes the letter aside, slumping against the stiff pillows as he thinks, considers reading the rest but it's a long, wordy letter, both sides of the page covered in Morrison's scratchy handwriting. He scrubs at his eyes and shakes his head, too tired to deal with this right now. _It'll hold until the morning,_ he decides stubbornly, gingerly picking up the page by the edge pinching it between his pointer finger and thumb derisively, as if it'll grow fangs and bite him. He's intending on stuffing it into the bedside drawer in a place where A-Ri won't see it until he can read it, but something stops him as his eyes rest on the final couple of lines on the back of the letter, at the very bottom. It's markedly less scribbled, as if Morrison paused and took his time thinking through what he was about to say before running out of space.

_PS: I know this is a few days late but happy birthday anyway. If you want to discuss things tomorrow, I'll be at the Path._

He grimaces before prodding the piece of paper into place in the drawer, shutting it with an exasperated shove. He gives up on this day and rolls over, not even bothering to get out of his clothes or do any other pre-sleep rituals.


	14. Chapter 14

He tries to sleep, he really does, but all he can see when he closes his eyes is Morrison's thin handwriting against his eyelids. Tossing and turning from laying on his back to his side does nothing but annoy him as lights outside of his hotel room burn into his eye sockets, rolling onto his other side brings darkness back but he still can't sleep. Flipping onto his stomach is his final choice and he slams a fist into the thin, uncomfortable pillow under his head, sleep eluding him stubbornly. He groans and sits up, blearily staring out through the darkness. It's a little after 1 AM and he huffs. "Fine!" He lunges for the dresser and slams the drawer open, almost knocking the phone book and room service menu within onto the floor in his angered haste.

As soon as Morrison's letter is clasped in his hand, he flicks a light on and groans, squinting through the sudden brightness. "What the hell does he want?" he mumbles, unfolding the piece of paper once more and reading through it.

 _I think the only way a potential truce between us is going to work is if we actually get some things out in the open..._ Miz presses his fingers to his eyes, sighing. "Great, a bare-your-soul letter. There better not be any poetry in this thing." He rolls his eyes skyward before resuming.

 _I'm not great at verbalizing what I mean to say a lot of times so... a letter seemed the way to go. Mock me later._ Miz obediently clamps his mouth shut, lips twisting into a bemused grimace as he continues reading, offput by how well Morrison still knows him.

 _Anyway... It all started at the 2009 draft. I for obvious reasons never got the chance to apologize for interfering in your match. I'm not sure anymore why I did, maybe things would've been better between us if you had been drafted without me having a hand in it. Probably not, but who knows. I can see it a little clearer now that two years have passed- to you, it probably seemed like one more sign that I didn't view you as an equal with everyone telling you I was the future and you were just the tag-a-long. Maybe I was a little too high on myself at the time, we knew walking into the partnership back then that we were both egotistical; it was part of what made us such an amazing tag team. But two egos in one team can only last so long before resentment starts forming, right? I think that's why R Truth and I work together alright._ At the mere mention of Truth, Miz is tempted to crumple the letter and toss it aside, forget everything he's read so far, but some latent masochistic drive deep inside keeps his eyes locked on the sprawling print, forcing him to read it the rest of the way.

 _Our careers aren't as entwined as yours and mine were back in 2008 and early 2009. Can you think of anything we did in those months that didn't involve the other? I can't, but Truth and I both have single careers and only team now and again. We're friends, sure, but not like you and I were back two years ago. It's just different, we don't spend enough time together to start disliking the other. Does that make any sense? I hope we can find some balance, Mike. I really do._ He skims over the PS, frowns at the letter and drops it, letting it flutter down against his bedding carelessly.

He hates to admit it but Morrison makes some sense. He lets loose a yawn, surprised at how heavy his eyes are suddenly feeling. The light is still on but he barely cares as he slips further down in the bed and finally dozes off, fingers compulsively twitching around the letter. When Alex Riley finally returns, a little tipsy and off-balanced as he kicks his shoes off with loud thuds and mumbled cursing, he doesn't even stir.

When his eyes open of their own volition the next morning, he groans at the bright sunlight pouring onto his bed. He scrubs his eyes, blinking at the clock. _Seven AM? I'm never up at seven without being able to blame outside forces,_ he thinks unhappily, a yawn slipping from his lips. As he shifts, something crinkles in his hands, his gaze immediately dropping to it. _John's letter,_ he remembers dully, sighing. "...I'll be at the Path..." he reads out loud from the post script, dropping his head back against the still uncomfortable pillow. "Dammit, fine."

He's still in jeans from the night before but even he's not so desperate to go out like that, so he digs in his bag and locates new clothes. A quick change and use of a toothbrush and some gel for his lifeless hair that he hadn't touched since his shower the night before and he's out of the hotel with barely a glance for the knocked out Alex Riley, carefully stowing Morrison's letter in his jacket's front pocket.

He makes a quick decision at the hotel doors and leaves the rental for Alex, instead taking one of the many taxis waiting outside of the hotel. After giving the address to the driver, he lets his mind wander, frowning at the fall foliage slowly taking over Seattle, Washington. When the taxi comes to a stop, he hands over the fee to the driver, with a sizable tip since he arrived sooner than he expected. He takes a minute at the entrance to look up and sighs, breathing in the cool, crisp air.

He's glad he threw on this jacket now as he buries his hands in the jacket pockets, bolstered by Morrison's letter crinkling once more. Despite growing up in Ohio, the last few years in California have re-conditioned his body to be used to more warm climates and steady weather, so overcast or cold weather just seems foreign now. He doesn't even mind the earthquakes. Usually.

Shaking his head, he refocuses, entering between the stone hedges he's been standing in front of for a few minutes. He can barely remember the last time he was here so he takes his time, wandering down one path and another. After awhile, he starts to notice familiar things so he walks a little faster, resting a hand on a small tree that barely comes to his shoulders as he passes it.

A minute or two later, he almost walks right past a group of bright purple flowers spotting the grass between a fork in the path and stops just in time, gazing at them. He shakes his head and doubles back, taking the right fork and walking down it until he comes upon a large weeping willow, its sizable branches hanging upside down and nearly kissing the ground. He stares at it for a long moment before taking a deep breath and sitting down on the ground near it, pressing his back against its rough bark. The chill is already seeping through his legs but he doesn't say anything, biting his lip and waiting patiently, instinctively concentrating on his breathing as he takes in his surroundings.

It's a large garden that's famous in Seattle, with ambling paths and impressively large trees. Wildflowers grow almost everywhere, in conjunction with flowers planted here, and even he has to admit it's a peaceful, ethereal place that makes him feel calm and unworthy to break the quiet that settles over every growing thing within its walls. Supposedly the person who had fought for and ultimately funded the place had been inspired by The Secret Garden. After only the first five minutes spent here so very long ago, Miz came to understand how someone could want to have a hand in creating a place like this. It's so impressive, even most children who come here are in so much awe that they remain quiet and respectful, keeping the peace amongst the flowers and trees.

He's not sure how much time's passed when he finally hears shuffling from the other side of the tree, someone standing and then brushing off their clothes. "So you remembered." The person speaks quietly, not loud enough to break the mood, but just enough that Miz can hear.

"Yeah. Wasn't sure I was going the right way at first, but here I am," he comments, slowly climbing to his own feet. "It hasn't changed much."

"No, not so much," Morrison agrees, rounding the tree and joining him. "You haven't been here since the draft?" He rests a hand on the side of the willow, eyes traveling between the tree to Miz and back. He can't help but be somewhat surprised that Miz still remembered the place where he often went to meditate when in Seattle that he had started calling simply "The Path".

"No," he comments awkwardly, hand closing around the letter and cringing as it crinkles tellingly. He wonders if Morrison selected this place because it's just so hard to be angry around so much nature. Already he can feel his agitation ease away, brushed away by the soft chirps of bird and soft wind tickling against his skin

"You read my letter?"

"Yeah." He looks down a moment before locking eyes with John, eyebrow raising as he sighs. "You made some good points, I guess." Silence resumes as they lean against the tree, a few inches apart, and stares around at the different plants surrounding them. He tries to decide where to start and finally blurts, "I'm sorry I said that Zack Ryder would make a better tag partner." It's random and a little silly, out of everything they've both said to the other recently, that that's where he begins so when Morrison laughs, he releases a soft chuckle too. After a moment, he sobers and continues. "Think we can figure out how to make things work so we stop being so... angry all the time?" He cringes, thinking he sounds kind of pathetic in this moment, and waits for John to tease him.

It doesn't come. "I do. It might take some time, but yeah. It'll work out. I mean, we've only been teaming again for a few weeks. We spent a _long_ time bitter and angry towards each other. We're not going to get along perfectly all the time but I'm willing to try harder if you are."

Miz's lips twitch as he nods, surprised at how easily the motion comes. "I am."

"Great." They stand in companionable silence for a few minutes before Miz tilts his head, looking over at him.

"I hope you have your rental nearby- I left mine with Alex."

"Yeah, it's just across the street," he comments with a shrug.

"Good. I'm hungry."

John smirks. "Want to go get some breakfast then?" He pauses and examines Miz, taking in his tired looking features. "I'll even throw in a _small_ amount of coffee. Maybe."

"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?" he mumbles as they wander towards the exit, embarrassed at the memory but pleased that things are going right again between them.

"Not really, nope."

Once they get back to LA later that Tuesday, they don't talk, back into the grind of media coverage and other things for the WWE leading into Bragging Rights. Even so, things are mostly comfortable since both left Seattle feeling like more things are squared away between them finally.

So when they first see each other again, it's because Team Smackdown invades and Miz calls his team to join him. Raw storms the ring to try to rid it of the invaders but before long, it's obvious they're not going to get rid of them, especially with Big Show knocking them down as soon as they get an inch of advantage so Miz rolls out and grabs the first Raw people he sees, dragging them with him. Most of the others follow but he has to go grab Morrison too to get his attention since he seems content staying in there and tiring himself out in the melee. "Save it for Sunday!" he tells them, an edge to his voice. He's never really been a leader before and he refuses to screw it up now.

When Big Show challenges him to a match, he rolls his eyes as his fellow teammates heckle and push him to accept, as he glares up at his opposing team leader. His ego ultimately encourages him to accept.

Morrison follows him quietly to the back and through the hallways, double taking a time or two at Smackdown people they pass on the way to the locker room. "Christ," he mumbles after awhile. "Did Teddy bring the whole Smackdown locker room with him?"

Miz twitches, wanting to say something disparaging about the Smackdown General Manager, but drops it. "We're up next," he says simply, entering the room and immediately heading to the corner to get ready.

"Oh yeah, the Harts," John responds. "Shouldn't be too hard, especially if they continue arguing like they have been."

Miz nods, unnaturally quiet as Morrison sits across from him and puts on some more wrist tape, just to make sure he's prepared as well.

After a bit, he looks up and frowns. "Are you alright?"

Miz jerks a little and glances up before resuming his own preparation. "Sure, why wouldn't I be?"

"You're never this quiet," Morrison answers but lets it go when Miz doesn't offer any more information with a shrug, rubbing the stickiness leftover from the wrist tape off of his fingers.

The match against the Hart Dynasty goes fast as they mis-communicate their finisher, opening DH Smith up to a Skull Crushing Finale and Tyson leaves him to be pinned. Morrison joins Miz as Natalya tries to calm David down and they shrug before raising their titles in victory.

"Sucks that they can't get along," Morrison comments later on as they wander through the various halls, the Hart Dynasty's tension obviously at the forefront of his mind. "It's not like there are a lot of tag teams left anyway..."

"You sound like you want more teams vying to take our belts away," Miz says, shifting slightly so the bronze title rests higher on his shoulder. "Look at it this way, the less competition we have, the less double duty we have to do between the singles matches and tag matches."

"Yeah, I know. And you have less to juggle between defending the tag belts, the US title, watching for opportunity to cash in the briefcase, and leading Team Raw to victory this Sunday."

Miz groans at the end of the dialogue. "Makes me tired just listening to you list it all off."

He grins. "I can see why." He's about to say something else when Miz stiffens next to him. "What?" He follows Miz's sight line and blinks as he sees Teddy Long talking lowly to Big Show. "Oh."

"So you two still friends?" he asks, voice tinged with bitterness as he grips the tag belt a little bit tighter.

"Uh, hardly," he responds, pushing Miz to get him to continue walking.

"Oh really?"

"Well, he did kind of show his true colors the weeks leading up to Night of Champions, right? That's not the actions of a friend."

Miz is glad he's in front of Morrison as a slight smile appears on his lips briefly, turning into a smug smirk as he passes by Teddy and Show. _There's hope for Morrison yet,_ he thinks.

They arrive at the locker room in time to see Daniel Bryan in the ring, dancing with the divas. "What... is that?" Miz demands, disturbed. "It's like staring into the sun... I'll probably go blind if I keep watching but I can't stop."

John reaches around him and flicks the TV off, a little humored when Miz continues staring at the blank screen, a dazed look on his face. "Hey, come on," he comments, flicking Mike on the shoulder. "Focus on Show, not Daniel's... uh, dancing abilities."

"Huh, maybe he should go on Dancing with the Stars, we'd be rid of him for a few weeks, I guess," he mumbles, before turning his attention to his upcoming match.

Miz vs Big Show doesn't last very long, as both Raw and Smackdown locker rooms are clustered around the ring and interject early on. Before anyone can blink, it's changed to a Raw vs Smackdown Battle Royal. Despite things going well between them, Miz is still a little surprised, so used to watching his own back, when Morrison keeps him from being eliminated and tries helping him to eliminate Rey Mysterio. After awhile he slips outside and hides so his opponents can't see him but it doesn't help, he enters the ring too soon and Edge surprises him- he is the second to last Raw guy to be eliminated but Smackdown winning grates at him as he stumbles back up the ramp, glowering.

Morrison's waiting for him by the gorilla position, tattered red shirt still covering his back. "We'll get them Sunday," he says, following Miz as he walks away from the titantron area, unwilling to see Big Show or Edge again this soon.

"Sure," he mumbles, a bit of doubt creeping into his tone. He looks up and rolls his eyes, lips twitching as he realizes Morrison's still wearing his abused Raw team shirt. "You look ridiculous." With no warning, he reaches out and pulls the torn shirt over John's head, throwing the strips of red to the ground.

"Pftaw," he pretends to spit dramatically. "I was about to say something- I think I swallowed bits of fabric thanks to you." He frowns as Miz stares at him, an eyebrow raised.

"Mm hmm. So I missed it, how were you eliminated?"

John coughs awkwardly, turning away from Miz and starting to walk down the hallway, ignoring him all the way.

"John? You're not getting away that easily," Mike calls after him, following stubbornly. "Don't tell me. You eliminated yourself again." When Morrison stiffens for a moment, he guffaws in disbelief. "Oh God, please be joking me. What is this, the second time in a month?"

Despite his general dislike of being teased, it's taken Miz's mind off of his doubts about this Sunday for a little bit... After a bit, Morrison realizes he doesn't mind very much _this time_ as Mike's laughter echoes through the hallway behind him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Friday Night Smackdown- 48 hours before Bragging Rights**

Miz considers how the scene before him is mirroring Raw; team Smackdown stands face to face with team Raw, blue and red shirts marking the different allegiances within the ring. He listens impassively as his fellow team mates make their various challenges, only glancing up for a moment when Morrison challenges Alberto Del Rio. Despite the uncertainty that's been dogging him since Monday night, he struggles to keep up appearances- especially in enemy territory.

Team Raw still isn't clicking, however, Ezekiel Jackson and Sheamus' power just not enough to hold things together. One little mistake and he's down on the mat, looking up at the mocking lights overhead as Rey's music thrums through the arena.

Morrison is waiting as he stumbles past the titantron, towards the trainer's room for the usual post-match check and follows him quietly down one hallway and the next, as if waiting for something. They're almost at the little room when he turns to Morrison, glowering angrily. "This isn't working, is it?"

He's agitatingly calm as he asks, "What isn't working?"

"Team Raw. All of it. None of us are clicking- egos, different styles, none of it is mashing," he says in aggravation, lowering his voice half through the rant as he recalls where they're at. _Big Brother is watching,_ he mocks himself, glancing around for a moment before returning his focus to John.

He _shrugs,_ of all things, and steps closer, also lowering his voice. "We haven't had much time to gel, that's all. It'll be-"

"What? Different on Sunday? We'll miraculously _gel_ then?" Miz sighs and turns back towards the trainer's room.

"Stranger things have happened," John comments before Miz can disappear from sight.

"This is becoming an uncomfortable theme," Mike says, leaning against the doorway of the trainer's room and watching as John's arm is checked out.

He turns to look at Miz before smirking slightly, nodding. "I guess it is." It's his turn to look aggravated now, feeling the effects physically and emotionally of losing to Alberto Del Rio so close to Bragging Rights.

As the trainer continues doing his thing, Miz enters the room fully and sits near Morrison, looking away as his tag partner winces while his arm is rotated carefully. "His arm isn't gonna fall off, is it?" he asks inanely after a few moments, watching his own fingers as he taps them against his thigh.

"No," the trainer says, finishing his examination finally. "Just needs to rest it and-"

"Ice it," both men finish his sentence for him, well versed in what all trainers seem to recommend.

He blinks in surprise, mouth turning down as he stares at them. "Er, yes."

"He hates us," Miz says almost gleefully as they leave, John awkwardly shrugging back into his red shirt.

"You take too much pleasure in annoying people," he responds.

"I used to not be alone in that," he mumbles as they enter the locker room on the far side of the arena set aside for the Raw team. Morrison doesn't respond.

Tired of Raw getting the shaft, Miz grabs Alex Riley and they rush out as Punk vs Edge carry on. It becomes a complete brawl as Kofi comes out, takes Alex out. Miz pays him back with a Skull Crushing Finale but that weird new guy whose name always slips Miz's mind runs down and attacks him. He's still dazed, blinking fruitlessly, when Tyler disappears from his sight and he rolls out of the ring to safety. Propping himself up on the apron, he watches as Morrison- bad arm and all- takes Tyler out, just to get kicked in the face by Alberto Del Rio and falling out of the ring on the other side.

As the rest of Team Raw and Smackdown run down, the rest of his teammates do very little to stop Smackdown. He groans and falls back against the floor, wondering why this is all going so very wrong.

"We really have to stop meeting like this," Morrison comments, body thrumming with tension even as he speaks casually. The trainer ignores them both this time as he tiredly examines John's eyes and reaction time, checking for a concussion or anything more serious following Del Rio's attack.

Miz snorts and doesn't bother entering the room this go around, content to staying in the doorway. "Maybe we should just all stay in here. Feels like I've been in here more tonight than the actual locker room."

"Tell me about it," John mumbles.

"You're fine," the trainer finally comments, moving away.

"Thanks," he replies, getting up and once more joining Miz in the hallway. He notes that Alex Riley is standing a few feet away, as if waiting on him too, and he raises an eyebrow.

"A-Ri and I are leaving," Miz explains. "If you want a ride..."

 _Oh,_ he thinks, surprised by the offer _._ "Sure," he responds after a moment.

**Bragging Rights**

Miz is pacing around the locker room set aside for Team Raw, ignoring Morrison's pointed stare as he goes back and forth, left and right before returning to step one. Even a knock on the door doesn't distract him from his path as he turns sharply at the corner and heads straight across from the door.

John sighs and walks around him, making sure not to trip over him as he opens the door. One glance into the hall and he turns back to his team mates. "I'll be back in a minute," he says, voice strangely subdued as he walks into the hallway and closes the door behind him. "What do you want?"

Michael Cole stands before him, looking shifty and a little nervous as he holds a piece of paper out towards Morrison. "I received this email just now. Not sure how to tell you so I figured printing it out would be a better way of going about it..." As soon as John takes the paper, Cole nods and almost dashes down the hallway, as if scared to be around for the fallout.

**To:**

**From: [UNKNOWN]**

**Subject: Bragging Rights**

_Due to Raw's abysmal showing on Smackdown this week, I've decided there will be another match held during Bragging Rights. Tonight, there will be a tag team title match. The Miz and John Morrison vs two members of the Nexus._

Morrison closes his eyes as soon he reads that final word, dread coursing through his body as he considers the repercussions of this. "Dammit," he mumbles, reluctantly heading into the locker room to tell Miz this latest piece of bad news.

Morrison is picking aimlessly at his clothes, thinking about ways to get through tonight without losing the tag belts or losing to Smackdown, when Miz storms out of the locker room, Alex Riley following behind. "Let's go," the stressed out Raw leader orders him, his jaw clenched so tightly that John's teeth hurt just looking at him. Alex starts to follow them when Miz turns on his heel, facing Alex. "Stay here. I don't want to give the GM any more motivation to screw with us," he snaps before turning and walking resolutely down the hall.

Morrison glances back at Alex for a moment before jogging to catch up with his tag partner. He actually feels sympathetic for the younger man, knowing how hard it can be to deal with Miz during one of his moods, but he quickly shakes the thoughts from his mind. He has to focus on the tag belts right now and nothing else.

He frowns as John Cena and David Otunga head down the ramp a few minutes later, Otunga looking confident and at ease- a perfect contrast of the miserable look on Cena's face. _Cena looks about tense as Miz does,_ Morrison thinks with a grimace.

Miz insists on starting off against David Otunga, simply shaking his head when Morrison offers to go first. They feel each other out for a bit before going into a lock-up, which Otunga gets the upper hand of after a few moments, slamming Miz down onto the mat. He's up within seconds, the anger on his face growing in intensity as he punches almost blindly at the larger man.

Otunga dodges it and lunges to grab Mike but he moves at the last second, causing him to overshoot, running right into the corner where Morrison waits. As John grabs David and holds him in place, Miz runs forward and clotheslines him into the turnbuckle. Morrison lets go as Miz regains his balance but even that is too much time as David pushes away from the buckle and punches Morrison, dazing him long enough for Otunga to shoulder check Miz and make it to his corner, tagging in Cena.

Morrison refocuses on the match in time to catch sight of a disgusted frown on Cena's face as he whips Miz into the opposite corner before tugging him forward and suplexing him hard, standing back up as Mike spasms on the mat. Cena notices at the same time that Morrison does that he's within reach of Otunga, who's reaching out for a tag. He quickly side steps and refuses the tag, unaffected by his tag partner's incensed glare.

As they argue, Miz inches towards Morrison, who's struggling to reach out far enough for the tag. Finally Mike makes it and John enters within seconds, taking the opportunity and punching Cena as soon as he turns around. Before Cena can respond, Morrison lunges forward and kicks him in the side of the skull, following it up with a running knee to the jaw. Soon as Cena's down, he covers him, watching carefully as Otunga rolls his eyes and makes no move to help his tag partner. Cena kicks out at two and Morrison rolls off, quickly returning to his corner to get some space between them.

"Let me back in," Miz says with a glare towards Cena. He tags in and runs in while Cena's still down, catching him around the jaw with a vicious lock, wrenching on his neck.

 _Bet he's envisioning doing it to the computer GM,_ Morrison thinks as Cena struggles and abruptly begins to get his second wind. _Oh crap._ He leans as far over the top rope as he dares, still clinging to the tag rope. "MIZ!" But it's too late as John lifts his arms up inch by painful inch and overpowers Miz, breaking his hold.

Before Morrison can even blink, Cena has Miz by the arm and is hitting him repeatedly with shoulder blocks, drawing the breaths from his lungs a little more with each strike. He tries lifting Miz up and Morrison moves to enter the ring while the referee's attention is elsewhere but Mike slips free and dives for his corner, quickly slapping John's outstretched hand.

It happens really fast- Morrison's entering the ring and running towards Cena, trying to get the upperhand, but he's ready for him, leaning over as soon as he's in range and lifting him, flipping him over his shoulder onto the mat hard. Morrison groans and twists away, his back protesting the hard landing as Miz yells something indecipherable at him. He makes the mistake of opening his eyes in time to see Cena flying down and hitting him square in the jaw.

Otunga starts demanding for a tag again which is just the amount of time Morrison needs to put space between him and Cena, fumbling back to his corner. As he sits against the turnbuckle to catch his breath, Miz reaches down and tags himself in, grabbing Cena from behind. Morrison can do nothing but watch, the pain throbbing up his back clear to his jaw slowing his attempts to stand, as Cena immediately puts a stop to the Skullcrushing Finale attempt and knocks him to the mat, locking in the STF. As Miz begins to tap, Morrison closes his eyes and lets out a tired breath. _Dammit._

Cena lets go of the move quickly and grabs his tag belt when the ref arrives with it, ignoring Otunga completely as he leaves the arena. Morrison turns his head to watch as Miz's eyes open and he realizes what exactly just happened, a frantic kind of look appearing in his eyes as his lips twist in anger.

"What the hell do we do now?" Miz demands, kicking at the wall of the Raw locker room. "Dammit!"

Alex looks like he wants to say something, his mouth opening but Morrison catches the motion out of the corner of his eye and shakes his head at the younger man warningly. He obediently keeps quiet, looking down at his hands as he waits for his mentor's rant to end.

"I had it all! US title, Money in the Bank, tag title... My career actually was starting to seem like my own again for a bit, but now... now we're back to step one. I don't- I just can't believe I have to start all over again." His face is an unhealthy shade of red and Morrison decides it's time to try to appease him.

"Look, it's not ideal, but we have a rematch clause- we'll..."

"Screw that!" Miz interrupts, eyes flashing as he rounds on Morrison. For his credit, he stops a few inches away, careful not to completely get in John's face. "We'll what? Face Nexus again and get a DQ victory or count-out or... who knows, who cares? There's five of them, maybe seven if Harris and McGullicuty get accepted in. There's _no chance,_ Morrison. I can't cash in without the tag belts but I honestly have no idea how we're going to get them back right now." He looks from John to Alex and shakes his head in anger. "I need some air." Before either man can say anything, he storms from the room, purposely ignoring the other Raw team members who clutter the hallway since being kicked out after the tag team match.

As soon as he's gone, Alex and Morrison glance at each other. "Well... that could've gone better," John mutters as Alex nods reluctantly.

He tries to fight, he really does, but he's distracted, his focus shattered as Miz shifts anxiously behind him, so it's almost not a surprise when he's eliminated mere moments after R Truth. He purposely keeps his eyes averted from Miz, not wanting to see the disgust and/or anger that has to be lurking there, and follows his former tag partner's path back to the locker room where they sit in strained silence, Santino already there mumbling quietly to himself as they watch Team Raw hold their own for awhile just to slowly get picked off one by one until Miz is the last one left.

When he's finally defeated, Sheamus starts talking loudly about how he could've been a better captain and the freshly arrived Punk argues his own case about how he actually had knowledge as a leader so after listening for awhile, Morrison stands and leaves the room quietly, leaving the loud "discussion" on going behind him. He's halfway to the parking garage when he finds Miz heading for the Raw locker room, a mulish look on his face. Despite his better judgment, he holds a hand out, blocking Miz's path. "You don't want to go in there, trust me."

"I trusted you with plenty tonight, look what that's gotten me," he says, voice low and dangerous. "Move."

Morrison closes his eyes and moves aside, watching quietly as Miz brushes past him and continues on his way. Shrugging, John turns around and resumes walking towards where his rental car is waiting.

Thus, he doesn't see as Miz says quietly, "Come on, Alex," and turns to the left, turning away from the arguing that they can hear from the second doorway on the right.

It seems like a silent agreement that they avoid each other during the show, giving themselves time for the post-Bragging Right tension to ease away, so Miz is almost not sure what to do as he walks out to the parking garage and finds Morrison throwing his duffle bag into the rental parked next to his. Never one to back down from an awkward confrontation, however, he motions Alex ahead and they begin stuffing their bags into the car, both ignoring Morrison as he watches them.

"What are you staring at?" Miz finally asks, tired of the silent stare as he looks up to find him still standing by his car, playing around with the keychain.

John ignores the question and shrugs. "You feel better after taking out your anger on Truth?"

"What, are you here to get vengeance for your little friend?" Mike asks before he can stop himself, stifling the wince that wants to make an appearance as Morrison's eyes flash dangerously.

"I thought we were over this," he says quietly.

"We are," Miz says, suddenly feeling tired. "It's just been a crappy week, alright?"

"True."

In an attempt to diffuse things a little more, Miz smirks. "What's up with you and Santino anyway? Hoping he'll teach you the cobra?"

"Uh, no. I just don't like Sheamus, so I figured why not."

He nods, a little surprised at the straight forward answer. _I can respect that._ "Right, you just want Kozlov to stop glaring at you every time you go by him in the hallway," he says. "What better way than to help his tag partner."

Morrison rolls his eyes. "Yeah, right. I don't think that guy will ever stop glaring at anyone." He pauses, suddenly stilling the keys in his hand and looks over at Miz. "We need to discuss the tag titles soon, you know?"

Miz nods with a vague sigh. "I know. We will. Just... not now."

"Ok. See you next week." Without waiting for an answer, John enters his car.

"Yeah, next week." With a quick glance back at the pale gold rental car, Miz enters his own and nods at Alex. "Let's get out of here."


	16. Chapter 16

The locker room is unusually quiet today. The tension that's been lurking under the surface since Team Raw lost to Team Smackdown eight days ago has evolved into... this. A sort of dejected, morose silence that lingers over everything.

Oddly enough, the usually obnoxiously loud Miz appears to be affected the most after being unable to get an advantage over Big Show _again_ tonight, barely surviving due to a disqualification, quietly picking at his fingernail with an expression-less look on his face. Alex Riley sits near him, looking everywhere but at his mentor, as if afraid to interrupt his private ruminations. John Morrison watches all of it while sitting across from them. He catches himself thinking inanely that the three of them are sitting in a strange triangle shape and sighs, scrubbing at his eyes. _I'm losing it,_ he thinks, squinting an eye open to find Miz staring at him. "What?"

"What?" Miz echoes, looking away. His blue eyes are vacant and almost lifeless; Morrison would be lying if he didn't say he was a little worried by now.

Over the past week, Miz has focused on blaming the rest of Team Raw for their loss and completely ignoring the tag belts after ranting about it on Monday night but something's changed in the last few hours. Morrison's starting to think he's shifted the blame onto himself but that makes little to no sense, given Miz's usually self-assured attitude where little seems to bother him. It's obvious by Alex Riley's subdued attitude that he's noticed the change as well.

There had also been rumors going around that Miz is going to challenge Rey Mysterio tonight but looking at him now, John's not sure why that even started making the rounds through the locker room. Miz doesn't seem like he's willing to move from where he's been sitting on the bench for almost a half an hour, even as the other guys keep up a constant stream of talk and motion, getting ready for their own matches or preparing to leave.

After a few more minutes, he leans forward and smacks Miz on the knee, attracting both his and Alex's attention. "Come on, we're getting out of here."

Mike looks like he's about to argue but John doesn't wait to hear what feeble excuse he has for staying, pulling the door open and raising an eyebrow at him. Miz's lips thin as he looks pointedly at Alex and reluctantly brushes past him, leaving the room quietly.

John rolls his eyebrows towards the ceiling and sighs, waiting as Alex rushes after him. He closes the door with a click behind him, walking quickly to join the two. Mike doesn't bother looking over at him as he catches up with them, obviously displeased with this proceeding.

It's a cool evening but not too bad for early November as they walk outside, almost melting into the shadows covering the parking lot reserved for wrestlers and the crew in the back of the building. Morrison takes in a deep breath, sighing as his skin tingles from the chill.

"What are we doing out here?" Miz's voice cuts through the gloom, causing Morrison to jerk a bit.

_He talks,_ he thinks with an amused sneer. _And a whole sentence too!_ After a period of only hearing one word answers or grunts from the man, it's a marked improvement. "Getting away from the locker room," is his answer as he settles down on an abandoned trunk left behind by some tech too lazy to carry it inside with the rest of the supplies.

"Oh please," Mike mutters. "Come on, Alex..." He looks pointedly over at John. "We can do that just as easily inside, where it's not freezing out...side." His voice fades away as he spots Alex sitting on the ground near a light pole, staring up at the stars overhead. "Uh! You're taking his side, Riley? Seriously? ... Seriously?"

"Who said there's sides, Mike? Just sit down and relax already," Morrison comments easily, shifting so he's stretched out across the trunk, absorbing the soft breeze that's tickling against his skin. It's a quiet night, despite the muted vibrations of noise from inside the arena behind them. One of Miz's biggest problems is he's constantly in motion, rarely takes a minute just to be. It was obvious back when they first tag teamed but since reuniting, John's noticed he's only gotten worse about it in the year and a half they spent angry at each other.

"I don't want to," he mumbles petulantly but joins Morrison anyway, sitting on the very edge of the trunk as if preparing to bolt at any moment. He's still hideously tense, his shoulders a rigid line as he looks out at the dusk surrounding them, but it's a start.

John rolls onto his back as his bad knee protests his original position, the steadily cooling temperatures not helping his discomfort much. He knows that this winter will be annoying, especially whenever WWE goes to the northern states, because his knee always reflects the change in weather. He shakes the slightly depressing thoughts from his mind, turning his attention back to Mike. "Why didn't you say anything when the Harts wrestled Slater and Gabriel earlier?" It doesn't really matter if he mentions it now, considering his tag partner seems as tense as he was five minutes ago, so he doesn't feel bad when Miz twitches.

"There was no point in mentioning it."

"Why not?" John blinks as Miz shifts a bit away from him and stretches out on the trunk too, pillowing his head with his arms as he looks up blankly at the dark sky.

"I still am not sure what you did to get us the first tag title shot at Night of Champions," he mumbles. "Obviously it was something big if you wouldn't even tell me. Now, with Nexus holding them, and apparently having the email GM in their pocket... well, hell, John. What chance do we honestly have? The email GM has a bias against me, that was determined almost as soon as I won the Money in the Bank briefcase... and I'm guessing that since you don't have any more favors you can cash in, we're just a little bit screwed."

"We have the rematch clause though," John says, almost feeling naive as Miz turns his head to look at him, his face shadowed too much to get a good glimpse of his expression.

"What good's a rematch clause when Nexus is just going to keep cheating or working the numbers game to their advantage?"

Morrison wants to say something, he really does, struggles to think of something- anything- to say that will strengthen Miz for the road ahead, but nothing comes to him.

"McIntyre and Rhodes split up," Mike speaks up after a few moments, surprising John once more.

"You've been watching Smackdown again?" he asks, trying not to sound as mocking as he feels. Miz's dislike of the blue brand is something well documented.

He huffs a little before turning onto his side to look at John's profile through the darkness. "It seemed so simple, you know? One minute they were talking about going after Nexus to get the belts, and the next, declaring that they'd be better off without the other. Then they turned and walked away without a backwards glance."

John weighs Miz's words and compares his description to 2009, when there was a disqualification loss, a sobering hug goodbye and then an attack that left him writhing on the mat, his neck and stomach pain secondary to the turmoil in his soul. He shakes his head and shrugs. "Well, they didn't have a very long partnership." His voice sounds feeble even to him but his words are no less true. The longer the history, the deeper the emotions, the harsher the reaction when an inevitable breakdown of an alliance happens. It doesn't surprise him that Rhodes and McIntyre's split was as clinical as it sounds.

"True," Miz mumbles, obviously still deep in thought about it all.

They sit in silence for awhile longer, obviously pondering what or how it'll be when they eventually split again, knowing that it's inevitable. No teams survive in WWE forever, although there are some that fall apart and reform every now and again for this reason or that- DX being a prime example. Morrison is trying to figure out how to form a question that he's been pondering for a couple weeks, since The Path, when Miz speaks again, voice quiet as if he's reluctant to be heard.

"Do ya think we could... not hate each other, even if ... _this_ doesn't work out?"

Surprised, John sits up so he can look at Miz a little clearer. His question, not worded exactly the same but close enough, coming from the lips of the man who inspired the months of hatred between them in the first place, amazes him. _We really have changed,_ he thinks with a bemused smile. It takes a few moments for him to realize that Miz is still waiting for an answer. "I think there's a good chance, yeah," he finally mumbles, settling back against the trunk to examine the moon quietly.

The soft sounds of their breathing is interrupted by two simultaneous things- Alex scrambling up, a squirrel chattering angrily at him from its position half way down the light pole, and Miz's voice, regaining some of its rambuctious pitch. "So since you've taken it upon yourself to save WWE's damsels in distress lately, how long before you start swooping in and rescuing Zack Ryder too?"

Morrison's huff is his answer, along with almost getting pushed off the side of the trunk.

"Hey, it was just an honest question!" he defends himself, trying and failing at holding in his chuckles.

"Yeah, yeah. We better go inside before I have to save Riley from the squirrel of doom," John comments inanely as the chattering grows louder, Alex's frenzied movements becoming almost desperate.

"Oh God." As he stands up to see what exactly is going on, Miz mumbles something about the rookies he's stuck with. John just grins.


	17. Chapter 17

"Ya know, it's pretty much asking for trouble," John Morrison's voice breaks into Miz's thoughts, stopping him midstep as he heads down a hallway, minding his own business for once.

He sighs, running his fingers through his short hair. "What's that?" he asks, trying to sound disinterested as he turns to face his tag partner. He doesn't think Morrison will have anything important to say but for the sake of keeping things between them on an even keel, he forces himself to stand still and listen.

"You teaming with R Truth and Daniel Bryan, not to mention Orton..." John grins, teeth bright and sharp against his tan as Miz rolls his eyes. "I give it five minutes before someone does something."

"Yeah, yeah," Miz mumbles, not wanting to admit the same thoughts are running through his mind. "You're just jealous you're not in the mix too. You maybe could still get involved, take Mark Henry's place or something. Then it'd be all kinds of complicated."

John shrugs, looking content to stay where he's at. "Nah, I'm good."

"Yeah, you need to stay free in case Santino needs rescued again, right? I see how it is." Miz smirks as he rolls his eyes. "Well, some of us have matches to get ready for so... see ya around, John."

"Yeah, see ya," he mumbles. As he watches Miz wander off, he wonders just how much of this match is more of the Email GM attempting to mess with the man.  
-

After the match, Mike is unsurprised when he enters the locker room and finds Morrison sitting on a bench, eyes closed. He rolls his eyes and spins the rental car keys around his finger, amused as John squints an eye open at him, half glaring at the rattling noise of metal on metal that's disrupting his concentration. "Did you watch the main event at all?"

"I watched enough of it," he comments, unfolding himself from sitting cross-legged on the hard wood. "I imagine you enjoyed sticking it to Orton a bit, huh?"

"Just showing him what he has to look forward to as soon as I can cash in my briefcase." Miz stiffens almost as soon as the words are out of his lips, knowing what Morrison's probably going to bring up now that he's said something about it.

John peers up at him as he quickly stuffs his ringwear into his duffle bag and forces the zipper closed so fast that it's a wonder it doesn't get stuck. He knows he could easily bring up the tag team titles once more but he doesn't want to rehash it again- mentioning it in the past has always caused arguments between he and Mike. So he lets it go, watching quietly as Mike finishes throwing his things together.

Mike looks over at him, relaxing once he sees that John isn't going to bring up the tag belts. For now, at least. He knows they need to discuss it but he's not ready to go there, not willing to let go of the high he's on just yet. "You ready to go?" They've agreed to try traveling together again after last week, and Miz finds that he feels like it never really stopped, things returning to normal easily enough despite the loss of the gold.

"No, not yet." At Mike's searching side glance, John smiles. "I hear there may be some of the cakes from Santino's tea party leftover at catering. I heard he ordered more than he actually needed so... maybe we can get a few before we leave."

Miz blinks a couple times, remembering seeing those cakes for a split second, before pocketing the rental car keys and shrugging. _They did look pretty good._ "Sure, why not. I guess Santino's good for something, at least."

"Are there any strawberries left?" Alex asks, startling Morrison and Miz.

"Where did _you_ come from?" both men snap, staring at him, before leaving the locker room. Alex shrugs and follows, unbothered by their reaction.


	18. Chapter 18

Miz stews while they watch Cena on the titanton, mocking his supposedly empty promises. He knows he's impotent right now, only able to lay claim to his briefcase with threats and flashy words. He knows he has months before his chance slips through his fingers like sand but it's still a clock ticking in the back of his mind, reminding him that if the email GM has his way, he will never cash in. His fingers tighten around the red handle until his knuckles are white. Alex shifts next to him, obviously uncomfortable from these developments.

Cena strikes out against what's almost always Miz's weak point, his pride, and forces him to accept his challenge. He mumbles venomously under his breath all the way to the back, Riley careful to keep a safe distance as they head through the hallways to the locker room. "It'll be ok," he finally attempts, looking worriedly at his mentor as Miz almost throws the briefcase into the room, nearly clipping a visiting Jack Swagger's Soaring Eagle. They both ignore the indignantly flapping... creature as they settle in on benches, Miz's eyes downcast as he picks at the laces of his boots.

Alex decides to give him his space, instead keeping an eye on Raw's developments. Miz only looks up when the tag team match begins and they watch as the Hart Dynasty finally disintregrates completely, the thunderous look on his face only growing worse. Alex frowns as he looks from Mike to the TV and back again curiously. "Miz?" he asks quietly but before he can say anything else, the locker room door opens.

Miz stands instantly, stopping Morrison from walking past them. "You wanted to talk about the tag belts... well, now's the time," Mike announces, their eyes locking. The tension in the room immediately doubles, if not triples, and Alex looks around as if to see if he's the only one among the scattered people in the room who senses it.

John stares at him for a long moment, eyebrow raised, before shrugging. "Ok. Here?"

Miz sneers. "Hardly. Come on." He motions out the door and waits for Morrison to move. When he doesn't after a few moments, Mike rolls his eyes and brushes past him, heading down the hallway to somewhere a little less active. He finally stops down a semi-lit hallway, pleased with its emptiness. "Did you watch the tag match?"

"I caught the end of it," Morrison admits. "Guess we have a little less competition in the running for the tag belts now."

Miz nods, feeling about as thrilled about it as John sounds. Not that losing another competing team in the running for the tag belts is a bad thing- it's just that more and more teams are failing around them and it brings back some bad memories, ones that Miz has started to think are best left in the past. But sometimes just glossing over them aren't the easiest thing in the world.

Before he can say anything, Morrison shifts and starts first. "If you're thinking about before, don't. Things are different- _we're_ different than we were back then. Besides, if nothing else, we both want to stick it to the email GM and that's enough to _not_ repeat our old mistakes."

Mike tilts his head, smirking a bit. "Getting wise in your old age, John?"

"Shut up." He sobers after a moment, looking around. "I know we probably won't have many opportunities for the tag belts since the email GM doesn't like us but his options are kind of running low with all these teams breaking up. We should make the most of whatever we get."

"Yeah," Miz mutters. "There's, what, the Usos and Santino/Kozlov left on Raw? That's kinda pathetic when you think about it. Oh, wait, I shouldn't talk about Santino like that, right? You might feel the need to defend him again."

John rolls his eyes. "Come on, Riley might get fretful if you leave him alone too long."

"Ha-ha."

"Let's see what the anonymous General Manager thinks about this," Miz says mockingly, staring angrily up the ramp at Cena. He's still annoyed about the digs towards his inability to cash in from earlier, and as much as he'd like to get in there and take it out on Cena, he has to be smart about things, Morrison's words stuck in the back of his mind as he addresses his challenger. "I substitute Alex Riley into the match!" A few moments pass and nothing happens, Miz nodding as Alex rushes down to face off against Cena.

Alex loses and Miz faces off with Orton after dragging him out of the ring, a bit worried by his sluggish reaction time. Orton gets the upperhand as Miz's attention is divided between way too many things and before long, Mike is being tossed out of the ring, dazed. Once he regains his wits a bit more, he grabs Riley and drags him out of the ring side area, glowering as Cena and Orton stare at each other. He's half up the ramp when the lights flicker, that obnoxious email sounder echoing through the arena.

"I've received another email!" Cole calls out needlessly and Miz groans, pulling Alex closer as they stop and turn around to see what the annoying email GM has to say _now._ Something tells him he'll want to hang around and listen. "And I quote, _Miz, your blatant disregard for matches I make is overwhelming. Even so, I thank you for substituting Alex Riley in your match against Cena tonight; because of that, I can make this match without listening to you complaining about how you didn't get a fair chance. Tonight, there will be a #1 contendership match for the tag team titles. The Usos vs John Morrison and The Miz."_

He gapes in amazement as a now more lucid Alex looks over at him, smiling. "That's great!" he offers, his words half drowned out as the email sounder goes off again.

"Oh great," Mike groans.

Cole stops midstep away from the podium holding the laptop and returns. " _I forgot something,"_ he reads, adjusting his glasses. _"If Miz and Morrison fail at winning this match, they will be banned from going after tag titles- as a unit or separately- permanently."_

Miz pales, his mouth gaping open, and it's Alex's turn to take the lead, directing him to the back.

Morrison meets them in the locker room, studiously ignoring the amused murmurs from their fellow wrestlers that only grows in volume at Mike's entrance. "Come on," he mutters, throwing a glance over his shoulder before turning Miz around and pushing him back out of the room. They return to that abandoned hallway, John immediately slumping to the floor and sighing. "Well, this isn't quite what we had in mind when we discussed this earlier," he comments.

"To say the least," Mike responds, pressing his palms into his eyes hard. "Damn GM just doesn't know talent when he sees it," he grumbles, kicking the wall behind him.

Morrison rests his head back against the wall and ponders, staring at the ceiling. "Well, all we can do is go out there and-"

"If you say do our best, I'm gonna scream," Miz warns as Morrison chuckles a little.

The match with the Usos comes up quicker than either Miz or Morrison are prepared for, Alex tagging along again as they head for the gorilla position. Miz scrubs his hands through his hair, making it stand even more on end as they wait for the Usos to enter the ring.

Morrison glances over at him and nods, as if to say _Relax._ Strangely enough, he does a bit, taking a deep breath and letting the crowd's energy wash over him. It distracts him from what all could go wrong within the next ten minutes, how he may never even come close to cashing in the briefcase if they don't win this match. Alex pats him on the arm just before his music starts and he wonders how exactly he went from being a loner, mocked by pretty much everyone, to having a tag partner _and_ a protege. It's a weird feeling, but he thinks he almost likes it.

The Usos may be a bit green but they're fast and hardhitting when they're focused. Even so, Morrison holds his own alright for awhile against Jimmy, only losing his momentum when Jey hits him from behind when he gets too close to the opposing corner, and for awhile they double team him as Miz shifts, tugging anxiously on the tag rope. Finally Morrison gets enough time as Jey tags in to catch his breath and kicks Jey away from him with both feet before diving over to his corner and slapping Miz's hand.

Miz clips Jey with a hard elbow to the skull before punching Jimmy off the apron, not wanting to open himself up to a potential attack now that he's seen what they're capable of. He turns his attention back to Jey, discovering that he's in the corner, dazed. He smirks and takes off at a run, clotheslining him and burying him into the turnbuckle. As he staggers towards the middle of the ring, Mike spots John watching intently and glances to find Jimmy arguing with the referee. He smirks, a ridiculous thought coming to him. He holds his hand up, and begins to mock Santino by overexaggeratedly doing the motions for the cobra.

Morrison's rolling his eyes at him when he spots movement behind him. "MIKE! Behind you," he yells, distracting his tag partner from mimicking Santino's finisher.

Mike spins around to find Jey advancing on him and, without thinking, lashes out with his hand. When Jey drops like he's been hit with a tranquilizer dart, he blinks in shock, taking a step back. "It works? What the f-?" He feels a slap on his shoulder and turns to discover he's moved in range for Morrison, who's tagged himself in.

He quickly steps aside as John climbs up the turnbuckle and hits the starship pain, rolling off of Jey instinctively as his ribs protest the move. Within seconds, he's rolling back over to pin the younger man, Miz holding his breath as the referee counts. "One... two... three!"

Miz gapes in amazement as John laughs breathlessly, standing up carefully and joining him. "Guess Santino knows what he's talking about with the cobra after all, huh?"

"I will never admit that," he mutters even as long-forgotten hope blossoms in him. _We have another chance at Survivor Series! I bet the Email GM is so pissed at himself right now... Never bet against the greatest tag team of the 21st century,_ he thinks with a smirk as the ref raises their hands in victory.

His good mood lasts all of fifteen minutes, before he hears something about Morrison challenging Sheamus this Sunday. "Tell me that was a mindless rumor," he says blankly when John finally reenters the locker room, talking quietly to Santino as Kozlov wanders in behind them, an annoyed look on his face.

"What?" he asks, running his fingers through his hair before sitting down across from Miz. Santino pauses for a moment, uncertain what he should do, but ultimately pats Kozlov on the arm and leads the way over to another set of benches. Miz's eyes track the two and Morrison rolls his eyes. "You jealous, Miz?"

"Are you kidding me? Of course not, _Morrison._ I just think we should be a bit more careful what we get involved in leading up to Survivor Series. Being Superman to Santino's Lois Lane isn't exactly the best thing to do right now, don't you think? Actually, I take that back, he's not Lois Lane... he's more like Lana Lang... yeah. That's right..." he mumbles, before turning his attention back to Morrison. "Well?"

"Look, we've both had to wrestle two matches in one night a few times since the Email GM began this whole vendetta, I think we've both proven we can handle it easily enough. I wouldn't have challenged Sheamus if I didn't think I could've handled it. Trust me for once, Miz." John's eyes flash warningly as Miz opens his mouth to argue further. "I won't screw up your precious tag title aspirations." That said, he stands up so quickly that he pushes the bench up against the lockers, making everyone cringe with the squeeching noise that follows. Before Miz can stop him, he leaves, slamming the door behind him.

"Don't say a word," Miz warns the wide eyed Santino, who dutifully looks away.

Around thirty minutes after Morrison stormed out of the locker room, Miz heads off to locate him. He may be annoyed with John's decision to wrestle Sheamus on top of the tag title match this Sunday but bad things happen when they begin arguing and the last thing he needs is to spend the next six days worrying about how they're going to gel at Survivor Series.

He's wandering down the main hallway when he hears a loud thud and shouts from somewhere ahead of him. Normally he wouldn't care about some tech's mishap but there's an odd feeling in his stomach, his ears beginning to ring as he nears where the sound came from. He turns a corner and comes to an abrupt stop, his stomach dropping. He turns without thinking to Alex, who somehow is always there even when Miz isn't aware that he's being followed. "Get a trainer!" he says, his own voice sounding distant and somehow too loud all at once. Without checking to see if Alex heeds his order, he rushes towards where Gerald Brisco and Arn Anderson are leaning over a downed Morrison, almost knocking Gerald over as he skids to a stop next to his tag partner, quickly dropping to his knees and resting a hand on his back. "What happened?" he barks at the legends, brushing the hair out of Morrison's eyes to find he's completely out.

"Sheamus," Arn offers after they get over their shock at almost getting run over. "He came out of nowhere and kicked John... it looked like he hit his head on that rack."

Miz follows his pointing hand to the offending item and sucks in a hissing breath, leaning over to look at John easier. "Come on, wake up," he grumbles, patting him on the side of the face awkwardly, since he's still laying partially face down on the ground. "What is it with you and Alex tonight?" he wonders, allowing his hand to rest on John's cheek similarly to how he had done only around an hour earlier with the former NXT Rookie.

Only a couple more minutes pass before Alex finally returns with the trainer following closely behind, panting for breath. "Give us some space," he orders, crouching down next to John. "Anyone moved him?"

"No," Gerald answers when Miz looks around with a suspicious glance.

"Good," the trainer comments, quickly placing a neck brace on him despite the awkward angle. "He hit his head?"

"Yeah, on that rack," Arn pipes up, once more pointing at it.

The trainer tsks. "Ok, let's move him," he mumbles as soon as the brace is around him securely. Miz returns to Morrison's side almost immediately, causing the trainer to blink. He wisely says nothing though, as they work together at carefully turning John over. A large bruise is already forming over his left eye but he appears to be stirring already, eyes fluttering as they lay him back on the floor.

"Got smelling salts, doc?" Miz asks, masking his worry with sarcasm, almost reluctant to remove his hand from John's shoulder.

Morrison mumbles something, attempting to move his head and failing as the brace holds him in place. It appears to be enough to wake him up more, his eyes fluttering open as he struggles once more to move.

"John? We had to put you in a neck brace. Don't fight it," the trainer says soothingly, holding him down with a hand pressed to his shoulder. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Sheamus," he mumbles, his eyes clearing slowly as he looks up at the trainer, then over to Miz. "Mike?"

"I told you to leave him alone, idiot," Miz chides him, the worry in his eyes belying his caustic words. "But no, don't listen to me... of course not."

"My apologies. I'll remember that next time," he says sarcastically, his eyes closing tiredly.

Miz just shakes his head, lips twitching upwards. _He's being sarcastic, he'll be ok. Just hopefully it'll be by Sunday..._ He sobers. _First I have to make sure Sheamus doesn't decapitate him before the tag match._

Miz's long night's not quite over, however, as he's wandering around the hallway outside of the trainer's room, waiting for Morrison to finish being looked over. The trainer's being overly thorough this go around, not wanting to play around with head injuries so it seems to be taking forever. He's so distracted with thoughts of Survivor Series and Morrison's injury that he doesn't see the attack coming until he squints up at the person standing over him, his head- and everything else- aching.

"I'm coming for that belt of yours," a vaguely familiar voice drifts over him, dragging him closer to awareness. "Don't get comfortable; _I_ definitely don't care if you can cash in Money in the Bank or not... I deserve gold all my own, not some pathetic hand-me-down, and I _will_ get it."

As the person walks off, he looks up in time to see Maryse walk up and hug the man. He groans, his attacker's identity coming to him in a rush of realization. _Ted DiBiase... damn..._

Bonus scene added for Jasmine (set after Morrison drags Miz out of the locker room):

"Hey, where did A-Ri go?" he asks a moment later, glancing around the darkened hallway. He feels a little bad, remembering how out of it the kid was after wrestling Cena. "He-" Before he can finish his thought, Riley wanders up to them, as if summoned by the mere mention of his name, and he blinks. "Where were you?"

"Catering," he comments, looking better now that he's had some food. "Bought you some too!"

He holds out a plate of French fries to Miz, who looks a little weirded out but takes them anyway. "Let me guess, they had cheeseburgers and you left the fries for me?"

"Yep."

"Oh, isn't that cute?" Morrison asks, humored.

Before Miz can glare over his shoulder at him, Alex moves past him and holds something out. "Didn't forget you," he says cheerfully.

John blinks a few times before taking the styrofoam glass from him. "Uhh, ok?" He pulls the lid off of it tentatively and sniffs at the concoction. "Huh, a protein drink. Ah, uh, thanks."

Miz sighs as he eats a couple fries, relieved for the brief comfort the food provides. _If only Riley had remembered the ketchup,_ he thinks. He looks over to find Morrison distracted, peering off the other way into the darkness, and an evil idea comes to him. Using the dim lighting to his advantage, he leans forward and quickly dips a couple fries into the protein drink.

John turns his head quickly and gapes as Miz eats the chocolate covered fries, a pleased smirk on his face. "You did not," he says warningly, looking down at his drink.

"Did what?" he asks, feigning innocence. Before Morrison can say anything else, he makes a big show out of licking his fingers.

"Disgusting," he mumbles, putting the protein drink down.

"Oh please, a little grease won't hurt you," he says with an eye roll, eating a few more fries.

"Whatever you say," John says doubtfully.

"Exactly, whatever _I_ say." When John makes no move to continue drinking his protein drink, Miz resumes dunking his fries into it.

"You better not throw up during the tag match," is all Morrison says upon catching him at it once more.


	19. Chapter 19

Another Sunday, another pay per view. John Morrison watches blankly as his tag partner, Miz, wanders around the locker room, close to pacing. "Will you sit down?" he asks finally, the man's nonstop motion making _him_ feel anxious.

"No, no I won't, _John_. Tonight is it, you know? I have Ted DiBiase after my title, you just had to wrestle Sheamus... not to mention the tag title match later on." His frantic eyes rest briefly on the bright red briefcase waiting in one of the cubbies over Morrison's head as he swallows. "I don't know if I... if I'll be able to do this." He scrubs at his mouth with a shaking hand and shakes his head. "Dammit."

John's lips twist unhappily as he takes in Miz's uncertainty, something once rare that's only happened more and more often since the email GM threw them back together as a tag team in July. "You know, this is probably stating the obvious but I think... once we have the tag belts back," he pauses a moment, rethinking his words. _Probably not the best idea to get his hopes up but maybe if he thinks I believe we can do it, it'll make it easier? I don't know... Oh well, can't take it back now._ He clears his throat. "You should just go for it."

Miz's eyes snap to his face, stopping a moment on the still visible yellow bruise above his eyebrow before their eyes lock, curiosity warring with the deep reluctance to believe in his words. "What do you mean?"

Morrison looks up at the briefcase and says, "Well, if the email GM isn't going to give you a moment's peace while you have it, then do what you have to do. Maybe not tonight but ASAP."

Miz is about to answer when the locker room door opens. Alex Riley hovers in the doorway, looking back and forth between him and John. "Uh, your match is next, Mike." Without a side glance to Morrison, he collects his briefcase and US title, brushing past Alex.

"Good luck," John mumbles to thin air, flicking the TV on to watch.

The match starts off slow, Ted feeling Miz out for awhile with a couple lock ups in the middle of the ring but after a few elbows to the throat, Miz lands on his back, dazed, and John cringes as Ted climbs the top rope and lands a harsh elbow to his sternum. Ted goes for a cover but Mike manages to kick him away. Before he can regain his balance completely after scrambling to his feet, DiBiase grabs his leg during another kick attempt and twists it, sweeping him back down to the mat. Ted immediately drops onto him, raining punches down on him before going for another cover.

Morrison sighs as he only gets another two, immediately rolling his eyes as the camera pans over to a spastic Alex Riley who's looks like he's seizing as he slams his fists against the apron in attempts to encourage Miz on. _Oh, brother. Guess that's why he keeps Riley around, since the audience won't cheer for him._

Miz regains his footing quickly this go around, dropkicking an advancing DiBiase and sending him into the ring ropes. Without thinking, he clotheslines him over the top and to the outside before sliding under the bottom rope to join him. A few punches and DiBiase is staggering around, tripping over his own feet as Miz smirks, falling back into his element like the flip of a switch. John shakes his head in amusement as he watches, knowing that all of Miz's problems are now far from his attention, focus locked completely on the here and now. Miz leads Ted over to the barricade wall, picking up speed as they go, just to drop, slingshotting him into the hard black material forcefully.

"Get back in here!" the ref yells, mid-count, looking annoyed. But it doesn't matter as Miz drags Ted upright and pushes him back into the ring, sliding in after him at the eight count. Miz covers him but he kicks out just before the ref hits the apron for a third count and Morrison mutters a curse as Mike stands, looking about as annoyed as he feels.

DiBiase gets up really fast, still a little off balance, but somehow knocking Miz to the apron with an intense clothesline of his own. He grabs Miz and puts him into position for the Dream Street but Miz elbows him right in the jaw, startling him. Another elbow and he's released, taking the opportunity to slip behind and grab Ted under the arms. Ted barely has a second to think when his legs are sweeped out from under him, his face smacking into the apron. Miz covers him once more and John nods in relief as finally a third count is earned.

_One down, two to go,_ he thinks, grabbing his coat and sunglasses to go face Sheamus since his match is next. _Least our matches are early on so we get some time to prepare for the tag match later._ He stops abruptly at the doorway, turning around as Miz's voice comes from the TV, watching as some of his tension melts away when the ref gives him his belt and he holds it safely in his hand.

"I'm really getting tired of holding this briefcase," he says a bit breathlessly, blinking against the sweat trickling down his forehead as Alex hands over the aforementioned object. "It's not _if,_ it's _when!"_

Morrison blinks at the TV as he leaves the ring and the scene changes into the history of his issue with Sheamus. "Guess my suggestion earlier worked," he mumbles, actually relieved to see the return of cocky Miz. _Now we have a chance,_ he thinks, feeling better about things as well.

His confidence continues as he beats Sheamus, despite his abused leg. His tentative walk as he rejoins them in the locker room isn't missed by Mike or Alex but he brushes it off. "I'm fine," he insists before either can say anything, sitting across from them as he unlaces his boots. _Two out of three._

"You better be," Miz comments, the worried look in his eyes belying the casual tone behind his words.

Two hours gives him enough time for his leg to start feeling better but he knows the smallest thing could cause it to flare back up so he carefully stretches before the match, not willing to risk it by going all out with his usual pre-match parkour workout. "Ready?" Miz asks as he stands up, Alex lingering behind him as always.

"Yep. Let's go do this." His leg feels a lot better as they walk to the ring, John coming out to Miz's music for once. He looks around in amusement as the audience buzzes in confusion. _It never really gets old,_ he thinks, a bit of his former self unearthing as he takes in their reaction to a heel and face teaming together. All feeling of hilarity fades from his mind as Nexus' music plays, Heath Slater and Justin Gabriel coming out alone with the precious tag belts around their waists. _Yep, it's gotta be a trap,_ Morrison thinks, glancing over at Miz to find him staring back. They share a nod, obviously coming to the same conclusion. _This should be interesting._

Heath and Miz start the match off but instead of fighting him, Slater gets in his face. John can't hear his comments over the buzz from the audience but whatever it is must be bad as Miz snaps and punches Heath square in the face, dazing him.

As the ref admonishes Miz, Heath gets away and lunges for Justin. "Miz!" Morrison warns him, leaning as far as he dares while clinging to the tag rope. When Mike looks up to find Justin entering the ring, he rolls his eyes and brushes past the referee, quickly tagging John in.

"I want Slater," he explains when John glances his way curiously before entering the ring.

_Great. I wonder what he said,_ he thinks as he faces off with Gabriel, the first few seconds spent sizing the other up before they lock up. Morrison overpowers him but he dodges the kick that follows, chopping John hard across the chest. He gasps for air at the stinging sensation, finally hitting a solid kick to the side of Justin's face. As Justin collapses, Morrison rubs at his chest a moment before going after him once more. This brief pause ends up being a mistake as Gabriel succeeds in a drop toehold, sending him straight into the corner.

"Hey!" he hears Miz yell out, trying to get into the ring as he spots what a perilous situation Morrison is in. He groans as the referee rushes over to keep Mike in his corner, opening John up further for an ambush. Sure enough, Slater reaches in through the ropes and grabs him, holding him down as Justin works him over with punches and elbows. John shakes himself out of the beatdown induced fog long enough to get his legs up and kicks Gabriel hard, putting enough distance between them to elbow Slater, whose hold slips. He drops down just enough to kick upwards, smirking as his boots contact with Heath's skull, sending the man off of the apron. Now that the path to Miz is open, he stumbles past Justin and tags in quickly, relieved to lean against the turnbuckle and catch his breath as he watches Miz go after a still down Gabriel, sending him facefirst into the bottom rope.

He's dragging him into the middle of the ring when John notices movement behind Miz. His need for a breather is immediately forgotten as he realizes their earlier worry of a trap is correct- the rest of Nexus storms the ringside area. He ignores the referee's warning and rushes in, putting himself between Miz and the members as they surround the ring, tension ratcheting until Morrison can barely take in a full breath. Otunga moves first, leaping up onto the apron in front of him. He lunges for him but he drops back down, Morrison's fist contacting with thin air. As the ref struggles to regain some order, pushing John back to his corner, he notices Miz going after McGullicutty just for him to drop back to safety as well, a now free Justin slipping past him to tag in Heath. Heath advances on his distracted tag partner, quickly rolling him up from behind. The ref rushes into position to count the three and Morrison is just a split second too late regaining his senses, rushing through the ropes just to arrive as the referee counts the three. He comes to a stop at Miz's side, jaw sagging a little as he takes in the fact that they've lost _another_ chance at the tag belts, despite all the motivation gained earlier in the evening.

He can't bring himself to look down at his unmoving tag partner, instead watching as Nexus celebrates with the tag titles on the outside of the ring, mocking looks on their faces. He's never really understood the term _seeing red_ but as his blood boils within him, well aware that they had a good chance at winning if the other members of Nexus had stayed away, he thinks he sees it. His chance to fix this is slipping through his fingers as Nexus heads up the ramp, still celebrating in their obnoxious way. He lunges to his feet, yelling over the top rope at the ring announcer. "Give me a microphone!" he orders, eyes flashing.

Hesitant to get too close to him, the ring announcer holds the microphone out as far as he can possibly manage, so as not to get in Morrison's range of attack while he's in this mood.

He presses the microphone to his lips, breathing heavily as he tries not to scream into the item, all the stress and anxiety from the last five months crashing down on him. His eyes lock on Nexus as they wait to see what he has to say, all smirking and laughing as Miz sits motionlessly next to him, more than likely shocked from the horrible outcome of the match that so much of his hopes depended on. "Hey, Anonymous Raw GM. Are you watching right now?" he asks, struggling to keep his tone level. "Are you? I know you think we're just a couple of nuances so I'm going to prove you right, here and now. I want you to restart this tag match right now. I think we've proven ourselves in getting more tag title opportunities no matter what you do, so either here tonight we finish this or tomorrow night, or the next week... but either way, we're not giving up. So what do you say? God forbid you get labeled as an unfair, biased GM, right?"

It seems to take a lifetime as he breathes in and out, out of things to say that could possibly goad the GM into paying attention, but finally the lights flash as the email sounder echoes through the arena, followed by a chorus of boos. Despite the audience's reaction, it's a relief to Morrison as Cole goes through his usual rambling before finally reading the email. _"_ And I quote... _I don't take kindly to being ordered around by_ my _superstars, John Morrison. But if it will get you out of the ring quickly, very well. This tag team match will be restarted- with a couple of conditions. To make things fair, so you won't complain in the future that I sabotauged you or the Miz's chances. First, all other members of Nexus will be banned from ringside. And second, you think you can get title opportunities no matter what_ I _do? Well, not if, after this match, you're banned from all number one contendership matches. So this is your last chance, I suggest you make it count."_ Gabriel and Heath talk amongst themselves as their team mates leave but before they can get too far up the ramp, the sounder goes off again. " _One more thing,_ " Cole reads, " _Nexus being banned from ringside also holds for the main event."_

Morrison chuckles as he catches sight of Heath and Justin's face, before realizing that Miz is still sitting, his back pressed against the turnbuckles as if he forgot how to hold himself up after losing to Slater. "Come on," he says, grabbing Mike under the arm and dragging him up. "You with me?"

Miz blinks a few times before focusing on John, his eyes slowly clearing. "Did you get us another chance or was I hearing things?"

"You heard right. It's just my powers of persuasion. I'll start this time, you get over to our corner before the referee gets mad again." He gives him a slight push, turning to face off against Heath Slater once more.

"Think you're smart, don't you? Forcing the GM to restart this match... I'll show you," he yells, lunging at Morrison with an outstretched fist. Before he can make contact, John dodges and kicks him in the back of the head, sending him into the turnbuckle. Like Miz earlier, he forgets everything that's happened before him, his old familiarity with the ring coming back to him as he rushes Heath and grabs him around the throat, slinging him down to the ring face first. Rolling him over, he quickly covers him just to come up with a two.

Heath tries squirming away towards his corner but John grabs ahold of his leg, holding on as he struggles. He grips him tightly, aided by the grooves in his boots and knee braces as he pulls the man back, towards where Miz is waiting patiently in the corner. "Here ya go," he mumbles, tagging him in.

Miz has obviously been waiting for this as he kicks him viciously in the head, barely nodding at John as he releases Heath and ducks into his corner to watch the proceedings. "Think you can make a fool of me, huh?" he yells, slapping him coldly across the mouth, causing Morrison and most of the audience to flinch. Lifting him up, he slingshots him into the corner and follows it up with a running clothesline that buries him into the turnbuckle, leaving him limp enough to slip to the mat as soon as Miz removes his arm.

John glances from Miz to Justin to Heath, the obviousness of Heath's next move slapping him in the face about as surely as Miz did to Slater just a few moments earlier, before he slips off of the apron. Making sure to stay low, he sneaks around to the other side as Mike frees his legs from the ropes. Sure enough, Slater's trying to regain his faculties enough to reach Justin and Mike's still just a bit too far away as Heath leaps forward to get the tag but before Justin reaches out, Morrison grabs him by the legs and pulls him off of the apron, effectively killing the tag.

Unable to do anything, Heath turns to find Mike waiting for him and takes a swing at him again just to get punched once more. Miz then grabs him by the hair and slams him face first into the turnbuckle, dazing him further. Morrison leans up so he can see, a knee pressed to his squirming opponent's sternum keeping Justin down as Miz rolls Slater up, mirroring how he lost the first part of the match while distracted due to Nexus. When the ref counts the three count, John immediately forgets Gabriel and rolls into the ring, his eyes locked on the tag belts as the referee brings them to the new champions.

"Oh my God," Miz whispers, fingering the belts as if afraid they're about to disappear. "We did it," he says, looking up at John.

"Yep, we did," he says, releasing a deep breath that feels like he's been holding it in for weeks, if not months.

_Three out of three._

Morrison breathes against his title belt, shining it as he half watches the King of the Ring qualifying matches. His is later on in the evening but he has an interest in watching this particular match, having heard somewhere that Miz is supposed to compete at some point in the evening. He hasn't seen the man all evening, which is strange. Miz is, after all, one of those people who it's hard to miss with his loud voice and obnoxious declarations. He winces as Miz's music follows Ezekiel Jackson's, looking up when Alex Riley comes out instead. He frowns. _Where_ is _Miz?_

As soon as A-Ri's match ends, he gives up polishing the belt, deciding it's as shiny as a bronze title can possibly be, and goes to find the former NXT rookie. He's not hard to find, moving slowly down the hallway towards the trainer's. "Hey," John calls out, stopping him.

"Oh, hey, Morrison," he says almost reluctantly, turning towards him.

"You said Miz had an anxiety attack?" There's no way to keep the incredulity out of John's voice so he doesn't even bother, raising an eyebrow at Alex as he tightens his hold on his sore ribs. "I don't recall him mentioning having one before."

"First time for everything, right? I have to go," Alex says, gasping in an exaggerated way as he stumbles down the hall to the left.

"Uh, the trainer's is that way," John calls after him, pointing to the right.

"Oh yeah," Alex cringes, forcing a smile as he turns around.

John rolls his eyes. _Yeah, that wasn't suspicious at all._

He doesn't see Miz the rest of the evening, which would be worrisome if Alex hadn't seemed so casual about it all only an hour earlier. After hanging out with Melina for awhile, he qualifies for the King of the Ring tournament and returns to the locker room, surprised by how vacant it all is without someone to at least comment on his victory, even if just to mock him. "Huh," he mumbles, uncertain about these thoughts. "Oh well." He's still keyed up so when meditation doesn't really work for once, he returns to wandering the halls. He thinks something's going on as there are groups of people surrounding the monitors but he's so distracted by wondering where Miz is hiding at and considering his own chances next week that he doesn't think twice about it.

"Hey, John," he hears Melina call behind him. "Congratulations on qualifying for King of the Ring," she says as she joins him, smiling up at him. "I knew you could do it."

"Thanks," he replies, smiling back. "Think you wishing me good luck earlier helped."

"Oh yeah?"

Before he can answer, a familiar voice interrupts their conversation. "Hey, _toots,_ go bug someone else," Miz says, walking up behind John, his hands clasped behind his back.

Melina's face darkens as she looks over Morrison's shoulder. "Oh great," she mumbles, glaring at the intrusion. "I'll see you later, John," she offers before flouncing off.

"What the hell was that?" John demands, turning towards his tag partner. "Seriously? Ar-" Before he can finish his question, Miz brings his hands forward to reveal the WWE title to Morrison, lips twitching as his jaw drops at the sight of the belt. "Wait, did you- you cashed in!" Little hints through the evening suddenly click into place and he feels stupid for not figuring it out sooner. "Dammit, I missed it."

Too thrilled and abuzz from the adrenaline still rushing through his system, he brushes it off. "I'm taking the footage, you can watch it whenever." He falls quiet as he looks down at the title belt, looking more relaxed than he has in about as long as Morrison can remember. "Oh yeah." He turns and motions Alex forward, tossing the rental keys to him. "Hey, go get the car and bring it around. I wanna go celebrate." The kid's face brightens as he grips the keys and starts to walk off. Miz's voice stops him. "You're gonna be the designated driver!" His shoulders slumping slightly, Riley forces himself to nod before resuming out to the parking area.

"He's never going to live that down, is he?" John asks, humored.

"Not for awhile, nope." Miz swallows, suddenly looking almost... nervous as he looks over at John. "But that was mostly an excuse because I didn't want him to hear what I have to tell you. I have a reputation to uphold, after all."

"Alright," John mutters, unsure if he really needs or wants to hear this. He's never one to back down, however, so he holds his ground as Miz's gaze grows more confident, intense almost.

"Well, I'll never admit to saying this so don't even bother telling anyone." He pauses and takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what's to come."But I wouldn't have made it this far without you, and God knows you could've walked away at any time. Sure, I know that part of it was the GM could've suspended you, but you could've taken the easy way out and done what Cena did last night just to get back at me because of everything wrong between us. Instead, you stood up and did a lot to make sure I even got to this point so... I wanted to say... thank you." It's awkward but strangely familiar all at once as Miz steps closer and hugs John for the first time since the draft that caused the divide between them.

John freezes, his brain stuck on Mike's unexpected words before time restarts and he slowly lifts his arms, hugging Miz back hesitantly. "You're welcome," he mumbles, dazed. He can't help but remember the draft and how final that had felt too, the end of a chapter of his career, the same doubts and worries from back then running through his mind once more as he waits for something to happen. _It's not like he needs me anymore,_ he thinks slowly. _He has what he wants now, after all._ Miz pulls away, clearing his throat awkwardly as he looks away from John. _Any time now._ As they stand around, a slight awkwardness still in the air, John holds his breath, almost waiting for Miz to do or say something but nothing happens until his phone begins buzzing to alert Miz to a text.

"Car's ready," he comments calmly, turning towards the exit.

Morrison's head is swimming with a mishmash of confused thoughts and feelings as he watches him walk off, almost relieved that he's leaving so he can just sit here and think for awhile about what's happened in the last twenty four hours; with enough time, maybe it would all start to make sense. "Uh, yeah, ok. Have fun tonight," he comments, trying to concentrate on his surroundings now that the obvious time for another betrayal has passed.

Miz stops midstep and turns to look back at him, eyebrow raised incredulously. He almost looks surprised that John is still sitting by the wall. "Um."

"What?" John asks, hands twitching around the strap of his tag belt. _Great, now what?_

"You idiot," he says, shaking his head. "You're invited too, you know?"

His eyes soften as some of his worries ease away. "Oh, ok. Sure." He collects his scattered things and quickly joins Miz, shaking his head at himself.

"Can I ask you something?" he asks out of nowhere as they walk out into the slightly cool November evening.

Morrison blinks a few times, still collecting his scattered thoughts, before mumbling, "Uh, yeah, sure."

"I've asked before and you dodged the question pretty expertly but considering I'm the world champ now," he smirks proudly, loving how those words sound and still barely daring to believe it. "I still want to know how exactly you got us the tag title opportunity the first time. I can't think of any connections you could have that would be able to go over the Email GM so quickly... and I'll be honest, I've pondered it a _lot._ "

"Well, if I tell you, you can't tell anyone else," he warns, shifting as he buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "So I guess we both would be taking a vow of silence over this conversation."

Mike rolls his eyes, chuckling a little bit. "Fine, fine. Just tell me already."

"You remember when I first joined WWE, I was Eric Bischoff's assistant." They lean against the sides of the waiting car, looking over the roof at each other as Alex peers around at them from inside, wondering what the hold up is.

"Eh, yeah, Johnny Blaze, right? Well, for a week anyway..." Miz smirks as Morrison starts to look irritated at the reminder of his rapid name changes back in the day.

" _Any_ way. Well, despite his being out of WWE for so long, he still knew some people on the board of directors. He owed me a favor or two so it wasn't that hard to convince him to contact them. I found out the day of the pay per view that he had come through for me, and the board had sanctioned us being in the match."

"Hmmm." Miz nods thoughtfully, absorbing this information. "I see. Well, let's go, time's a-wastin'."

**Next morning**

Miz groans, waking up with a jerk as loud, repetitive beeps fill the hotel room. He scrubs at his eyes as strange, creepy dreams of Otunga in a turkey costume fade from his mind's eye. _Damn Thanksgiving,_ he thinks.

"Shut that off," Morrison's groggy voice comes from across the room.

"I'm not getting up," he mumbles, stuffing a pillow over his face. "You get up."

"Hey, it stopped," he faintly hears after a few moments.

"Thank God," he mumbles, throwing the pillow away before rolling over... just to groan out another curse.

"What?"

"Sunlight, right in my eyes." He rolls over again and squints over at Morrison (stretched out across Alex's bed) through the darkness, swallowing a yawn. "Where's Alex?"

"Dunno," he whispers. "Asleep?"

"Sure, but where? You hijacked his bed after we got in last night... uh, this morning?" He actually _giggles,_ mindlessly running his hand against something that alternates between hard ridges and soft leather. "Huh," he mumbles, rapping his knuckles against it, trying to understand why.

"What do you want from me? There's only two beds in here... not my fault hotel rooms are stupid," John responds, voice trailing off sleepily towards the end.

"True enough..." Miz slurs, dozing back off too.

Alex sits on a chair, blearily listening to them talk as he glares at Miz's cell phone, daring it to beep and wake him up again. He slowly pads over to the beds and rests it gently on the table between them, trying not to make too much noise. He glances over at Miz and smirks, shaking his head as Miz snuggles against the WWE title in his sleep. _What did I do to deserve this?_ he thinks, returning to the chair and sinking down into it.


	20. Chapter 20

It's a big night, in varying ways. Miz is unable to stop staring at his various title belts- the tag, US and WWE title gleaming from their positions on the locker room bench, reflecting even the pathetic lighting in the room like they're drenched in the brightest sunlight possible.

It's the single greatest sight he's ever seen.

He's not the only one distracted; John Morrison sits a few feet away, deep in thought- more than likely about the King of the Ring finals that are coming up. Alex Riley sits on a bench next to the door, running a rag across the battered surface of his Money in the Bank briefcase. Why exactly his apprentice chose to keep the red case after the victory last week, he's not sure but it could have use in the future so he doesn't say anything.

For once, he's too content to mock these two, anyway.

That is, until he goes to the ring for his celebration just for Jerry Lawler to interrupt and challenge him to a match, with the title on the line. It's little to no surprise when the GM Email gets involved and sanctions the match... going a step further and making it a Tables, Ladders and Chairs match.

His fists clench as he rushes back to the locker room, pulling the briefcase from Alex's grip and slinging it into the wall with all his might, barely feeling better even as the plaster cracks at the impact.

John jerks from his thoughts at the loud sound, peering back and forth from Alex to Miz. "Bad night?" he ventures, eyebrows raising as Miz looks back at him witheringly. He examines his tag partner's clothes and opens his mouth as if wanting to comment on the hoodie peeking out of his suit but, catching sight of Riley discreetly shaking his head behind him, clamps his mouth shut.

"I should have _known_ that the Email GM would find _some way_ to screw things up for me! I can't even have one week!" he yells back, slamming the locker room door open with such force that it too almost rams into the wall. He leaves in a flurry and both Alex and Morrison flinch as the door is forced shut behind him loudly. He wanders the hallway in an angry stupor for quite awhile, barely noticing anything around him until he finds himself outside, breathing deeply.

It's a quiet, cool evening, hints of December all around him. He's started to hate this kind of weather since moving to California, when the snow is almost palpable in the air, everything crisp and dry, as if the world's holding its breath for the first snowflake to ease down to the world to prove that Christmas is just a few weeks away. It's always too quiet, leaves him with nothing to do but sit and think. Completely opposite of the hustle and bustle of the nearly always warm, sunny west coast, where he can always find something to distract himself with.

Bad things happen when he has nothing to do but drown in his own scattered thoughts. Even so, he slumps down against the building, his body absorbing the chill from the bricks at his back. He's had precious little time to honestly just think since... well, since winning Money in the Bank way back in July. The Email GM's constant presence in his title aspirations hadn't given him much time for anything _but_ worrying, planning, attempts to find a way out of the mess. Luckily Morrison had come through just in time and he now had everything he wanted- but the Email GM was still just waiting in the wings for an opportunity to ruin things for him.

He knuckles his eyes, sighing loudly as mist streams from his lips. _Nothing's easy,_ he reminds himself, pressing the back of his head against the building until it begins to hurt. _No point in giving up now. I've fought every step of the way to get here, I'm not going to give up now. And for the first time in a long time, if you ignore the Email GM, things feel... ok. Alex is generally a decent apprentice, at any rate. And John and I can be in the same room without wanting to kill each other now. It's a start._ He ducks his head, rolling his eyes as the cold wind nips at his face once more. _Wish I had one of my scarves right about now._

He's about to give up and go inside, the cold not helping with his as always wayward thought process, but the door opens to his side before he can move. He grits his teeth, not even bothering to look up to see who it is. _Fat chance it's someone I'd actually want to see,_ he thinks, expecting someone to start mocking him at any time but, as the footsteps pause in front of him, he's startled when a coat is dropped over his still tilted head, immediately buffering him from the wind. He bats it away, keeping it up high so it still offers him _some_ protection but yet lets him see as well. He blinks as Morrison sits down next to him, his large, sequined coat all the protection he needs from the elements. "What are you doing?"

His tag partner shrugs, picking thoughtfully at one of the sequins on his sleeves as he holds the coat closed around him. "Just thought you should know there's a tag match next... Number one contendership for the tag belts." He rolls his head against the brick wall to look over at Miz. "Gabriel and Slater against Yoshi Tatsu and Mark Henry."

Miz closes his eyes, fingers clenching spastically against the coat. "If this is your attempt at cheering me up, well... you suck at it."

John shrugs. "What can I say, it's an art."

Mike scoffs, shifting against the hard wall and pulls the coat closer, realizing belatedly that it's Alex's. "Where's Riley at anyway?"

"I think he's still babying the briefcase," Morrison comments with a hint of humor in his dark eyes. "I think he loves that thing more than you do."

"Distinctly possible," Miz agrees with a grimace. "He better not expect me to apologize to it." At John's quick grin, he turns to look at him and sighs, shaking his head as if to dislodge the still scattered thoughts cluttering his brain. "So what's going on with King of the Ring?"

"Sheamus is facing Kofi right now. One of them will get a by and face either me or Alberto Del Rio." He glances over at Miz, eyes dark with a sudden intensity. "It's gonna be me, though."

Miz examines him, nodding silently. He finds he doesn't doubt it. "I guess we should go watch that tag match," he grumbles, struggling to stand up after who-knows-how-long against the cold wall. Not dropping Alex's precious coat against the ground makes it an even harder feat.

Morrison nods, standing easily- Miz scowls up at him- and turns to face a stiff Miz. "C'mon," he says lowly, holding a hand out to him. Mike grimaces but grips it after a momentary hesitation, allowing John to pull him to his feet. "Ya know," John says as they walk back into the arena. "It's a little funny that I'm wrestling _for_ King of the Ring and you're wrestling _The_ King."

"Ha-ha," Miz says dryly. "How long have you been waiting to say that?"

John just smirks as they head for the nearest monitor.

Miz and Alex share a glance as they head for the gorilla position, catching a glimpse of an obviously defeated Morrison laying on the ring on one of the monitors near catering. He shakes his head, disappointment _for_ John seizing him. Morrison's arm had been messed up during the match with Alberto Del Rio, not a surprise considering his opponent, but by what he had caught of the match against Sheamus, his tag partner had never quite given up, trying his hardest to work around his injury. In the end, the Irishman's brutal strength was just too much.

They reach the titantron area in time to see a referee help Morrison through the curtain leading to the ramp and Miz holds a hand out, stopping Alex from going further. As they stumble forward, the differences in their height making the journey forward all the more awkward, Miz hands his heavyweight title to Alex and walks up to the referee and John, placing a hand on his tag partner's good shoulder to stop their forward motion. "I got him," he tells the referee, eyes flashing warningly when the man opens his mouth as if to argue. Once the official backs away, Miz shifts his grip to under his arm so he's keeping him from keeling over at the smallest provocation.

"Mike?" John mumbles, his bad arm wrapped around his ribs.

"Yeah," Miz responds quietly, leading him down the hallway.

"Wha- your match," he comments, trying to pull away. As Miz stubbornly tightens his hold, John shakes his head, realizing he's too wiped out and in pain after three matches to force him away. "You're gonna-"

"Don't worry about it," Mike sighs. "They're on commercial, we have a minute. The trainer's room isn't that far away." He looks over his shoulder as Alex follows them, silently commanding him to stay near in case John ends up needing an extra set of hands. If not for Morrison's bad arm, he'd have Alex helping already because he can _feel_ how the man's trembling just with one hand wrapped around his bicep so he frets the whole trip down the hallway. Thankfully they make it after a painstakingly long, shuffling walk and Alex pushes the door open for them.

As the trainer begins looking a now settled Morrison over, Miz nods at Alex, almost _feeling_ the seconds as they tick away to his TLC match. "See you later, John," Mike says hurriedly, taking the title belt from Alex and dashing back to the gorilla position. Now that it's here, he just wants to go out there and get it over with, his body thrumming with reluctant anticipation of the beating that's to come. _I will probably need the trainer too by the end of all this,_ he thinks aggravatedly, arriving just before his music starts to play.

The match is _almost_ as brutal as he expects, his back and neck throbbing in time with his growing headache as he is thrown backfirst onto a ladder placed in the corner of the ring. _DAMN!_ he thinks, writhing against the cool steel before the pain becomes so bad that he can do little more than lay still. A little later he goes through a table and blinks fruitlessly as his awareness comes and goes in waves, the lights overhead shining right in his eyes. He thinks he sees out of the corner of his eye as Cole slides into the ring, the man's voice drilling into his skull as he tries to stand up. It's a slow process, getting to his feet, then rolling painfully into the ring and trying to climb the ladder. It feels like a decade but he manages to keep Jerry Lawler away from his title belt, flimsily gripping the leather belt.

When he finally knocks Jerry from the ladder, he tightens his grip around the belt, his vision still spinning as his back protests his arched position on the ladder. He finally succeeds at freeing the belt and sighs as he freefalls to the mat below, barely caring as a fresh wave of pain stabs through his body from the impact with the ring.

Alex is down on the outside of the ring, having also gone through a table, and Cole is scrambling away from Jerry, bruises already forming from where he was punched repeatedly. _I bet the Email GM loves that his chosen "voice of the WWE" is trying to help me,_ he thinks tiredly, his head falling back against the apron for a minute as he catches his breath. He slowly rolls to the apron and collapses out to the floor, his body once more throbbing as he lands next to Alex. "Hey, let's get out of here," he tells him after a few minutes spent again catching his breath, waiting as his apprentice tries to roll out of the shattered pieces of wood surrounding him.

The walk up the ramp is tedious, his body protesting almost every movement and, judging by his tentative steps, Riley feels about the same. They wearily support each other, stubbornly ignoring the referee as they continue trudging along, the heavy title belt in Miz's grip and the empty briefcase in Riley's grounding them.

It feels like heaven when they finally reach the trainer's room and get to relax, eased down on separate couches as the trainer takes turns at looking them over, grumbling to himself about not having a large enough office. "My back hurts," Alex moans after awhile, squirming in an attempt to find a comfortable position to lay.

"My _everything_ hurts," Miz and a still recuperating Morrison say at once from their places on either side of Alex, derailing his complaints successfully.

"I hate when you do that," he mumbles, glancing from left to right at both men.


	21. Chapter 21

"Wait, what?" Miz asks, confused as Michael Cole shifts in front of him, glancing around the hallway nervously.

He swallows, his cell phone held tightly between anxious fingers as he stares at Miz and repeats, "The anonymous GM sent me an email to tell you that you won't have to defend the WWE title until TLC. Due to what happened last week, he wants to make sure you're in good shape for your rematch against Randy Orton."

The skeptism doesn't leave Miz's face as he stares down at Cole, not believing it for a second. "Riiiight," he drawls sarcastically. "Tell your buddy thanks, will ya?" He doesn't wait to see Cole's response before inching back into the locker room and shutting the door solidly behind him. He crosses his arms over his chest and rolls his eyes, leaning against the doorframe. "How stupid do these people think I am?"

Oddly enough the Email GM's good mood or whatever the hell this is continues when Cole corners Miz at catering and tells him that the GM has also given him the choice on his and Orton's TLC match. He stares suspiciously as Cole shifts anxiously, waiting for some reaction from the new WWE champion. After a moment of strained silence, Cole slinks away, unnerved by his intense stare.

"Who knew you becoming WWE champion would make the Email GM pull a 180?" John Morrison cuts into his rampant thoughts, barely looking up from where he's poking around the table of food.

"This is definitely a trap," he mumbles, walking over to join John. "It's just too friggin' simple."

The strangeness of the evening continues through the first hour of Raw as Alex challenges Orton to a match when Miz comes out to relay what the Email GM had to say to him. He's brainstorming in the locker room about what exactly to do regarding Orton and Alex's match when another knock sounds on his locker room. He sighs, motioning to Alex, who answers the door.

"What do you want?" he asks, blocking Mike's view. Annoyed, he shifts to the side and peers around to see one of the many referees standing at the door.

"I was told to come find The Miz and John Morrison. There's been a four team elimination tag match made for the tag titles tonight and, well, it's next," he says, stepping backwards as Miz abruptly appears in front of him, dark blue eyes flashing as he pushes Alex out of the way to lay into the man about this last minute notification.

"When was the match made?" he barks at him, almost shaking due to the sudden anger coursing through him.

"I- five minutes ago?" the ref asks, looking startled as Miz's hands tighten around the edge of the door, his knuckles whitening as his hold intensifies along with his wayward emotions. "Uh, yeah, I'm going now."

Miz blinks as soon as the shorter man disappears from his sight and, realizing what exactly he's doing, forces his hand to release its tight grip on the door. He takes a deep breath and slowly turns to find Alex watching him worriedly. "I _knew_ this was too simple. Dammit."

He meets up with John at the gorilla position a little later, glaring down at the scuffed floor as they wait for their cue to go out. "This sucks," John says after a few minutes, the unusual silence from his tag partner beginning to weird him out.

"You always had an exceptional way of stating the obvious," Miz sighs, shifting the tag belt on his shoulder and finally glancing up, just barely dodging Morrison's gaze. "The email GM obviously set this up- he was probably trying to make me relax by thinking that he's not being as biased and then throw this match together when I least expected it."

Morrison sighs with a nod, glancing out at the ring as the three teams go out one by one. "Yeah. Well, at least it's not as vital as previously- if we lose, it's not like you're losing anything else. You've cashed in, so..." His words taper off as he glances at Miz, taking in the odd look on his half-shadowed face. "What? Something wrong?"

Mike looks from the tag belt on his shoulder to Morrison, still not quite meeting his eyes, and shrugs. "No, of course not," he says, taking a deep breath.

John frowns as he tracks Miz's gaze, his own eyes widening a little as he begins to suspect something. "You're worried about losing the tag belts."

"What?" he sputters, scoffing as he pushes past John to look out at the ring again. "Yeah right. I have the WWE title, why would losing the tag belts bother me?"

"You tell me," Morrison says, unable to say anything else before Miz's music plays. He sighs and, having no choice but to drop the conversation, follows him out to the ring, not liking their chances as he looks at the three teams waiting for them. If not for Mark's strength, he and Yoshi more than likely wouldn't be much of a problem, and considering the Usos still are a bit green, he's not overly worried about them either... but that leaves Santino and Kozlov. The odd pair's teamed together longer than pretty much any team currently active in the WWE, including he and Miz- not counting before the year-plus they spent hating each other.

"Here we go," Miz mumbles as the bell rings. John chooses to start off with Yoshi Tatsu and tries to slow the man down with forearms and kicks but Yoshi eventually gets control, obviously trying to keep Morrison away from their corner. Somehow Morrison gets some separation, reaches Miz before Yoshi can stop him and tags him in.

Miz gets caught in an armbar before he can even decide what to do first, Yoshi holding him down for a bit working his arm over before tagging Henry in. Warning bells going off in his head- _No injuries just after winning WWE title, no way-_ propell him forward to the only free corner, where he tags in one of the Usos and dashes outside, catching his breath as he returns to his and Morrison's corner.

He barely pays attention to the match, disinterested in the Usos getting beat up by Mark Henry, but when the much smaller Yoshi is tagged back in, his focus returns all at once. He's desperate for an opportunity, anything to hold onto the gold. He's not lacking in title belts and accolades, far from it, but he's grown so used to holding the belts again that just thinking about losing them leaves him feeling almost empty. He glances out of the corner of his eye at Morrison, unsettled by these thoughts, and almost misses his chance, turning back to find Yoshi sprawled out on the mat. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he quickly reaches out and slaps the current Uso on the back as he stupidly runs against the ropes close to Miz, slipping into the ring as the ref pushes Jey into his corner in an attempt to maintain order.

He pins Yoshi easily, working off of the momentum of the Usos, and barely has time to stand before the Usos begin going after him, tagging so rapidly he can't keep track of which one's in the ring at any one time. He dodges a flying headbutt but before he can make the momentary respite work in his favor, Kozlov snags a tag and he has no choice but to return to his corner and watch as Kozlov eliminates the Usos, all plans cut off mid-way through.

Morrison takes over, working Kozlov over for awhile after knocking him to his knees and tags Miz in after keeping the larger man down with a kick to the side of the head. Taking over from where John left off, he begins kicking him, most to the knees but making sure to spread the pain around his upper body as well. After a bit of this, the referee pushes him away and begins lecturing him, allowing Kozlov the space to tag Santino in.

Undisturbed by this change of opponent, Miz smirks, letting Santino have the first move. _Why Morrison feels the need to keep saving this guy, I have_ no _idea,_ he thinks as Santino attacks with a few lame punches, barely fazing him. His distraction and cockiness work against him though as a few seconds pass blurrily and he finds himself being slammed against the mat, blinking up at the lights in surprise as Santino flips around and covers him. His shock wearing off, he kicks out at a two and clotheslines Santino into the mat. _Yeah, have fun with this,_ he thinks in annoyance as he lunges for his corner and tags John in.

Despite the slight reluctance Miz notices on his face and in his stance, Morrison doesn't hesitate as he enters the ring and takes off at a run, his knee contacting with a half-sitting up Santino's face and sending him back down to the mat. He follows up with a chinlock but Santino's off-and-on good fortune returns as he somehow grabs Morrison and succeeds in hitting an armdrag, forcing him to break the hold all at once.

John shakes his head, a bit dazed before realizing how close Santino is to his corner now, Kozlov clearly desperate to get into the match once more. He kicks a still recovering Santino a few times before tagging in Miz, who goes right after Santino and holds him to the mat, choking him out with his boot for as long as he can without getting disqualified.

As the ref pushes Miz off of him, Santino stands up shakily and waits for the ref to move before rushing forward. He somehow manages to clothesline Miz and sweep his legs out from under him all at once, giving himself just enough time to get to Kozlov.

Miz scoots backwards as the Russian enters the ring, an annoyed leer on his sharply lined face. As soon as he's in range, Morrison reaches out and tags himself in, his speed giving him the advantage for a bit as he knocks Kozlov back with kicks and punches to keep him out of his corner, getting him into a facelock despite his struggles to get to Santino.

Kozlov, however, is stronger than Morrison and gets just close enough to the corner for Santino to sneak in a tag while John's back is to him, the ref making him break the hold so Kozlov can get into his corner as Santino enters the ring once more. The speed of the match is substantially slower now so he and Santino circle each other, a look of understanding passing over their faces as they near each other.

He holds a hand out to Santino and notices over the man's shoulder as Miz slaps an exasperated hand to his face, a smirk coming across his own as he shakes hands with his opponent, to show that there would be no hard feelings no matter how the match would ultimately go. As soon as they separate, he attempts a clothesline but Santino ducks into a near split, Morrison's move going right over his head.

_Damn,_ he's thinking when Santino grabs him and tosses him over onto his back, drawing the breath from his lungs. _How does he_ do _random crap like that?_ A headbutt follows, adding to his daze as he regains his footing, however uncoordinated it may be... just to be grabbed by the neck and slammed down in what feels like a stunner, his jaw impacting with Santino's shoulder. He's attempting to kick out of the cover that follows when Miz lunges into the ring and kicks Santino, breaking up the possible three count but there's a flash of red as Kozlov rushes past them, sending Miz back out of the ring and away from his tag partner just to land hard close to him.

Morrison manages to make it to his feet once more, Santino lingering behind him, when the lights flash twice and the email GM's obnoxious sounder goes off. Time slows as everyone from the ref to the commentators look around curiously, Punk half-standing, as if trying to figure out if he should go to the laptop and read off the email despite the match still going on. John locks eyes with Miz briefly, who's shaking his head- trying to shake himself out of the fog caused by Kozlov's attack _or_ in desbelief over the GM's interruption- before turning back around to get clipped by the Cobra, which sends a shooting pain up his throat before his whole body goes slack.

When awareness slowly returns to him, Miz is sitting next to him, an aggravated look on his face. He doesn't even need to ask, the tag belts not being held out to him all the answer he needs about how the match ended up.

"I _knew_ it," Miz mumbles, pacing angrily around the locker room. He has nothing to throw this time, Alex Riley taking great care to keep the briefcase away from him after last week. "That damn GM, this is probably just the beginning. And _you,_ " he spits, looking at Morrison. "Your new best friend got the upperhand because you _let_ him. If you had just treated it like another match, maybe we'd still be tag champions."

John rolls his eyes, thrumming with annoyance and disappointment too. "Oh, please. I didn't hold back from Santino, and he didn't hold back from me. Besides, like I said, why does it matter to you? You don't need the tag belts anymore, now that you've cashed in and have the WWE title. The GM can't hold that over your head any longer." He stares at Miz, jaw working as he waits for an answer. "Nothing to say? Yeah, I figured. I need to go see a certain Irishman. See ya around."

Miz opens his mouth to stop him, half-rising from where he's sitting on the bench, but John's gone before he can decide what to say that won't annoy him further. "Damn," he mumbles, anxiously fingering his US title.

Alex stares at him curiously, not willing to risk making him even madder by asking what's going on with him and Morrison. It's at least something to keep him off of his match against Orton later for a little bit.

"I'm not sure entirely why losing those belts bugged me so much either," Miz says softly after a few minutes, surprising his apprentice. "I went for so long without them that it just felt... right when they were mine- _ours-_ once more. Sure, teaming with Big Show was ok but there was something different winning them again with Morrison. Despite all the anger I felt at the Email GM for screwing with my career, holding me back, I guess a part of me was glad to go back to that simpler time when it was John and I working together." He looks away, as if ashamed to watch the younger man's face as he confesses this, as if it's a weakness. "I just wonder if... now that we don't have the tag belts, and have no real reason to go after them again, if things will go back to how they were _before._

"And I know, I know that _before_ was all me, I put it all into motion and made Morrison hate me, so if anything, I'd kind of deserve it but..." His voice drifts away thoughtfully as he picks at his fingernails, almost ferociously. "I really don't want it to go back to that. I put on this show that I'm ok with being alone, scratching and clawing for every little bit of notice and accolades I receive, but damn, half the time I'm just waiting for someone to look past the bluster and see _me."_

Alex stares ahead, speechless and slightly uncomfortable as Miz breathes heavily through his nose, his rant dying away as quickly as it started. He frets all the way to the ring for his match against Orton, Miz's uncharacteristically soft-spoken words tumbling around in his brain as he tries to keep up with the much more experienced Viper.

He wants to make Mike proud, needs to hold up his end of the bargain so Miz can reveal his match for TLC to a weakened Orton. Despite his best efforts, he finds himself about to be RKO'd when Miz runs in and hits a Skull crushing finale on Randy, sparing him from that. Even so, he gets put through a chair mere moments later for the second time in a week, his back protesting even more at this rough treatment.

Once Orton's left, Miz ventures back out and pushes a couple referees out of his way so he can talk to Alex. "You ok?"

"Sure," he breathes, desperately putting on a strong front for his mentor. The walk back to the trainer's office is slow and seems to take forever. Alex is tempted to ask if they'll get him there before TLC begins but another spasm of pain stabbing through his back muscles rids him of all thought- sarcastic and otherwise.

"Just breathe through it," he hears faintly, squinting around to realize that Mike is gripping him under one arm, a fretful twist to his lips as they inch slowly down the hallway.

A few minutes later, the referees are working at settling him down on a couch for the trainer to poke and prod him when a soft, almost hesitant knock, sounds on the door. Mike looks around before shrugging in aggravation and going to answer, mumbling something about beating down whoever's come to whine to the trainer _now._

Alex doesn't even need to crane around to recognize who it is as soft murmurs come from the door, which is very good because any movement involving his neck or spine is very, very unfortunate right now. He blinks tiredly at the ceiling as the trainer continues his examination, Miz and Morrison's quiet voices washing over him. _I doubt you have anything to worry about, Mike. Don't think either of us is going anywhere any time soon,_ he thinks, eyes fluttering shut as the last few weeks catch up to him.


	22. chapter 22

After losing the tag team belts last week, John Morrison isn't up to hearing the latest conspiracy theory by Miz about why the Email GM interrupted the match so he keeps to himself for awhile during the Slammies, his thoughts unusually scattered and uncontrollable. He has a match with Sheamus later in the evening and, for once, he's looking forward to seeing the bully just to let loose some of the tension and anger that's been with him since losing King of the Ring. Since losing the tag belts.

He has no choice but to leave the quiet little corridor he's hidden in most of the evening when he realizes he's out of wrist tape a little bit before his match. Cursing his rare lack of pre-planning, he reluctantly heads back to the locker rooms in time to find Alex and Miz watching the "Fan Reaction of the Year" slammy being handed out. Sure enough, "Angry Miz Girl" wins the slammy and Miz stands almost immediately, shouldering the WWE title. "Come on, Alex," he says, barely glancing over at Morrison as he continues searching around the room for a spare roll of tape.

"Are you seriously going to go mess with that little girl?" John asks before he can stop himself, turning to face Miz after the words slip from his lips. "Why do you have to make everything into a huge confrontation?"

Mike stops by the door, an annoyed gleam in his eyes, lips twisting angrily as his hand tightens around the strap of his belt. "It's called taking control of a situation, _John_. If you ever want to advance in this business, you might try it sometime." With a quick motion of his hand, Alex exits first and Miz follows, not looking back once as John glowers at him.

He rolls his eyes, pressing a knuckle to his forehead as the door slams shut. Things had grown tense between them within a matter of moments after the tag match last week, the unfair loss just adding fuel to the flames.

He finally finds a roll of tape abandoned in the shelves and settles down on a bench to finish preparing for his match, half-watching as Miz mocks the Angry Miz Girl, taking her Slammy. _Would you look at that, a Slammy just for Riley to carry,_ he thinks with an eye roll. _He's getting quite the collection of things to lug around- the beat up briefcase, and now some 9 year old's Slammy._ He looks towards his bag for a moment, only paying a little more attention as Miz's speech about TLC is interrupted by the Email GM's sounder, leaning closer to turn the volume up on the monitor as Cole goes through his usual monologue.

" _I am not sending this email to discuss last week_ ," he reads, glancing uncomfortably up at Miz before continuing on, announcing the individual matches for Miz and Orton.

"Oh boy," Morrison mumbles, shaking his head. Miz's match is noticeably harder than Orton's- Rey's speed and endurance making up for his size. _Could've been worse, I guess. At least it wasn't Mark Henry or Big Show._ He sighs, closing his eyes. His match against Sheamus is next so he has no choice but to focus strictly on his own issues, leaving before Miz and Riley can return to the locker room.

The match doesn't last long, both Sheamus and Morrison's anger boiling over until they forget about typical match rules, the ref yelling at them, and anything else, desperate just to inflict pain on the other. It's not until a group of referees enter the ring and the Email GM's sounder goes off again that they're pulled apart, Morrison distracted by Cole reading the match announcement off for Sunday- _number one contendership ladder match?_ \- that Sheamus gets the upper hand and slips outside of the ring while Morrison is still reeling, slamming a ladder into him when he tries to go after the man.

From there, it all happens fast, in a blur, as he's thrown over the top rope and impacts back first with the ladder bridging from the ring to the announcer's table, collapsing to the floor as his body protests the rough treatment. He writhes around on the floor until the referees kick Sheamus out and go to assist him. "Damn," he gasps as two of the refs slowly ease him up into a standing position, his back and head throbbing in time with each tentative step around the ring and up the ramp.

The walk to the trainer's room is slow and grueling but when he finally gets to lay down on his side on what's recently become an overly familiar couch, he relaxes a little and breathes shallowly, trying not to move around too much as the trainer starts looking him over more thoroughly than the quick check he provided at ringside before allowing the referees to help him move.

His fingers twitch around the armrest of the couch he's stretched out on as he rests his head against the cool leather, searching for anything to distract himself from the ache that follows each touch from the trainer. _Ironic, earlier I would've given anything to stop thinking but now I wish I had something else to focus on,_ he thinks bemusedly, pressing his forehead against the side of the couch more as the trainer finds a sensitive area by his spine.

_I wonder what Miz thinks about this- there's a chance he and I will be competing for the WWE title._ He sighs, surprised by the conflicted feelings churning within him. _I've always wanted the opportunity but not... not because of some anonymous GM's vendetta against him. Not that I won't have earned it- a ladder match isn't anything to discredit but still... If Miz wasn't the champion, would I have even been given the chance?_

He grimaces as finally the trainer finishes prodding and poking his back, disrupting his thoughts. Within a few minutes, he's settled back against the couch, an ice pack held to his various bruises to ease the swelling already obvious around the grooves the ladder rungs left in his flesh upon impact. _It was only two weeks ago we were tag champions. Hell, two years ago, we won a slammy for tag team of the year. There wasn't even a tag team category this year..._

He's still sitting there, lost in his thoughts when the door opens, allowing in David Arquette who's still moaning and complaining after being put through a table. He barely reacts when footsteps stop nearby, not needing to look up to know who's standing close to him.

"So, number one contendership match," Miz's dull voice breaks into his focus. "I bet you're just thrilled."

He finally looks up, surprised by the lack of emotion in the man's tone or facial features as they stare at each other. "It's a hell of an opportunity," is all he says, uncertain what the right response would be right now.

"Hell of an opportunity," Mike echoes, a bemused smirk forming as he sits gingerly next to John. His eyes flash intensely as he turns to stare at him. "You know you only have this _opportunity_ because the Email GM wants to screw with me even further. What better way than to give you a chance at a title match, now-"

Despite his own thoughts on the subject only minutes earlier, he can't help the anger that flashes through him. "What, you think I don't deserve a title shot? You only got this far because you had a contract where you could cash in for a title opportunity whenever you wanted. Anyone could win a title under those circumstances, it's not that impressive."

The two stubborn, proud superstars glare at each other for what feels like hours before Alex gets tired of Arquette's whining and joins them. "Uh, what's going on?" he asks, unnerved by their silent glowering.

Miz stands hurriedly, not bothering to look back once as he joins Alex. "Come on, we're leaving."

"Uh, ok," his apprentice mutters, glancing over momentarily at a grimacing Morrison before rushing after Miz. "Mike, wait," he attempts as soon as they're out of the room, stopping just before grabbing his mentor's shoulder to slow his careless rush away from the trainer's office. He doesn't want to get punched for trying to stop the obviously pissed off man.

"I'm not waiting for anything!" he volleys back. "Either follow me or get a ride with someone else, I don't care. I just can't stay here anymore." Even so, he turns to watch Alex as he walks backwards, lifting a hand to point at the door that's slowly closing behind the younger man. "That damn GM is trying to ruin _everything_ for me. _EVERYTHING_. Just watch, Alex, he'll be after you next."

Riley opens his mouth to warn his mentor but the man turns just in time to sidestep a trunk in his path, smoothly walking past it to continue on his way. He looks through the crack in the trainer's office's door long enough to lock eyes with Morrison before shrugging and dashing after Miz.

Morrison tips his head back against the edge of the couch, releasing a deep breath. "Dammit," he mumbles.

Miz is just entering the locker room when Alex catches up to him, angrily kicking a duffel bag sitting in the corner of the room. He curses as soon as he makes contact, hobbling away to sit on a bench. "What the hell's in that thing?" he demands, pointing at the bag.

Alex raises an eyebrow at his reaction before hesitantly pulling the bag open, drawing back a bit almost immediately. "It's Morrison's," he comments, recognizing one of his t-shirts at the top.

"Figure out what I kicked," Miz orders through gritted teeth.

Reluctantly, he returns to the bag and begins digging through the clothes within before his hands brush against something cold and vaguely familiar in shape. He sucks in a breath as he pulls out a Slammy and looks over at his mentor, whose focus is solely on his throbbing foot as he rubs it angrily. "Uh, Mike?"

"What?" he snaps, looking up. He pales as soon as he spots the Slammy, forgetting instantly about his foot. "Is that...?" Alex quietly walks over and hands it to him, somehow feeling like he's intruding in this moment. "Good God," he mumbles, rubbing a finger reverently against the "Tag Team" plaque on the base. "He kept this the whole time."

"Well, you kept yours," Alex reminds him quietly, recalling seeing the golden statue at Miz's house the last time he was there.

"That's different," he comments dismissively. "I was proud of the Dirt Sheet- all that we accomplished with it wasn't tarnished by the draft or what happened after it. This thing," he waves the obviously well taken care of golden symbol of their partnership, "could've easily been thrown away by now, and I wouldn't have been surprised."

They're still looking at the two Slammies, Morrison's sitting next to the Angry Miz Girl's, when the locker room door opens. "I just forgot my bag," Morrison mumbles as he slowly enters, his back obviously still aching. He pauses next to it, taking in how all of his clothes and things are scattered around, the bag yawning open in the middle of the madness. He looks suspiciously over just to freeze upon seeing Miz with the tag team Slammy.

Alex feels guilty somehow, as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but Miz brushes off John's glare and stands. He hesitantly joins him, gauging his reaction before he gets too close. He likes a bit of advanced notice before getting punched, after all. "I didn't know you kept this," he comments, pushing the Slammy back into John's hands. His earlier anger is all but forgotten for now in lieu of Alex's discovery. "Why'd... you bring it tonight?"

"I'm not sure," he mumbles, looking at the floor where his things are still scattered. "It just felt weird leaving it behind tonight of all nights. I probably should've left it in California though." He awkwardly puts the Slammy down on one of the benches, moving to squat down and resort his things.

"Nuh uh, don't even think about it," Miz says, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. He watches as Morrison grimaces just at that subtle movement and nods, knowing his back is far from good right now. _Potential number one contender or not, I'm not going to be_ totally _cruel to him._ His gaze returns to the Slammy, softening slightly. "We screwed up your stuff, just... relax, huh?" He glances over at Alex, who's on his feet before he can even say anything, and the two make quick work of putting Morrison's scattered shirts and wrestling gear back where it was previously before Alex dug out the Slammy.

John holds up his Slammy, comparing it against the stolen Slammy, taking in the subtle differences that the last couple of years have brought to the design. After a few moments of silence, he looks over at Miz. "Where's yours?" His voice is level now, quiet. A marked improvement from earlier when they both were saying things in the heat of the moment, Mike acknowledges before looking up.

"It's at my house," he comments calmly, stuffing the last t-shirt into Morrison's bag. _Not folded to his standards but he can fix that when he gets to the hotel,_ he decides, sitting back to double check the floor for anything they might've missed before zipping it up. "There ya go, back to how it was before."

"Thanks," John says, "but you forgot something."

Miz looks up and spots the Slammy in his hands. _Nah, I didn't forget anything._ "Oh, that. No big deal, Alex likes carrying them. Don't ya, Alex?"

Alex looks up from where he's examining the dents in the briefcase. "What?"

"Never mind," Miz sighs, rolling his eyes as John chuckles. He drags the bag towards Morrison before sitting down next to him, almost mirroring their earlier position in the trainer's room. He grimaces and pushes that thought from his mind before turning to face John. "Ready to blow this joint?"

He glances over at him before staring back down at the Slammies, remembering two years ago when they had the slammies and the tag belts and everything was just _so_ much simpler. "What I said earlier."

"Don't," Mike says, his eyes flashing warningly. "We both said stupid crap, let's just forget it for now-"

"No. It was ridiculous, we've both worked to get where we're at, just in different ways. I shouldn't discredit it just because your way isn't my way. After all, I was in that Money in the Bank match too. If things were a little different, it could've been me willing to use any chance to cash in." He pulls a face as he stretches, trying to work out the kinks in his back. "I'm just still angry that I lost the King of the Ring _and_ the tag belts. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"I'm far from blameless," Miz concedes slowly, glancing over at a still distracted Alex. _Sometimes I swear he finds stupid things to focus on so we can have talks like this,_ he thinks before returning to the conversation at hand. "You deserve it if you get the number one contendership this Sunday. I guess... I just freaked out a little bit because the Email GM's already taken the tag belts and... well..." He sucks in a deep breath as he glances from John to Alex and back. "I don't have many people in my corner, never have. And that's fine, I don't need anyone, really," he says almost defensively as Morrison looks at him worriedly. "But I've grown used to ... this again, anyway, in the last few weeks. So the thought of you and I feuding for the WWE belt... I guess it just feels wrong. It'd be easier to consider a feud with you if I still hated you but I don't so much anymore."

Morrison looks thoughtful for a moment before chuckling, looking down. "I think that's the nicest thing you've said to me in a long time, Mike."

"Oh, shut up," he mumbles, almost tempted to nudge him. _If he didn't look like he's about to fall over already, I would totally knock him off of the damn bench_. "Um. You know, since Money in the Bank, we've been injured a lot more lately?"

"I've noticed. I think it's a conspiracy." He smirks.


	23. chapter 23

**From: [UNKNOWN]**

**To:**

**Suggest to Teddy Long that if anything** _**off** _ **happens during Miz's match against Rey Mysterio on Friday Night Smackdown, he should create another match involving Miz. I'll leave the actual details of the match up to him.**

Cole scrubs his face after reading the latest email sent to him by the anonymous GM, cringing sympathetically for Miz before going to do his commentary duties. It doesn't avoid his notice that Orton's matches are much easier (or nonexistent) compared to Miz's. As much as he enjoys the prestige being associated with the GM has given him, he doesn't relish railroading the new WWE champion.

John Morrison watches quietly as Miz enters the locker room the night of TLC, Alex Riley following behind as always. He looks tired and a bit annoyed- four matches in a week and a crapload of media events would do that to someone, John imagines. He wonders briefly if this is the Anonymous GM's big plan to exhaust Miz with match after match the week leading up to his first title defense, while Orton barely had to enter the ring. He wisely says nothing, not wanting to get Miz started on that subject again. _He probably already suspects that anyway,_ he thinks, the tension in the room growing as he returns to sorting through his bag.

Tonight's a big night for both of them- overlooking Miz's match for a minute, John has a chance at getting his first opportunity at a #1 contendership for the WWE title. The kind of thing a lot of guys strive to get their whole careers, some never coming close for this reason or that. The timing is suspect, definitely, but he wants this chance, can almost taste it. He glances out of the corner of his eye at the title belt hanging over Miz's leg and imagines for a moment what it'd be like to wrestle for it- and _win._

He looks away when Alex Riley steps between him and Miz, blocking his view of the title, and resumes getting ready for his match against Sheamus. _One step at a time,_ he reminds himself.

His knee- _of course_ the bad one, it's always the bad knee- is killing him after the ladder match, each step against the hard tile of the arena's hallway fresh torture, but he's feeling great for the first time since losing the King of the Ring. The trainer is unable to do anything, pushing pain killers on him and urging more ice, suggesting he take it easy and return for another examination before he does anything tomorrow night on Raw and he agrees, mostly just to get out of there.

He's curious about the end result of Orton vs Miz so he walks as quickly as he can towards the locker room, taking in how quiet and sparse the hallways are. A quick glance of the first monitor he passes that's actually on shows that Cena is taking on Wade, which explains a lot, but he has more important things to focus on right now so he continues on his way. He's sweating, his knee stiff and hot, itchy beneath his restrictive pantleg when he finally gets to his destination, relieved as he pushes through the door. His eyes lock on the nearest bench as he hobbles quickly over to it, settling down gingerly and stretching his bad leg out with a grimace. _Damn._

As his leg's throbbing finally dies down slightly, he relaxes and brushes some of the sweat out of his eyes before looking around. "So you managed it," he says as his eyes come to a stop on Miz sitting in the corner, his WWE title gleaming slightly in the muted light.

"That I did," he nods, glancing up. They stare at each other for a moment before he sighs, shifting forward. "We need to talk later, about what this means."

John stares back impassively, shrugging after a few strained moments. "Fine." When Miz looks away, he frowns. _Great, here we go,_ he thinks, dread dulling the happiness that he's still feeling after the match with Sheamus. _Hopefully he won't go down the cliche'd attack while I'm not prepared route... been there, done that._ He picks at his boots bitterly, before taking a deep breath. _No point in worrying, I'll find out soon enough what he's going to do now that I'm #1 contender._

Miz disappears a little later, doing whatever it is he needs to do after the ppv so Morrison goes to sit in the rental car, desperate to get the trek through the parking lot over with for the sake of his knee, which throbs anew with each step. He sighs and slumps into the passenger seat, sitting sideways as he waits, leg stretched out in front of him across the driver's seat once more as he rests his head back. Texas is warm, compared to some of the midwestern states they've been at the last few weeks, they're parked in a shadowed part of the lot and he feels almost comfortable despite his leg and the lingering worry about what it is that Miz wants to talk about, his eyes fluttering shut slowly.

He jerks awake, breathing heavily as he looks around in confusion at where he's at, what woke him up, what time it is and why exactly he was asleep in the first place, to find Miz leaning into the car, looking down at him with a smirk. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Mind moving your leg so I can get us the hell out of here?"

He nods groggily, his heart rate slowly easing back to normal as he awkwardly lifts his leg and settles it in the passenger's side so Miz can sit down in the driver's seat.

"You awake?" Miz asks after a few minutes into the drive, glancing over at John before returning his gaze to the road ahead.

"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat as he sits up straighter. "What did you want to talk about?" _Well, I guess he's not going to attack me right now... it'd be hard to pull off a Skullcrushing finale or something in the car._

"Well, it's old news that the anon GM is after me for whatever reason," Miz says slowly, worrying his lower lip as Morrison nods. "I'd like to know why but until we know _who_ , it's kind of impossible to figure anything else out, you know?" He sighs, his knuckles tightening around the wheel as they continue through to the hotel selected by WWE. "In the meantime, with you being #1 contender and all, we can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?" John asks, though he thinks he has a good idea where Mike is going with this conversation. _This is oddly mature, we're actually talking it out instead of Miz doing something abrupt._ He shakes his head slightly, relieved for the darkness as he smirks. _Guess we're all growing up somewhat._

"Traveling together, sharing a locker room. Things like that." Miz turns to look at him as they stop at a red light. "We're not tag champs anymore, and the Anon GM was probably already thinking of ways to use you against me the instant he made the #1 contendership match a week ago. Before you say you'd not do anything against me on the GM's orders, well... he managed to get you to _team_ with me by threatening your career so it's not that hard to believe. This is just smart, John. It's nothing personal."

"Green," Morrison says distantly, relieved for the distraction as Miz faces front once more and resumes driving. Although he's irrationally annoyed at Miz's assumption, he can't blame him either- it is, after all, his first title reign and he wants it to go as well as it possibly can while he learns what exactly it means to be champion... and he does have some valid reasons to be paranoid. "Fine, I see your point," he concedes after a few minutes of silence. "As long as we're not hanging out, the GM will lose some leverage against you."

"Yep." Miz glances over at him before easing the car into the hotel parking lot. They both sit in silence as the car engine slowly quiets upon the removal of the keys from the ignition, considering what will happen from here on out. "So I guess this is it."

"Guess so." He tries to force some levity into his tone as he cracks, "Well, it's a good deal better than the last time."

Mike huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he remembers the night of the draft that's had such a ripple effect on everything since then. "Yeah, I'd say so." He glances over with a slight smirk and shrugs. "Your knee good?"

"It's fine," Morrison brushes off the implied offer of help and pushes his door open, minimalizing his grimace as he steps down on the cement. They meet at the trunk to collect their bags and he stops, glancing over at Mike before hoisting his bag onto his shoulder, uncertain what to say, how to handle this. "I'll see ya around."

"Yep, see ya," he replies quietly.

The walk to the hotel is slow and almost torturous as John's knee and thoughts both conspire against him. He comes to a stop at the doorway, met by Alex Riley, who is staring at him curiously. He's tempted to ask how exactly Alex arrived at the hotel but he changes his mind upon opening his mouth. "He's still at the rental," he offers instead, unsurprised as the apprentice immediately brushes past him and goes to join Mike.

He nods at the hotel staff who catch his eye as he continues towards the elevators, relieved to get away from prying eyes a few minutes later as he settles against the furthest wall and drops his bag. _Could've been worse, I guess,_ he thinks. _At least I'm #1 contender._ It surprises him how empty that feels suddenly.

Raw drags. Except for the short segment at the start of Raw and their six man match at the end, he doesn't see Mike at all, which doesn't surprise him. Really. He sighs, picking at the tape clinging to his wrists. He's almost forgotten how loud and obnoxious the main locker room can be, accustomed to the solitude and quiet- well, _usually-_ of Miz's personal locker room that he was awarded upon winning the WWE title.

Going back to the hotel room later on is a relief and he sits for a minute on the edge of the bed, taking in the silence like it's much needed oxygen, breathing deeply in and out as he clears his mind. He's still sitting there, focusing on anything but his knee which is still aching furiously, when there's a knock on his door. He groans, peeking over at the door. _Watch it be the trainer,_ he thinks, knowing how insistent the man could be whenever he thinks one of the superstars aren't following his suggestions. He slowly gets up and makes his way to the door, peeking out of the peephole.

There's no one there.

He frowns and turns to make his way back to the bed, shrugging it off as a person accidentally knocking on the wrong door, when he steps on something hard and crinkly. He stops immediately and looks down, taking a step back when he sees something white under his shoe. "What the?" He picks up the keycard- still in its envelope- and gapes at the numbers scribbled on the paper. _Why does that handwriting look familiar?_

He shrugs and puts it down on his bedside table. _Guess someone lost their card... I'll go to the front desk and return it in the morning_.

Alex leans back anxiously as Miz enters the hotel bathroom to get ready for bed. _Now's my chance,_ he thinks, sliding both hotel room keycards off of the table. "Hey, I'm going to get some ice," he calls, cursing himself for the lame excuse as he ducks out of the room. _Who goes for ice at midnight?_ he chastises himself, before dashing for the elevator. _Gotta hurry..._

It wasn't hard to get the girl at the front desk to give him some info with a bit of charm- and a $50, but who's counting that?- earlier, so he knows exactly where he's going as he directs the elevator to the 5th floor. "Room 29," he mumbles, wandering down one hallway and another. "God, what is this, a maze?" he frets before finally seeing "Room 30". "Aha," he mutters, turning down the hallway and finding room 29.

He slides one of the keys under the door and knocks loudly before dashing to hide behind the corner he'd turned just moments earlier. _This would've been more impressive if he didn't have a knee injury making him walk like an old man,_ he thinks, peeking back down the hallway. _Crap, he's not even going to come out so I know if he heard me knocking?_ _I can't wait around all night, I have to get back before Miz gets suspicious. Please don't let all this be for nothing,_ he thinks before walking quickly back in the direction of the elevators.

"Where've you been?" Miz asks when he finally arrives back at the room, sweaty and looking a little mortified. "Did you get lost?"

"Yeah, something like that," he mumbles, thinking about the maze of hallways he'd gone through just to find the elevators back to his and Miz's room. _I'd never live it down..._ "So," he says, trying to sound cheerful. "Anything happen while I was gone?" _Please say no..._

"No, why? Should there have been?" Mike looks at him suspiciously.

"Of course not," he laughs awkwardly, realizing that with all of his planning he's not figured out how to explain away the lost keycard as he puts down the remaining card.

Sure enough, Miz notices right away. "Uh, where's the other keycard?"

 _Crap crap crap._ He's about to stammer out some weak explanation when there's a knock on the door. Miz stares at him suspiciously for a moment longer before turning to the door. As soon as he's not facing Alex, his apprentice lets loose a knowing smirk. He just manages to school his face back into curiosity when the door opens to reveal Morrison standing there, leaning against the doorframe while tapping the "missing" keycard against his palm.

"John," Mike says bemusedly, glancing over his shoulder at Alex, who shrugs innocently. Mike rolls his eyes before turning back to him. "That ours?" he asks, motioning to the card.

"I believe so," he nods, gaze flickering over to Alex. "Imagine my surprise when I found it under my door."

"Ok, what was the point of this, Alex?" Miz demands, turning to face his protege. "Why'd you trick him into coming over here?"

He flounders for a minute, overcome by both of them glaring at him, but finally finds the words as he raises his hands defensively. "It's just- well, I mean. It's Christmas!" They roll their eyes and start to speak but he interrupts them. "No, no, listen! I know you're trying to avoid each other because of the GM and everything going on with the WWE title but we're not at the arena right now so what would it hurt? Just... for awhile?"

The former tag team champions exchange a glance as Morrison sighs, shifting on his bad knee a little, the awkward silence seemingly unending. After a few moments, Miz groans and steps aside, giving in. "Fine, just come in already." He follows John's slow, pained gait into the room until finally he slumps down on the couch. On the way past, he slaps Alex over the head for putting them both through this drama just for a holiday that is still days away. Despite that, he can't stop his lips twitching upwards as he settles down near Morrison.

"Great," Alex says, clapping his hands briskly. "I'll be right back."

They watch, equally unimpressed, as he heads for the minifridge in the corner of the room. "What are the chances that this'll be an unmitigated disaster?" John asks quietly, shifting slightly in an attempt to get his knee in a more comfortable position.

"90%?"

"Is that all? Huh," John mumbles as Alex returns.

"Eggnog!" he says happily, dropping two cartons on the desk not far from the couch.

"Oh God," Miz groans, slumping down in horror.

"And cookies," he continues, a container of sugar cookies joining the eggnog. "Now decorations!"

Morrison chuckles at Mike, who looks like he's trying to bury himself under the couch cushions.

Within minutes, the place is covered in decorations, Miz and Morrison both wide eyed as they take in the various items that've seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Green and red garland covers the desk around the cookies and eggnog, Santa and snowmen poking out here and there. A small green tree is sitting on the entertainment center in front of the couch, white lights blinking now and again.

"Oh my God," Mike mumbles.

"Please tell me he didn't buy mistletoe too," John deadpans, casting a suspicious glance around the ceiling just in case.

Ignoring them, Alex grabs his laptop from its bag and situates it on the entertainment stand between the TV and tree. "Now... Christmas specials!" he exclaims with all the glee of a four year old waiting for Santa. "Put these on!" He thrusts Christmas hats into Miz and Morrison's hands before pulling on a Santa hat of his own.

Miz and Morrison exchange glances, John humored and Miz exasperated, as Alex clicks a file once they reluctantly pull on the hats too. "Wait, wait, what are you going to make us watch?" Miz demands, making a face as he thinks about some of the sappy crap out there when it comes to holiday movies.

"You'll see," A-Ri says in a sing-song before joining them, quickly grabbing a carton of eggnog and pouring large glasses for both of them. "Drink up!" he urges before attending to his own glass.

John stifles his laughter as Miz glares at his glass as if it's offended him just by touching his hand. He blinks at the computer as familiar music echoes through the hotel room. "Uh, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas...?" he asks with a barely concealed snicker as he looks over at Miz, who looks like he wants to bash himself in the skull with Alex's briefcase.

"A classic!" Alex exclaims, unaware or uncaring of the look on either man's face.

They watch for a few minutes in silence before Morrison starts laughing, shaking his head when Miz looks over at him in annoyance. "What's so funny?" he demands as his former tag partner tries to hold back his chuckles.

"Damn," he breathes. "I was just thinking the Grinch was kind of familiar..." He smirks at Miz, who glowers back. "I've always wondered where Suess got the idea for him from."

"Oh, haha," Miz grouses, flicking a piece of cookie at him. Ten minutes in, Miz leans back so he can see John around Alex's enraptured form and pokes him in the shoulder, before pointing at the monitor. "If I'm the Grinch, you're _definitely_ Cindy Lou. Goody two-shoes with annoying hair."

John makes a face. "You're really comparing me to a little girl? And, seriously, jealous much?" He runs his fingers through his hair and smirks as Miz rolls his eyes. Before their bickering can continue, Alex shushes them, not even looking away from the screen. "Ugh, he's not going to cheer at the end, when all the Hoos in Hooville get their happy ending, is he?" he whispers. Miz shrugs before they both resume watching.

It's only a few minutes later that Miz realizes something that brings a smirk to his face but Alex looks like he wants to press his face against the computer monitor just to get the full effect of the last five minutes of the cartoon so he reluctantly keeps his mouth shut, counting the seconds till the thing ends. Morrison is getting jittery too, shifting whenever Miz glances at him out of the corner of his eye. _We both suck at being quiet during these things,_ he thinks with a sigh as finally the Grinch succeeds in returning all the pilferred Christmas decorations and celebrated Christmas with the Hoos.

The instant the last piece of dialogue is uttered, Miz and Morrison turns to face each other. "Alex is the Grinch's dog!" They both freeze momentarilly before cracking up.

"Oh, haha," Alex mumbles.

Once they stop laughing, John settles back against the couch and grins, eyeing Alex as he plays around with the laptop. "Now what?"

"Let's watch The Christmas Story!" Miz suggests, already reaching for the remote on top of the entertainment center.

Morrison groans. "You have got to be joking me... you still watch that damn thing?"

"Of course. That's the real classic," he says, glaring warningly over at John.

"What's wrong with the Christmas Story?" Alex asks, feeling left out of the loop as he looks between the two men.

"Well, you know how they air twenty-four hour marathons of it every year?" Morrison asks, shifting to look over at Alex without moving his leg too much. "A few years ago, Miz here recorded it and had it playing on a loop over and over and over again because he wasn't able to watch any of the actual marathon. I still can't get the dialogue out of my head."

"Oh, yikes," Alex mumbles faintly, carefully not meeting any of their eyes.

Miz immediately catches on to his uncomfortableness, smirking. "Ok, what, Alex? You record something that you watch over and over like that?"

He coughs and returns to the fridge, putting the eggnog up so it wouldn't go bad. "The Yule Log," he offers while his back is turned to them.

The silence is almost complete until he turns to look at them, taking in the astonishment on their faces. "Repeat that again," John says after a few moments.

"The Yule Log."

"Isn't that... that fireplace that burns for hours with Christmas music playing over it?" Miz asks, jaw slacked as he stares at his apprentice. "Why would you record _that?_ "

"Because they never air it at a good time and I like the music," he says, attempting to keep his dignity as the two superstars share another glance before snickering.

"Do you have it on your computer too?" Miz asks mockingly, reaching out for the abandoned laptop.

"N-no! Of course not. How weird do you think I am?" Alex stammers, his eyes widening as Miz rolls his eyes and leaves the laptop alone.

"Best not to answer that," he mumbles so only John can hear it.

"I'll be right back," Alex says and dashes out of the room, leaving the two stupefied former tag champions to fully take the room in.

"Geez," Morrison sighs, not believing that this is how his first full night as #1 contender ended up.

"Give me that," Miz orders, grabbing the undrank eggnog from John's hand before marching determinedly to the fridge. Once he grabs both cartons, he walks over to the balcony that's looking out over the late December night. As John watches, he pushes the doors open and resolutely places both glasses and cartons outside before returning to the couch.

"What're you going to tell Riley?" he asks, amused.

"What I told him when WWE wanted their red briefcase back."

"Which was?"

"Squirrels took it."

"He does have bad luck with squirrels, doesn't he?" Morrison chuckles.

"Yep."

They fall silent once more as John looks around. "Where do you think he went anyway?"

"Good question," Miz leans his head back against the couch and sighs. They're still sitting there, watching as the lights gleam against various surfaces in the room, when a knock sounds on the door. "Of course," Miz groans, slowly getting up. "He left his keycard behind." Instead of Alex standing on the other side of the door, however, Mike comes face to face with a group of people dressed festively, wide smiles on their faces. "Oh, _hell_ no," he mumbles.

John almost falls over the back of the couch in his haste to look over as the carolers begin singing, apparently oblivious to the hour or fact that they're in a hotel.

As Miz stands there, stupefied, Alex slips back into the room, a gleeful look on his face. "Isn't this great?" he asks, barely noticing as Morrison finally untangles himself from the couch and joins them at the door, also gaping at the carolers.

Finally they regain control of themselves enough to both turn and swat Alex upside the head. "Are you trying to get us kicked out of the hotel?" Miz demands in a loud whisper.

"Or arrested... again," Morrison interjects, unfazed when both men ignore him.

"It's almost 1 AM! People're trying to sleep." He tries not to think about what the dirt sheets will possibly have to say about _this_ in the morning. "Make them leave."

"Damn, you're right, I forget sometimes- especially when it has to do with Christmas..." He reluctantly turns to the carolers and interrupts before they can begin another song. "Hey, I'm sorry guys, but you can't sing here after all. It sounded great though!" Before they can say or do anything else, he quickly shuts the door on them.

"God," Miz mumbles as he heads back to the couch.

Alex rebounds quickly, however, and goes straight for the fridge. "Hey," he says, rustling around inside. "Where'd the eggnog go?"

"Squirrels," Miz and Morrison say together.

"Dammit! What'd I ever do to them?" he grumbles.


	24. chapter 24

The first thing John Morrison hears as soon as he enters the arena is that he's been put in a match with Alex Riley. He blinks at the referee who's been appointed to relaying the information and shrugs with a nod. "Thanks," he says before continuing on down to the locker room. He and Alex have never entirely gotten along, even when he and Miz were tag teaming regularly, choosing instead to keep their distance as best as they could, unless it was special circumstances. Now with the Email GM not letting up on any of them, it doesn't surprise him that they'd be put into a match together.

His thoughts are derailed as he walks by Miz's locker room to find the door ajar just enough that he hears his name. _Curiosity kills the cat,_ he reminds himself even as he freezes outside of the door and listens to Miz going on about how much better he is than John and more of the usual rambling that he grew tired of years ago. He barely has a second to think before he finds himself inside Miz's locker room, mocking both men before suggesting an added stipulation to his and A-Ri's match- if he wins, he gets to choose the time and stipulation of his and Miz's heavyweight title match, but if Alex wins, he forfeits his #1 contendership.

It's a crapshoot- he doesn't even know if the Email GM will accept his last minute suggestions- but somehow it all goes through to Morrison's liking, despite Miz's attempts to cause him to lose. It's a split second revelation- he could wait until the Royal Rumble and wrestle for the WWE title there, but he's so far beyond sick and tired of the tension that's been a counterpart of his career since late July that he doesn't bat an eye as he relays to Jerry his decision: Next week, in a falls count anywhere match.

He returns to the back and sighs as some of the weight falls off his shoulders- now that he knows the how and when, things just seem easier to handle. He wanders the halls for awhile as the usual post-match adrenaline drains from him and only stops when he realizes that Miz and The King's match is going on currently. He watches for awhile distastefully as Miz and Alex both work over the older man, reminded somewhat of Santino constantly getting beat down by Sheamus. Miz's words from the locker room earlier still ringing in his ears, he runs out to the ring and attacks Miz when the ref isn't looking- _How do you like when it happens to_ you?- _,_ enabling Jerry to win via countout.

All actions have consequences, however, and it's not until after the fact that he learns that Miz went after Jerry again later in the show. _Of course, the one time I'm not near a monitor,_ he thinks with a grimace as he leaves the trainer's room. Jerry is a bit achy and not in the greatest of moods but all in all, he'll be ok with some rest. He shrugs on his winter coat as he hoists his duffel bag higher up on his arm before heading for the exit leading to the parking lot. _I wonder how many hours it'll take to get_ out _of this mess,_ he's thinking when he spots a familiar form leaning against the wall next to the door. _Oh, of course._ Despite everything that's happened the last few hours, he can't keep from acknowledging his former tag partner. "Waiting for your chauffer?" he cracks, still a few feet away as Miz jerks and turns to stare at him.

"I guess you're waiting for your chaperone?" he volleys back, easing away from the cold wall to face Morrison.

They stare at each other for a bit, the tension still thick between them as Miz drags his hands out of his coat pockets, standing almost defensively. "You do realize you versus Alex should've ended in a disqualification, right?" Morrison doesn't react as Miz looks aggravated. "The ref was looking right my way when I tripped you up," he continues, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "But instead of calling it, he continued it and ejected me from ringside."

John frowns as he watches Miz's frenzied movements. "What does it matter? By DQ, by pinfall, it would've ended the same way. Right?"

"Don't you _dare_ taunt me for being paranoid but I can't help but think the Email GM told the ref not to stop the match until a three-count, no matter what happened. Which makes me wonder what if Alex had gotten his crap together and came close to winning? What would the ref have done then?"

"Not that it would've happened," Morrison offers with a smirk before sobering up, "but the ref probably would've done his job. Not every little weird occurrence is the GM doing something to screw with you." He holds his hands up as Miz shoots him a look, as if saying _You_ have _been around the last six months, right?_ "I know this hasn't been the title run of your dreams but you shouldn't let the GM get to you like this. It's just letting him succeed."

He huffs, their conversation interrupted as Tyson Kidd and his new bodyguard walks past them and slams through the exit doors, letting in gusts of cold air. More snow drops onto the floor around their feet as the door slides shut once more and Mike shakes his head. "I ever mention I hate this weather?"

"Once... or twice... maybe a thousand," John comments, tempted to pick up some of the snow and pour it down Miz's hair. If not for the already miserable look on his face, that is. "While we're discussing all of this, why did you attack Jerry again? Speaking of people just doing their jobs..."

Miz stands straighter as he looks once more at him. "I couldn't find you," he shrugs. "Besides, it was a little funny to interrupt the Email GM for once."

"I can imagine." Before he can say anything else, a horn honks from outside. He raises an eyebrow. "That your ride?"

Miz reluctantly walks towards the chilly door and peeks out, nodding. "Took Riley long enough," he grouses as he dons his gloves, hat and scarf before zipping his coat up as far as it will go.

"Do you need me to roll you out to the car? Not sure you can walk like that without running into anything," Morrison offers with a grin as he takes a good look at his bundled up former tag partner.

"Shut up," he mumbles, voice muffled by the layers of clothes covering almost every bare inch of his skin.

He shakes his head in slight amusement, watching as Miz walks awkwardly to the car and gets in. _I'll be glad when next week is over,_ he thinks, resting his forehead against the cool metal door for a moment before, too, heading out towards his car.


	25. chapter 25

He's anxious. There's no better term for it, no other word that could possibly come close to explaining the weird, almost nauseous feeling that's hung with him since late last week when it truly hit him that after the long New Years weekend, he would be facing John Morrison once more- except this time it wasn't just for pride or ego or even some strange stipulation by the Email GM. No, this is to be for his WWE title. And Miz is well aware of the hunger, the pure intensity, that a superstar has when it comes to a chance at winning gold like that; felt it for months there while waiting for the pieces to fall into place after the Email GM nosed his way into things and made it impressively complicated.

He notes absently the strange, worried look on Alex Riley's face but says nothing- knows it stems from the fact that he's been sitting for nearly an hour, not moving or talking, just _breathing_ in and out quietly, one hand stroking the title belt in his lap while the other rests on the bench. _Him_ sitting probably seems like an apocalyptic event, especially to his NXT rookie, who's seen him pace until everyone watching him is dizzy or annoyed or both just to drain some of the hyper energy brimming beneath the surface away. For once he just feels empty, a thrumming dread the only thing keeping him aware of what could happen in a mere few hours. He's clung to the WWE title like it's a lifeline for the last five weeks, despite Orton and King and anything else that's been thrown at him, but tonight just feels different.

The sound of his own thoughts are beginning to annoy him so he finally looks up and catches Alex's eye. They stare at each other a moment before the Rookie offers hesitantly, "Tonight'll be fine."

"Of course it will," he says, yet again sounding more confident than he feels. As always.

Before he's completely ready, time passes quickly as he goes through the motions, barely tuned in as he does the typical pre-match rituals, changing into ring gear and slipping the knee braces and clunky wrestling boots on before wrapping his arms in wrist tape. He grabs the title belt and the next thing he registers, he's out in the ring, Morrison's music is playing and everything else fades from his mind- the anxiety, the fear that this could be the last night of the best period in his career thus far, and trying to figure out whatever weird flashy thing John could have up his sleeve next- as he gets sick of waiting, sick of the silence and takes off at a run towards John before he's even all the way down the ramp, getting caught immediately with a punch. The fight goes back and forth for a long while, Morrison using various parts of the ring side area and titantron set to attack Miz and Alex.

John's on top of his game tonight, taking out Alex with a running knee to the face while A-Ri's perched awkwardly on the barricade wall. Miz gapes as his apprentice slips bonelessly from the wall, Morrison landing easily on both legs as if nothing's just happened; his fear grows. _I'm so screwed._

He shakes himself out of it long enough, not ready to give up without a fight, to eventually gain the upperhand. While Morrison is down on the mat, dazed, he crawls out of the ring and sets up a table, just in case he might need it later on. He rolls back into the ring at the ref's sharp command and hits his backbreaker/neckbreaker combo- just for Morrison to kick out _again._ His jaw drops as he flounders for a way to finish this, to retain his title... to _not_ lose. This distraction is enough as John regains control and hits his Starship Pain, dizziness overcoming Miz as Morrison covers him. _NO!_ he thinks wildly, somehow managing to kick out just before the three count. He's still out of it, working on base instinct by rolling him up, but it doesn't work again as he only gets a two count- the next thing he knows, he's on the outside, Morrison positioning him on the table that he himself had placed out there.

Awareness returns to him in time to see Morrison perched on the top rope, obviously about to hit a - _Oh,_ hell _no,_ Miz thinks, shaking some of the stupor away. He waits as long as possible, so Morrison can't stop himself in time, and rolls off of the table, almost slipping under the ring in his desperation to get away. _Ew, at least Hornswoggle doesn't live under here anymore._ He flinches as Morrison slams into the table only a few feet away from him, cracking it in two and hitting the floor with a sickening sound. He's shocked, openly gaping at his former tag partner sprawled out in front of him, barely moving, before he remembers what this match is about. _He'd do the same thing if it was him,_ he tells himself as he scrambles away from the ring apron, covering him again. Another two count and Miz reluctantly pulls himself to his feet, dragging Morrison away from the table. One more Skull Crushing Finale and it's over, a different kind of numbness filling Miz as he stumbles away from the finally defeated Morrison, leans against the barricade wall for support.

As soon as his title belt is back in his hand, he begins moving up the ramp, fighting off a part of him that wants to check on John. _Trainers are all over the place, he'll be fine,_ he reminds himself, trying not to think about the way his body slammed into that table or the sound that had followed. Despite this, Miz can't stop looking back as Morrison _still_ keeps struggling, ignoring the trainers as he painfully slowly inches up the ramp, his face twisted in anger or pain, maybe both. Miz watches for a little longer, unable to stop the respect for his sometimes annoyingly stubborn rival from welling up inside of him, before turning and leaving to check on Alex Riley.

Alex is a little sore but ultimately fine so Miz leaves him behind in the locker room, needing some time alone before the #1 contendership match to work out the tension and energy still remaining after the Falls Count Anywhere match. He's in the process of getting himself lost in the arena's many hallways when he wanders by a hallway monitor airing Raw. It happens to be a recap of his and Morrison's match and he freezes, unable to look away as John goes through the table once more. He sighs and scrubs at his face anxiously. _Damn,_ he thinks, turning towards where he knows the trainer's office is located this week. With little forethought, he begins walking in that direction and stops at catering, which is only a few feet away from the trainer's door.

He's twisting a water bottle lid back and forth when the trainer's door opens. He stiffens, almost expecting Morrison to walk out, but instead the trainer himself enters the hallway. Miz releases a deep breath and continues the repetitive motion as the trainer leaves, talking lowly to one of the referees. He peeks over his shoulder, unsurprised to find he's alone in the hallway now. He screws the lid back on before slipping over towards the trainer's door. He looks around once more before inching the door open, holding his breath. As soon as it's open enough, he peeks inside and looks around, taking in how the lights are dimmed, one small lamp in the corner casting a vague gleam over the furniture.

Curious, he inches inside and looks around, taking in how quiet the room is. He's about to leave when he realizes that the room _isn't_ empty after all. Morrison is laying on his side on a couch, breathing softly with an arm wrapped protectively around his midsection. Miz frowns, stepping closer to get a better look at him. When he doesn't respond at all, it's obvious that, even though his face is pinched in discomfort, he's deeply asleep, although it doesn't look very restful considering how stiffly he's holding himself due to his ribs and who knows what else after going through that table, on top of everything else.

The water bottle is sweating, dripping all over Miz's hand, down his wrist, and chilling him, annoying him further, so he glances around once more before placing the water on a table close to Morrison. _It's not like the trainer ever keeps drinks in here, and God knows you complain if you wake up thirsty,_ he thinks wryly, his face softening slightly as he looks down once more at the sleeping man. "Good match," he offers in a whisper before turning on his heel and leaving as quietly as he arrived.


	26. chapter 26

ohn Morrison grimaces slightly as he leans over the steering wheel a bit to stare across at the arena door from his rental car. Despite a full week having passed since the falls count anywhere match against Miz, he's still amazingly sore. The freezing conditions in Tennessee and long hours spent traveling to _reach_ the arena isn't helping much, his aches all the harder to ignore as he makes his way slowly out of the car, hunching over slightly so the brutal wind doesn't bite through his clothes quite as easily.

He was so close to the WWE title last week, but still fell short, despite everything. He had known almost as soon as he had leapt from the turnbuckle post to the outside that trying to send Miz through the table was just a little too reckless, even for him, but it had been too late to go back. Pay for it, he had, with nothing to show for it afterwards but an intense throbbing through his ribs and back. Not to mention the deep tiredness that had followed, once the adrenaline faded, leaving nothing but emptiness behind at how he had wasted his own number one contendership by a needless, split second decision.

Falling asleep in the trainer's room was a bit embarrassing but the reprieve from the self-recriminations and many, many shoulda/woulda/couldas he was torturing himself with at the time had helped clear his mind, despite the strange sensation he woke up to, like someone had been watching him recently, and the bottle of water sitting patiently in his line of sight that no one could explain.

He sighs as he pushes his way into the building, relaxing slightly as he gets away from the freezing conditions outside. His first stop, as always, is the small board with matches already scheduled for the evening. He sighs as his eyes fall upon _Morrison vs Sheamus_. "Damn," he mutters. _I'm screwed,_ he thinks while wandering slowly towards the locker room. _Every weakness I have, he'll find and exploit. And he'll take great pleasure in adding more._

One problem with wrestling the same guy basically week in and week out, they know your moveset about as well as you know theirs and what to look for, what to target, how to keep the advantage. It's another split second decision on the top rope that causes Morrison to eak out a victory and even though he's relieved that he's not lost two weeks in a row, those same uncertainties from last week return to him. _I should've been able to win easier than that, that was little more than a fluke,_ he thinks, aggravated at himself.

He stumbles stubbornly through the halls, his whole body aching anew at the abuse provided by Sheamus. It's not until his legs almost give out that he finally stops his purposeful walk, taking a couple of deep breaths while supporting himself against the nearest wall. He looks around, surprised to find that the referees that had been following him previously had apparently given up at his repeated refusals of their help.

He shrugs it off and, still pressed against the wall, makes his way slowly to a nearby trunk. Hopping up onto it feels like fresh agony, waking up every pain in his body, and maybe some new ones. He groans and sucks in deep breaths, waiting for it to pass, before sliding back so he can rest his back against the cool wall, his eyes slipping closed at the relief of finally being off of his feet.

 _Maybe I should've gone to the trainers after all,_ he thinks tiredly, turning his head slowly to look in the direction of the trainer's office. "So damn tired of that place," he mumbles, shifting slightly in an attempt to ease his different aches. When it doesn't help even a little, he gives up, dropping his chin to his chest. "Dammit."

He's still sitting there he's not sure how much later, stuck in this pained haze, when footsteps stop just in front of him. He doesn't bother moving, unable to think of anyone he actually wants to see or have see him like this, but it doesn't stop whoever it is, as they hop up onto the trunk with an ease that makes his throbbing body jealous. The silence remains unbroken until his curiosity gets to be too much and he finally peeks at the person next to him. Somehow, he's unsurprised to find that it's Miz. "What do you want?" he mumbles, trying to sit up straighter, appear less vulnerable.

"Who said I wanted anything?" he asks, stroking the title belt in his lap mindlessly as he looks ahead at the quiet hallway before them. A few moments pass before he turns to look at John, frowning slightly. "Why are you here, Morrison?"

He purposely keeps his eyes turned away from the enticing gleam of the title belt as he thinks through Miz's question. "What do you mean?" he grumbles, shifting slightly and just barely stopping the pain filled gasp that tries to slip out of his mouth at the movement.

"That," Miz comments, unfooled by Morrison's attempt at not showing weakness. "You can barely move but you're sitting here, acting stupid, instead of getting help from the trainer. Why?"

"Am sick of the trainer," he sighs, tilting his head to look over at Miz easier. "What's it to you?"

"If you weren't being a stubborn dumbass, you wouldn't have to ask that," Mike responds, glowering at him. "We're all sick of the damn trainer, but we still go see him."

Morrison rolls his eyes but says nothing, choosing instead to needle his former tag partner. "So how'd the tag match against King and Orton go?"

"... Shut up," he huffs, the look on his face turning almost murderous as Morrison smirks, pleased with himself. "You're not distracting me, by the way," he adds after a few moments. "Go to the trainers or I'll drag you off this trunk myself."

"Yeah, sure," John sighs, closing his eyes, too sore and tired to argue about it. "Fine." He takes a deep breath and shifts stiffly, inching agonizingly slowly towards the edge of the trunk. His body is nearly uncooperative, every tentative movement sending stabbing pain through him, after so long of sitting on the hard surface of the trunk. When Miz easily hops off of the trunk just seconds after he reaches the edge, Morrison glares at him.

"Don't look at me like that," he says, rolling his eyes. It takes a minute for John to realize he's not moving from in front of the trunk, obviously waiting for something. He closes his eyes, giving in slightly as he reaches out, gripping Miz's shoulder as he eases himself down from the trunk, wearily standing on the hard concrete floor. "Got it?" Miz asks quietly after giving Morrison a minute to catch his breath.

"Yeah," he grunts, turning towards the trainer's office after releasing Miz's shoulder. "Get this over with..." He starts to walk, ignoring how his legs quickly start throbbing once more almost immediately, the weakness from the match against Sheamus still not completely gone."You don't need to babysit me," he comments when he finally hears the footsteps behind him.

Miz shrugs as he keeps up with him easily, rolling his eyes. "Yeah right, if I didn't follow you, you'd skip out of going to the trainer's. Considering I'll be on those roads too later, I don't need to be keeping an eye out for some stubborn idiot who probably shouldn't be driving."

"So kind of you," Morrison snorts, relieved to see the trainer's door in sight finally.

Miz looks from the door to John and frowns, taking in how pale the man already is, with a long stretch of hallway still ahead of them. "What do you think about the Email GM lately?"

"He has been kind of hands off lately, hasn't he?" he mumbles, trailing a hand against the wall to keep himself focused on the forward path. "It's weird."

"I don't like it," Miz admits. "I mean, it's not bad that he's been leaving me alone but..."

"Sorta feels like he's biding his time for something big," John provides as they finally arrive outside of the trainer's office.

"Exactly," Mike mutters, his face twisting anxiously. "I hate not knowing what's going on. At least this crap with Orton is mostly straight forward. Never thought I'd say this but I almost wish Jericho was still around, he was determined to figure out who the damn GM was."

Morrison shrugs as he pushes the trainer's door open and slips inside, relieved to see the couch waiting for him. _That looks a lot more comfortable than the damn trunk,_ he thinks, easing himself down on it as Miz looks around at the decor. "One thing about Jericho, he's been fired over and over again and he somehow always manages to come back eventually," John offers, turning Miz's attention back to him. "Maybe that'll happen here too."

Miz snorts and settles down in a chair across from the couch. "Knowing my luck, Jericho'll end up being the Email GM."

He laughs silently, holding his ribs as he leans back against the couch to wait for the trainer. "Stranger things have happened, I guess."

"That's for sure," Mike responds, his lips twitching upwards as he glances over at Morrison.


	27. chapter 27

The Miz sighs, brushing a hand against his title belt thoughtfully. Two weeks to the Royal Rumble, where not only does he have to wrestle Randy Orton _again_ , he has to witness his potential Wrestlemania opponent get decided. He has little doubt that he can hold onto the belt up to that point, but it doesn't stop the possibilities from running through his mind.

After all, a year ago he's sure no one would've said in January 2011, Mike "The Miz" Mizanin would be WWE champion. It _is_ the WWE and anything _can_ happen. He scrubs a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm himself, before glancing over. Alex is sitting at the end of the opposing bench, reading through the WWE Magazine curiously.

Interrupting Cena's segment earlier in the evening had mostly been to give himself something to do, and partially just to shut the man up. He's not surprised by Cena's words, far from it, but to think that Orton and Cena deserve a _nother_ Wrestlemania main event after all the work he's done this year grates at him and leaves him seething. He'd take a thousand more screwy rulings from the anonymous GM over something like that happening.

"Hey," Alex says a little later, breaking into his serious thoughts as he stands up.

"What?" he asks blandly, returning to picking at the straps of his belt.

"Is what you said here true?" He drops the magazine down next to Miz and turns to examine the monitor as Miz skims the article about first title runs, tilting his head as he remembers giving the quote about JBL and Morrison's fight directly after their first tag title win.

"Yeah. Why?"

Alex shrugs, glancing over at Miz. "Just never thought Morrison had something like that in him, is all," he mumbles. Said superstar's match against Daniel Bryan continues on behind them as Mike considers this.

"It's always the quiet ones, y'know?" He chuckles mirthlessly before leaning over slightly to peer at the TV. "He always stood up for the things we did- whether as singles competitors or as a team. I was willing to take criticism, try to be better, but he was proud of every victory, no matter what anyone had to say afterwards. Not that he doesn't work to get better, it's just... he felt the need to defend every achievement, I guess. Especially because a lot of people just didn't take me seriously. Hell, some still don't." He licks his lips anxiously before peering up at A-Ri, wondering how his next thought will be received. "Like the road to me winning the WWE title... a lot of it _was_ because of him. Of course it was my victory, I achieved it, but... he's the one who made sure it all worked out, especially when the Email GM really started with all of his crap. I'm not going to lie, I lost hope a few times." His gaze grows distant as he remembers those hard weeks of being able to do little more than wait. "But Morrison kept working at it, figuring out ways for this to all work out, for us to win the tag titles no matter what the Email GM did."

Alex listens quietly, nodding here and there. He runs a hand over the top of his briefcase, lips twisting thoughtfully. "So now?" he asks hesitantly.

"Now," Miz responds, standing up upon seeing Morrison's match come to an end. "We go pay Orton a visit."

After beating down Orton and tossing The King around a bit, Miz feels more secure about the Royal Rumble so it's with a pleased smirk that he and Alex head for the catering table to get some water. Miz sighs and hovers around the table as Alex drifts away to also grab some cookies from the nearby platter, taking his time with his selection.

"That was some show you put on just now," he hears from a few feet away.

"Guess the trainer doesn't get the pleasure of your company tonight, Morrison?" he asks, not even needing to turn around to see who was talking. John joins him, watching with a blank look on his face as Alex carefully checks over each cookie before adding them to the rapidly growing pile in his hand.

"Apparently not," he says with a shrug. "But really, interrupting Cena... beating Orton down... all on the same night... looks like someone's trying to get themselves placed in a triple threat match."

Miz rolls his eyes. "Hardly, John. It's called making a statement."

"Oh, that's what we're calling it now?"

"Yeah," he mumbles, turning to watch as Alex _still_ hasn't finished picking at the desserts.

"How many cookies _does_ one man need?" Morrison asks after a few minutes more of this, glancing over at Miz.

"Ugh," Miz sighs as John chuckles.


	28. Chapter 28

"Sooo... visiting Smackdown went great for you two, huh?"

The Miz releases a deep breath, pressing a hand against the handle of his locker room door as he watches Alex rub gingerly at his ribs in his peripheral, as if reminded of the pain by the mere mention of the blue brand. "What do you want, Morrison?" he asks, a bit of an edge to his voice as his former tag partner joins them, already dressed to wrestle since he has a match fairly early on in the card.

"Who says I want anything?" he responds, leaning against the doorway as they enter Miz's locker room and drop their things around the room, Miz immediately sorting through the things in his duffel to find what he'll need for the match against Edge.

"Then why are you here?" he shoots over his shoulder as Alex drops the briefcase next to him on the bench and flicks the monitor on to watch the opening part of the show. "Are you going to hover in my doorway all night?" he adds, rolling his eyes as John finally enters completely. Before another word can be spoken, they all freeze as Edge's music starts the show off, staring curiously at the TV screen to see what Miz's opponent later in the evening will have to say.

Morrison watches as Miz stiffens at the sound of the Email GM alert that comes a little later, his body tense until the GM finishes his announcement- that Edge will have to wrestle three men _now._ "Well. That sounds a bit familiar," he comments, remembering an almost similiar order made months before, smirking as Mike huffs slightly, displeased at the reminder. They all watch quietly as Edge throws the three competitors over the top rope easily enough.

Alex turns the TV off as soon as they see that the next segment involves New Nexus, Miz turning his attention to polishing his title belt as Morrison picks at his wrist tape. The silence between the three is a bit more strained than normal, the tension of the upcoming Rumble- and, to some extent, the ever looming presence of Wrestlemania- adding to their usual issues.

Finally John pushes away from the wall he's been leaning against since entering the locker room and turns to leave. "My match is next, I should go."

"Ooh, yes, teaming with Mark Henry," Miz comments drily, barely looking up from his title belt. "Have fun with that one."

Morrison releases a huffy sigh before pushing the door open, leaving without another word.

Before Miz can even look up, Alex, looking for a way to break the tension or at least not add more to it, has the monitor turned back on, settling down on the bench to watch the tag match with his mentor. Henry stays on the apron most of the match, John taking the beat down that ensues from Sheamus and Del Rio, until Henry finally tags in. Not long afterwards, Morrison goes flying out of the ring, taking out Sheamus.

Miz cringes as John instantly grabs for his knee after landing badly, his mind working quickly immediately at what an injury this close to the Rumble could mean, while also trying to remember which knee it was that Morrison's had issues with in the past.

"That didn't look good," Alex offers quietly, watching out of the corner of his eye as Miz nods grimly, somewhat unsurprised as the match concludes shortly afterwards with Mark Henry tapping out to ADR.

As tempted as it is to see how Morrison is doing after that match, he second guesses it every time he nears the trainer's office, ignoring the confused look on Alex's face whenever they walk past it. _The last thing he'd want to see is me right now,_ he figures. _Not only did I taunt him about the match but if he can't wrestle in the Rumble, he loses out on another chance at a heavyweight title match. Hell, if I was him,_ I'd _want to punch me right now too._ Aggravated at himself and the situation at large, he finds other things to keep busy- mainly interrupting Cena and wondering where standards went when it's revealed that Gail Kim is Daniel Bryan's girlfriend. "Is any of this making sense to you?"

"No," Alex comments, distracted by polishing his briefcase with what Miz had been using earlier.

Miz rolls his eyes, pressing the palm of his hand to his forehead before he gives up on watching any further and goes to get ready for his match against Edge, still distracted by what could possibly be going on with Morrison about now.

After the match, Alex and Miz escape Dolph and Vickie's nonstop rambling about how horrible Raw is between Orton, King and Cena, and return to the silence of the champ's locker room. Miz sighs in relief as he collapses back against the bench, shaking his head. "Meh, I have to tag with him on Friday? Damn."

Alex looks a little horrified at the idea too, piecing together that he'll have to listen to Vickie's yells and squeeches for the duration of the match as they'll both be on the outside of the ring, cheering on Miz and Dolph respectfully. "Great," he mumbles, feeling a headache coming on already.

They begin collecting their things quietly, looking forward to leaving the arena, when Alex accidentally presses a button on the remote while moving it, turning the monitor on once more. Cole has just finished reading out yet another email when the ring begins filling up in the annual pre-Rumble brawl, led by the Big Show of all people. Alex holds his breath as he looks at all of the guys in the ring, finally catching sight of Morrison in the melee. He chances a glance at Mike and takes in the subtle relief in his intense gaze, the only visible sign that he's seen his former tag partner as well. _Well... this next week should be interesting,_ the protege thinks anxiously.


	29. Chapter 29

Another Royal Rumble has come and gone. John Morrison remembers when younger, watching the annual pay per view with awe, as thirty competitors struggled to be number one. Wanting, someday, to be that person who works his way to the top, and maybe, just maybe, succeeds at a victory on the main stage.

But so far, his success in the Rumble has been variable- sometimes he's lasted a long time, and sometimes, like this year, he's eliminated early on, too early. He shakes his head, picking at the rubber soles of his boots, disappointed in himself and annoyed at New Nexus for simply _being._ He may have received a lot of compliments and notice for saving himself from being eliminated by scaling the barricade wall, but even so, the memory leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

Rumors spreading around the locker room claims there will be another Rumble with big implications for the Elimination Chamber but the details are scattered and vary. Some include him, some don't and, as much as the egotistical side of him thinks the Email GM would be foolish to not include him, he almost wouldn't be surprised if he does ultimately get kept from the match, just because he was taken out so early in the previous rumble not even twenty four hours. _It's not like the last month's gone that well anyway,_ he thinks, scowling a bit as he retracks over his more recent matches.

He can't see the monitor screen from the doorway of the locker room, where he's staring out at the busy hallways, but he hears the opening announcements of a rematch between Edge and Miz, with the Email GM demanding the match will continue until there's a winner. _Interesting, the Email GM hates Edge too but his orders for that match are seemingly in his favor._ His thoughts are derailed when the Raw Rumble match is mentioned, his breath held until he hears his name as one of the competitors.

He catches glimpses of the show on various monitors while running through the hallways, around and over various obstacles that go by in a blur, doing his Parkour training to pass the time and prepare for the match all at once. He happens to be by a monitor in time to catch Orton punt Harris in the skull and flinches, knowing that he's more than likely going to be in the ring with the Viper in a little over an hour. He only eases up when he catches glimpses of Miz's match against Edge, slowing to a complete stop as another of his competitors in the Raw Rumble match interrupts, Cena yelling down to the ring and distracting Miz enough that Edge gets the advantage, a spear and ultimately the pin.

Raw Rumble starts off ok, he even gets out of the Attitude Adjustment and gets some offense in on Cena early on. When Truth eliminates Orton, he breathes a sigh of relief at not having to worry about the unbalanced Viper losing it again and going for a punt on one or all of them, but not long after R Truth is taken out, he too is thrown out, by Sheamus, despite his best at remaining in the match, using everything at his disposal- at some points, only staying in the ring by the tips of his very toes.

He has a place in the Elimination Chamber, along with the other five men eliminated from the match, but it's very little consolation after two chances at the WWE title lost in a twenty four hour period.

A little afterwards, he's sitting by catering, staring thoughtfully at the wall while drinking from a bottle of water when he hears Alex Riley in the distance talking loudly about how Miz deserves a better opponent than Jerry Lawler, Mike obviously only half listening as he looks over the catering table. "Dodged another bullet, eh, Miz?" he can't help but ask, cutting into Alex's chatter. "Maybe you'll get to defend the belt against Josh Mathews next." He has no problem with Jerry, even respects him for what he's accomplished, between his long career and as a hall of famer but even so, the tension still remains from before the Royal, the competitiveness of Wrestlemania being so close making everyone snappy and overly defensive.

Leftover aggravation from the Royal Rumble mixes in with the disappointment of being third eliminated in the Raw Rumble so he doesn't feel all that bad about his comments or attitude as he and Miz stare at each other, Mike's hand tightening around the gold strap against his shoulder.

Before they can say or do anything else, Zack Ryder and Primo brush past Alex to get something from the catering table. Turning, Zack catches sight of Miz and smirks, throwing an arm around Primo's shoulder. "Hey. Jealous of the hottest new tag team, bro? Bet you wish I became your tag partner last summer, huh? You would've been world champion like _that_ ," he says, snapping his fingers, blinding them all with his usual confident grin before dragging Primo off without receiving an answer, going on about some club they'd have to hit up later.

The resulting look of horrified shock on Miz's face shatters Morrison's tension like a hammer to ice and he laughs lowly, shaking his head in amusement at Zack's brazenness. "What the hell was that?" Alex asks, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline as he gapes after Ryder in disbelief.


	30. chapter 30

Eight weeks to Wrestlemania and the backstage area is already a mad house, people running around working on this and that, shouting back and forth instructions to each other in regards to this promo package and that sound bite. Not to mention the wrestlers themselves, the nonstop buzz at an all time high. Vince McMahon being around always adds to the anxious energy in the building.

Miz shakes his head at the crazy amount of activity around him as he wanders through the halls, only stopping long enough to listen to a stage hand, who explains just before he reaches the gorilla position that Morrison's match is still going on and he'll have to wait to address Jerry Lawler's win last week. _Pfft, telling the WWE champion to wait,_ he thinks in annoyance, continuing on his way.

After glancing out a moment, he spots Morrison finishing up his match against McGillicutty and shrugs, motioning to a waiting Alex before stepping away from the bulk of the activity around the gorilla area. _Should only take a minute or two more,_ he decides, settling against the wall. He's distracted from staring at his precious title belt by running footsteps and looks up just in time to catch sight of CM Punk rushing towards the titantron. _What the...?_

He and Alex exchange glances before he steps forward, looking past the curtains in time to see Punk spray Morrison right in the face with... something, before downing the blinded, struggling man with a kick right to the skull. _"Damn,"_ he breathes, eyes widening as trainers and referees rush down to help him up and keep Punk away. Morrison's loud, hoarse coughs echo around the hallway, coming from the monitors, and Miz's hands clench into fists at the sound.

Punk looks ten kinds of thrilled with himself and his New Nexus as he returns to the back, McGillicutty stumbling along behind him with his head down. Despite the loss, Punk claps him on the back with a large smile on his face before heading to the locker room New Nexus had commandeered.

Miz watches his progress with a mulish glare on his face, his attention only divided when the group of referees and trainers lead Morrison carefully through the curtains. "I can't see," he says, his voice rough and a little desperate as the referees gently ease him onto the floor, moving aside so the trainer can look him over more thoroughly. "It stings." Even his breathing sounds rough and Miz can't help but wonder how much of the spray got into his mouth and nose.

Miz inches closer, his upcoming time in the ring all but forgotten as he takes a good look at John. Small particles of whatever it is that Punk sprayed him with are caking his face and hair, clinging to his very eyelashes.

"Ok John," the trainer says, waiting patiently to continue talking as the man coughs again, his throat probably stinging as bad as his eyes. "We're going to get some water and eyedrops, see what we can do to dilute what's in your eyes, ok?"

"Fine," he mumbles, wiping at his face with an unsteady hand.

"Don't touch your eyes," the trainer warns. "Don't want to get any more of that chemical in there." He stands up, motioning to a nearby referee.

As they step away to talk about what to do, Miz takes his opportunity and squats down across from Morrison, a strange feeling of deja vu coursing through him that he promptly ignores. He takes a closer look at him and cringes, shaking his head as white hot anger towards Punk courses through him. Wet tracks down John's cheeks wash away the remaining chemicals scattered across his face, his tightly closed eyes still watering nonstop from the attack. _If Punk wins the Elimination Chamber, I swear, I'll make him pay at Wrestlemania,_ he surprises himself by thinking. The awkward silence continues as he examines him, not sure if speaking up right now would help things any or not. Morrison's been tense since before the Rumble and right now, Mike's disinterested in making things worse. Especially as he struggles to breathe without coughing, his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles are turning white.

Alex joins them a few moments later, quietly patting Miz on the shoulder. It all returns to him in an instance- _Right, my segment with Jerry._ He reluctantly pulls himself to his feet and glances once more at John before turning to the ramp. It doesn't help much when they recap Punk's attack on Morrison as soon as he enters the ring, the attack seeming even worse on the much bigger titantron screen. Even Alex looks worried as they exchange glances but Miz isn't sure if it's for Morrison, or him.

King as number one contender is far from his priority right now so he doesn't feel on top of his game as he talks up King's career and somehow makes it through claiming that his career was based on Jerry's without laughing or gagging... or both. Despite his attention being elsewhere, even he can't just let it slide as King starts an awful chant but his attempt at landing a punch fails and before he knows it, he's down on the mat watching as Alex tries to come to his aid just to get thrown from the ring.

After Ted DiBiase and Daniel Bryan get involved, it far from surprises Miz when the Email GM interrupts. _Look who's back,_ he thinks, rolling his eyes as they're all thrown into a tag match, which they lose after Daniel takes him out, slamming them both into the divider wall and allowing King to get the upperhand and pin DiBiase.

His back is sore but he doesn't really care as Alex manages to get away from Cole and rejoins him, handing the WWE title to him. "Come on," he says, gingerly draping the strap across his shoulder. "Let's get out of here before we get caught up in his drama with Maryse or something."

The hallway isn't much calmer than it was earlier, people still in a frenzy to get things done and done well. It seems to take forever to make it to the locker room area while dodging people and things, but finally they make it to a quieter part of the building and Alex takes a deep breath when they pause outside of the trainer's office.

"Hang on," Mike says when Alex glances back at him, wondering why he's stopped. He follows his gaze and finds Morrison leaning against a wall a few feet away, staring down at something in his hand. His mentor shifts his hold on the title belt against his shoulder and walks up to him, frowning as he looks him over. All signs of the chemical is now gone from his face and when John looks up, their gazes lock. Miz cringes slightly as he takes in how painfully blood-shot Morrison's eyes are, finally looking down to try to see what exactly he's holding in the dim lighting.

Obligingly, John holds up the can of hairspray, a strange look on his face. "The, uh, makeup girl said she was missing one of these cans," he explains quietly, his voice still a little rough and scratchy. "You know what it says on these things?" As Miz shakes his head no, Morrison holds it up a bit higher. "'Use only as directed; intentional misuse by deliberately concentrating and inhaling contents can be harmful or fatal.' Sounds great, right? He's going to _pay._ " The sudden anger in Morrison's voice surprises Mike as they stare at each other.

"Of course he is," he mumbles, not doubting it for a second. _One way or another,_ he thinks, remembering his own earlier thoughts.


	31. Against the Grain

Miz shifts the WWE title against his shoulder and smirks as Alex Riley follows him through the hallways. Sometimes he likes to just walk with it out in the open, absorbing the annoyed glances that jealous co-competitors shoot his way as he walks past them. He's just ahead of the gorilla position when he realizes that Alex isn't following him any longer. He turns to find his NXT rookie lingering by the titantron, gaping out at the ring along with a growing crowd of people. "What's going on?" he demands, a little put out that even his apprentice's attention has been dragged away from him. _The evening's house show is still hours away from starting so whatever it is can't be that amazing,_ he thinks grumpily, before elbowing his way into a position where he can see down the ramp and into the ring perfectly. What he sees takes a minute to register but when it does, his jaw drops- pausing only momentarily before he instinctively goes into action, grabbing Alex by the collar of his "My Name is Awesome" shirt. "Get a chair, _now,_ " he orders, pushing his title belt into the hands of a nearby crew member before dashing after him to find something to defend himself with.

He passes by R Truth a few feet away and it's a split second decision, his hand snaking out and grabbing his arm. Before he can swing a punch at the man waylaying him, Miz pushes him back. "There's no time for this, grab a chair or some kind of weapon and _follow me_! NOW!"

If anything, it's the desperation in the WWE champion's voice that's rarely ever heard that causes Truth to listen to him, quickly grabbing the nearest chair. As soon as they've all found chairs, they meet up at the gorilla position. Truth only looks for a second before the meaning of all of this madness comes to him. He's running down the ramp before Miz can even say anything else.

"Dammit," Miz grumbles before nodding briskly at Alex. They quickly rush down, Alex sliding into the ring too as Miz stays on the outside, watching with wary eyes as Husky Harris and Michael McGullicutty are taken down first. Otunga, attracted by the sound, turns just to get a face full of steel from both men as they do an impromptu and unplanned conchairto, downing him immediately. Slater and Gabriel are now all that stands between the two and Wade Barrett, who is ignoring everything around him while punching and kicking John Morrison relentlessly.

Alex moves first, taking a wild swing and missing as Heath ducks under and goes for Truth. Miz rolls his eyes as Gabriel manages a drop toehold, sending Alex facefirst into his own steel chair. Mike takes the moment of distraction his apprentice's bumble causes and slams his chair into Heath from the outside after Truth pulls a partial split, his own forward motion sending the redheaded Nexus member into the ropes nearest the WWE champion. As Gabriel goes after Truth, the speedy wrestler slings his chair up and slams it right into Justin's skull, downing him.

As soon as the path is clear, Miz slides into the ring and dashes past the various downed Nexus members, a wobbly Alex- who's barely regained his footing- and R Truth watching over them all with chairs at the ready, just waiting for any movement.

Wade is still pinning Morrison in the corner, his hands now wrapped viciously around the thinner man's throat. Even though Mike only manages glimpses now and again of John, he can see from where he's standing how the man's lips are slowly turning blue, his struggles growing weaker as more time passes. "HEY!" he yells, moving to swing his chair straight at Barrett's head. He's not surprised when Wade quickly retreats, releasing Morrison- who slumps bonelessly against the turnbuckle before slipping down to the mat- and slides under the bottom rope to recollect Nexus.

The instant Barrett is gone, Miz abandons his weapon and drops down in front of John, grabbing the limp man by his shoulders. "You better be breathing, you idiot," he mumbles softly, dragging him closer so he's half leaning against Miz's shoulder. He relaxes slightly when he feels his chest rise and fall against his arm. "John? Johnny?" It feels like they sit there forever, Miz's focus on every twitch and labored breath coming from the man.

"Mike?" John mutters hoarsely after a few moments, his hand weakly reaching up to grip Miz's sleeve.

"Finally," he sighs, pushing back a bit so he can get a better look at Morrison. Finger shaped bruises are already forming around his throat and Mike cringes as he sees the damage. However, his lips are steadily returning to a normal shade so Miz doesn't say anything, tugging John back against him once more as he tries not to think about how bad things could've been if he and Alex hadn't walked by the gorilla position at that moment. "You're ok," he mumbles. It's only a matter of moments before relief turns to anger though, as he wonders why exactly Nexus would choose _now_ to go after Morrison, when they've stopped randomly attacking people for the most part, the bulk of their aggression aimed on Cena in recent weeks. _Maybe they've grown tired of him, which I can't say I blame them but... why go after Morrison?_

"Is he alright?" Truth asks, squatting down to get a good look at his former tag partner.

"I'm fine," Morrison whispers, still leaning against Miz as he struggles to breathe normally once more, his throat tender.

"You don't sound it," Truth comments, pressing a hand against John's shoulder. "Think the trainer should look you over, man."

Morrison groans at this prospect but says nothing as Miz nudges him, easing him against the turnbuckle once more before standing up. "For once, I agree with Truth," he says with an overexaggerated painful look on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, if you did more often, maybe you wouldn't have half the problems you do," the rapper snaps, grinning down at Morrison as he shakes his head at his former tag partners' argument.

"If you two could stop bickering, I'd like to get this over with," he forces out, a trembling hand going to his throat barely halfway through the sentence. It's this show of discomfort more than anything that gets the show on the road, as they ease him out of the ring, to his feet and help him to the back. Alex follows slowly behind, steel chair at the ready in case Nexus comes back for round two.

The trip to the trainer's office goes easily, however, as Nexus is nowhere to be found and every wrestler in the building seems prepared to defend themselves, steel chairs and other weapons held at the ready as they watch Miz and Truth help Morrison to the small room set aside for the trainer to do his business in. _Yeah, sure, they have no problem preparing_ now _but could they help John at all earlier? Of course not... bunch of mindless children, they're only mimicking my actions. They'd all be nothing without me,_ Miz thinks angrily, focusing once more on John's uneven breathing to distract himself from the emotions building up within him.

"Just a little further," Truth says, Miz glancing over at him briefly. Worry is visible in his dark eyes as well as he secures Morrison's grip around his shoulder, ignoring the intense shaking that they both can feel.

 _This sucks,_ he thinks, wanting to glance back at Alex but not willing to let go of John as they continue hesitantly down the hallway. They finally reach the trainer's room, all three of them releasing a sigh almost simultaneously as they settle Morrison down on the couch to be looked over.

Truth wanders over to tell the trainer what exactly happened as Miz pats John on the shoulder briskly. "I'll be back in a little bit," he comments slowly, marching purposely to the door.

"Miz-" Alex says, confusion bleeding into his tone.

"Let him go," Miz overhears Morrison before the door slips closed, his voice still raw and painful.

He swallows as soon as he's out of sight of the people within the trainer's office, resting his head against the cool wall. He's fairly defenseless right now, Alex's chair still inside the room and the other chairs left in the ring in their rush to get Morrison checked out. _Hell,_ he realizes with a mirthless chuckle, _I don't even know where my title belt's at..._ _Some champion I am._ He begins pacing back and forth in front of the trainer's door, mumbling to himself as he tries not to think of the examination going on inside. _He'll be fine, he'll be fine. He was breathing, talking. It'll take more than Barrett's weak grip to do real damage... right?_ He anxiously reaches out for the door, as if his very touch will reveal to him what's going on behind the walls, but he steps back a few seconds later, unwilling to enter. _I'm stressed out and when I'm stressed out, I get hyper. He needs to stay calm right now, so I'm better staying out here. Let R Truth handle it... Did I really just think that?_

He's still standing out there, staring blankly ahead when Alex comes out to find him, despite Morrison's earlier comment. "I don't know what to do," he confesses. "Even pacing back and forth doesn't feel right... you know? I want to do something but there's very little I _can_ do. And by the way, never _ever_ google search strangulation. Every article goes right to the worst case scenario." He frowns down at the phone held tightly in his right hand and shakes his head, dropping it into his pocket to keep from smashing it in his grip. "Has the trainer said anything yet?"

"He wants Morrison to get checked out at the ER," Alex says slowly, waiting for Miz to react before continuing. As soon as he nods, the rookie takes in a deep breath and proceeds. "He wants to make sure there's nothing he's missed but he thinks he'll be alright. He said, um... since Morrison is breathing alright on his own and the hospital's only a few minutes away, he could either be driven in or an ambulance could be called-"

It only takes Miz a split second to decide- _ambulance would take too long, who knows where Nexus is hiding-_ and Alex looks unsurprised at the words that flow from his downturned lips as he looks around, obviously weighing his decision and possible fall out from it even as he speaks. "We'll take him."

R Truth looks up as they enter and nods briefly before turning his attention back to John, who's still holding onto his throat. "I'll check in with you after my match tonight. Do you need help getting him to the car?" This is directed to Miz but before he can answer, Morrison shakes his head.

"I can walk," he mumbles, the return of that familiar stubborn pride making them all feel a little better.

"Yeah, we'll be fine," Miz agrees, relieved to be rid of Truth for right now. _Sure, I'm the one who dragged him into this, but Riley and I are quite capable of getting Morrison to the ER on our own..._

After they tell the trainer no ambulance and listen to his warnings of what to watch for despite the hospital's proximity to the arena, the walk from the trainer's office to the parking lot is slow, somber, as Miz hovers near Morrison, taking in every grimace and strained breath he releases and comparing it to what the trainer had said. Alex stays a bit behind them, eyes darting back and forth, over his shoulder and to the path in front of Miz and Morrison in case Nexus should try another ambush.

The instant they walk outside, the chilly December air that greets them freezes a path down Morrison's already abused throat, causing him to cough hoarsely. He groans and grips at his raw throat, trying to catch a deep breath despite the pure agony each causes. Miz grabs him by the arm instinctively, keeps him upright as they pause a moment, his breathing echoing around the immediate area. "Take it easy, John. Just breathe slowly." It's a testament to how crappy the prideful Morrison is feeling that he doesn't shake his grip off immediately, and just makes Mike mentally go over everything the trainer said again as they wait to make sure he hasn't missed anything.

Alex stands between them and the door, trying not to make a face at the horrible wheezing sounds coming from Morrison as he struggles to follow Miz's commands. He distracts himself by keeping an eye on the surrounding area, mentally begging Nexus to stay away as he shifts his grip on the steel chair that he's not let out of his sight since the initial attack against Morrison. It's a relief when Morrison forces out a strained, "I'm fine. Let's go" and Miz accepts it, despite the disbelief flickering on his face.

When they finally arrive at the car, they all release sighs of relief. "Here," Miz mumbles, for once not paying attention to the cold steel keys biting into his gloveless hands, quickly unlocking the car doors so Morrison can get in. Before Alex can say or do anything, Mike flips the keys towards him. "You drive," he says once his apprentice has a steady grip on them. He prods Morrison with a brusque "Move over" before joining him in the back seat.

It's a side of Miz Alex hasn't seen a lot of- sure, he's always present, badgering Alex to admit when he feels like crap after a match or harrassing the trainer about what's wrong- but to actually take all the responsibility upon himself... _I wonder if he'd go to this much trouble if it was me,_ he thinks, feeling guilty and uncomfortable almost immediately at the thought. He shakes his head and forces himself to stop watching through the back window as Miz frowns at a motionless Morrison, who is leaning back against the seat with his eyes closed, and slips into the driver's seat. He vaguely remembers seeing the hospital on the way to the arena earlier so he pulls out of the parking lot silently, leaving Miz to focus on Morrison's breathing and keeping him awake.

As soon as they arrive at the hospital, Alex hesitates while Miz taps Morrison on the arm until he peeks over with an unhappy glower. "We're at the ER," he says simply. "Stop being lazy." Despite his bland tone, his face is pinched worriedly as he slips back out of the car, leaning over to watch as Morrison awkwardly pulls himself towards the door. As soon as Morrison is standing safely on the pavement, Miz nods briskly at Alex. "Go park the car, I'll get him inside."

"Alright," Alex mumbles, only pausing for a minute to watch as they awkwardly make their way through the ER doors before pulling away from the entrance to search the parking lot for a free space.

Miz leads Morrison over to the front desk, keeping an eye on him as they wait for the rapidly typing nurse to pay them attention. Finally he clears his throat and the dark haired woman looks up with a raised eyebrow. "Yes? May I help you?" she asks, sounding a bit put out.

He ignores her, tugging John closer so she can get a good look at him. "My friend here was attacked and strangled, maybe he should be checked out some time tonight?" he suggests, biting sarcasm overwhelming her own reaction ten fold, at least.

She glances over at Morrison, taking in the finger shaped marks along his throat, and immediately snaps her mouth shut on the equally caustic response. "I see. Take him back to that room," she comments, pointing to a small room off to the side. "A nurse will be in shortly to get information. Then we'll get him into an ER room ASAP to be looked at by a doctor."

"Ok," Miz mumbles, nudging John towards the room indicated. He's just settled against the wall across from where Morrison sits to wait with him when he happens to glance out the window into the waiting room just visible past the desk, catching sight of a worried looking Alex. He rolls his eyes and presses a thumb to the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Hey, I'll be back in a second," he says reluctantly. After Morrison nods slightly, he pulls away from the wall and joins Alex as he shifts his weight anxiously from leg to leg. "What is it?"

"One of the techs called me just after I parked the car," he says, fretting his lip. "People are freaking out because you're not there-"

"Of course they are," he mumbles, automatically falling back on cockiness while only half listening to Alex, mind running through the possibilities of what Morrison's condition could actually be, why Nexus did what they did, and what it all could mean for the upcoming weeks. _As if I needed more stress tacked onto my championship reign,_ he thinks before refocusing on A-Ri, who appears to be waiting for some sort of reaction. "What?"

"They want us back at the arena, or else," Alex repeats himself, taking an instinctive step back from Miz as the news sinks in.

His eyes dart to the side, where he can just see Morrison through the window, tentatively rubbing the area around his throat. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, trying not to dwell on how easy it is for him to just _breathe_ when John could barely gasp not even half an hour ago, due to Wade Barrett. "Fine," he grumbles. "Let me talk to Morrison for a minute and we'll go."

"Alright," Alex nods, eyes lit in quiet sympathy for his conflicted mentor as he reenters the room. He watches through the window as Miz rolls the only other chair in the small room over to sit next to John, his frown widening as he talks softly to the exhausted looking man. John nods blankly and Alex wonders how much of Miz's speech he's grasped when the champion stands up, reaching out towards him. Morrison tenses up, the sudden cornered look on his face visible even through the streaked glass separating Alex from his mentor, and Miz pauses immediately, lips parting worriedly.

In the end he shakes it off, walking towards the door. "We'll... be back a little later, Morrison," he calls over his shoulder, glaring at the floor a moment before grabbing Alex by the sleeve and pushing him towards the door. "Let's get this over with."

The match is some nothing tag match, held at the end of the card and Alex watches as Miz paces around for at least half an hour before their turn to enter the ring. "I'm sure he's fine," the rookie offers hesitantly before their cue.

"Of course he will," Miz brushes off his comment like it's nothing. His eyes are always a big give away though, no matter what he may be saying, and Alex feels better when he sees a glimmer of appreciation lingering there as they fall into their positions for the match.

Their team loses but it doesn't seem to matter very much to Miz as he nudges Alex and heads up the ramp, an angry glower on his face. There's a meeting afterwards to go over the traveling schedule the upcoming week and hotels booked for the superstars, boring things like that, when Mike clears his throat, interrupting the road agent's speech. He looks annoyed before sighing, putting his clipboard down. "Yes?"

"As you might've heard, Nexus attacked Morrison earlier, before the event began." When the agent looks unsurprised, he continues, struggling to keep his tone level as his co-competitors whisper amongst each other. "He's in the ER right now."

"Any word on how bad it is?" the agent asks, scribbling something down on his clipboard.

"I had to come back here before I could find out. Doubt he'll be around for Raw tomorrow night, though," he says with determination, raising an eyebrow at the man as he continues writing on his sheet of paper.

"Fine. That's all for this meeting."

"Finally," Miz grumbles, motioning to Alex as he hurriedly walks back to his locker room, Alex keeping a close eye out for the Nexus members as he follows him.

Packing their things, remembering at the last moment to also grab Morrison's bag that was left behind after the attack earlier, and the trip back to the ER goes by in a blur, as Miz drives fast even for him. Alex wisely says nothing, simply making sure his belt is clasped securely as they rush towards the hospital.

Miz doesn't even wait for Alex as he's out of the car as soon as it's stopped, roughly pulling the keys from the ignition. "Come on," he urges, already walking towards the hospital as Alex slams the car door shut, the small chirping noise from the keychain locking the doors automatically following the sound almost immediately.

Almost two hours have passed since they left the ER to go back to the arena but shifts haven't changed yet, as the nurse recognizes them. "John Morrison, right?" she asks with a calm smile as they shift anxiously in front of her.

"Yeah, can we see him?" Miz asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Of course, follow me." As she makes her way around the desk, they follow her back to an ER room where the lights are dimmed, a plastic blue sheet stretching from floor to ceiling from hooks blocking the bed from view. "He's been sleeping," she explains softly as she pushes the door open and slips past the sheet. "I thought some privacy would be warranted so some fan wouldn't recognize him and come barging in on him or something."

"Good idea," Miz mumbles as he takes in his sleeping former tag partner, curled up on his side with his hand tangled up in the thin white sheet covering him. "How's his breathing?"

"Better," the nurse offered. "We have him on a pulse oximetry." She smiles and points to one of the monitors near his bed. "See that percentage? 96%. That's how much oxygen he's getting. We don't have him on any oxygen so this is his natural level. As long as it's over 90%, we're comfortable with it." She then whispers, "The doctor will be in shortly to talk to you more. I'll be back a little later to check in on him."

"Ok. Thanks," Miz whispers back before pulling a chair next to Morrison's bed. "You're really great at getting yourself into some deep crap, huh, Johnny?" he mumbles, sitting down quietly as Alex settles down in the only other chair in the room, not bothering to move it from its place near the counter across from the bed. From this angle, even in the dim lighting, he can see how the finger shaped bruises have darkened around his throat. He remembers how John had frozen when Miz reached out to touch him earlier and looks away, hands clenching around the chair arm angrily. _If I had gotten there sooner... If the guys content to just sit around and watch from the gorilla positon had_ spines... _maybe it wouldn't have been this bad?_ "I'm sorry."

The silence that follows Miz's quiet apology is broken after a moment when the door opens to admit a doctor. As soon as he sees that Morrison is asleep, he murmurs, "In the hall?" At Miz's nod, he and Alex follow the tall, dark haired man out of the room.

"How is he?" Miz asks once the door click shuts behind them, not bothering to wait for introductions, the need for silence fading away as soon as he knows that they don't risk waking Morrison up.

"He's doing well," the doctor begins by saying, smiling as Miz releases a breath. "We ran a few tests and scans of his throat, just to make sure, but there looks to be no permanent damage. In fact, as soon as he wakes up enough to sign discharge papers, which will be brought in shortly, he can leave. As long as someone will be with him, to keep an eye on his breathing."

"He'll be with us," Mike says immediately, not even needing a minute to consider it.

"Alright, I'll tell the nurse to bring the papers in ASAP," the doctor nods, holding his hand out to shake Miz's. "By the way, I'm Dr. Gold. If you have any questions or concerns, please ask for me."

"Alright, thanks, Doc." As soon as the social pleasantries are handled and the doctor turns on his heel to presumably check on his other patients, Mike reenters the ER room, unsurprised to find Morrison stirring slightly as he and Alex wordlessly return to their seats.

Miz waits, quietly picking at his fingernails, unsurprised as John calms, remains asleep. He looks up and smirks at a frowning Alex. "You don't have plans, do you?"

"What?"

"Might be here awhile, is all," he mumbles, attempting to settle in a little more comfortably in the hard-backed chair. "He can be a heavy sleeper sometimes..."

"Oh. No, I've got nothing," A-Ri replies, blinking. It's relatively early on a Sunday night, he could find _something_ but leaving Miz alone in some strange hospital while Nexus is still out to do... who knows what doesn't sit too well with him. _Tonight feels weird,_ he decides, shifting to the side as he glances out into the quiet hallway, watching the nurses hovering around the front desk that's just in view of Morrison's temporary room. _Probably just paranoia though. That attack was..._ He sighs, a muted little sound, as his hand twitches into a fist around the chair's armrest.

"Brutal," Miz says a few moments later, eyebrow raising as Alex's head jerks up, a shocked look on his face. "The chairs," he explains with a distracted flutter of his hand as he looks back over at John, who's shifting once more in his sleep. The muted glow from the strip of lighting over the hospital bed is just enough to cast a shadow beneath his face, making the dull bruises along his throat look even darker. Miz forces himself to look away, unable to stare for long at signs of the abuse he had endured while others were content to stand around and watch without wanting to explode or punch something. Or both.

"Yeah," Alex mumbles, unsure what to say. Morrison sighs softly, his eyes fluttering restlessly, when the plastic sheet blocking Morrison's bed from the main hallway's view is pushed aside and the nurse enters, the release forms held securely in one hand.

She smiles, bemused, at finding him still asleep and locks eyes with Miz, who shrugs as if to say _What can ya do?_ "The ER's not really busy so we don't need his bed right now," she whispers, quietly handling the clipboard to him. "He can sleep a little longer, looks like he needs it. Just make sure he signs that before he goes."

"Will do," Mike nods, relieved that he won't have to deal with getting a groggy, persumably grumpy Morrison to sign forms and then walk to the car right away. Once she leaves with a small smile, he falls quiet once more, eyes drifting from the bland beige tiles over to the different machines still monitoring John's vitals back to the floor.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what he's thinking about- the Nexus attack is weighing heavily on both of them. Alex has no idea why they attacked now, what the purpose of it was. Something about it makes him uncomfortable though, and if his mentor's facial expression is any indication, he feels much the same.

Their thoughts are interrupted when, almost fifteen minutes later with no warning, Morrison wakes up coughing harshly, his hand immediately going to his still tender throat. His eyes widen as he looks around in groggy confusion, the heart monitor's beeps speeding up as he fails to recognize his surroundings right away. Before Alex can even attempt to think of what to do or say, Miz leans forward and rests a hand on John's shoulder. "Hey, John. It's alright. You're in the ER, remember?"

His dark eyes settle on Mike as he sucks in a deep breath, shaking his head. "Mike?" His voice is still rough, thick with sleep. It makes Alex cringe almost as much as the heart monitor's repetitive beeps just seconds ago did.

"Yep." He watches as John looks at the different equipment still connected to him and smiles slightly, patting him on the arm before leaning back in his chair. Feigned nonchalance bleeds off of him, mostly to calm Morrison down more. His heart rate slows a little and Alex sighs, looking away. "You're going to be fine, by the by. Nurse was in a little bit ago with some forms for you to sign- then we can get out of here."

Miz's calm speech seems to do the job as the heart monitor's rapid beeping eases down to a more normal level just during that sentence. Alex can't help but wonder just how many times over the years they've gone through something similar as Morrison takes the forms from Mike and skims them, mumbling tiredly to himself before quickly signing next to the bright yellow X's the nurse had thoughtfully placed on the forms.

"Now that that's done... ready to get out of here?" Mike asks, pushing the chair back as he stands up. At Morrison's nod, he tugs the clipboard out of his hands. "I'll take this to the nurse's desk, be back in a second."

The awkward silence that follows his departing footsteps is nothing short of incredible as John and Alex look everywhere but at each other. The two don't really care for the other but a sort of silent agreement had been made between the two back when Miz and Morrison started getting along better, mostly because of the tension already surrounding Miz due to the Email GM and the issues dogging his first title run. It's just easier for Alex to ignore Morrison and vice versa, especially when around Mike.

So the wait for Miz to return seems to take forever, A-Ri releasing a soft sigh of relief when his mentor finally returns, a nurse in tow. "Well, good morning," she says cheerfully, smiling at the still sleepy-looking John Morrison. "I hear you're ready to get out of here." With expert fingers, she carefully unclasps the different monitors connected to him and, digging around inside a closet, pulls out a bag. "Here are your things."

"Thanks," he murmurs, tugging out his shirt and pulling it automatically over the scrubs top they had him change into before the tests. As soon as he stands up, Miz shifts slightly so he's standing within arm's reach of him.

"Ready?"

"Yes," John says quietly, nodding at the nurse as he follows Mike out of the room. Alex stays a bit behind and simply observes as the two men quietly walk through the hallways towards the exit.

Once they arrive outside, he moves ahead of the other two, leading the way to the car. He mindlessly rattles the keychain back and forth, his thoughts and worries clearing briefly as he breathes in the cool November air. _Something tells me we're far from done with all of this,_ he thinks as he unlocks the car and slips into the driver's seat, unsurprised as Morrison slides into the back seat and Miz follows him, obviously taking his job of keeping an eye on John and his breathing very seriously.

The drive to the hotel is silent, Alex not even bothering to turn the radio on during the relatively short ride. Morrison doesn't talk, content to lean back and half-doze as they drive, still worn out and in pain from the attack. The bruises spanning his throat look even worse in the pale gleam from streetlights and Miz alternates between not wanting to see and unable to look away.

Miz and Alex exchange a glance as soon as they arrive at the hotel, both knowing: As glad as they'll be to get inside and settled, Nexus will more likely than not be registered to the same hotel, which opens them all up to a whole other possible set of problems. "Park the car," Miz says tersely before Alex can stop at the front door to drop them off. "We'll all go in together."

The relief that Alex feels at these simple words is almost staggering and keeps him from parking very straight but Miz doesn't complain, already distracted as he tries to nudge John back to complete consciousness. "Come on, Johnny. We're at the hotel. Time to go inside."

He groans and scrubs at his face but slowly comes to, looking around. "Ok," he mumbles, hand immediately going to his throat. He starts patting his pockets, face relaxing vaguely as he pulls out a hotel key. "Room 239," he mumbles, squinting at it in the half light as Miz reaches over Morrison and opens the car door.

"No, John, you're not going back to your room tonight," he says, rolling his eyes at how _that_ sounds. "Alex, can you...?" Before he can finish the sentence, Alex gets out of the car and pulls the door open the rest of the way, waiting as Morrison pulls himself out of the car gingerly. He's barely on his feet when Miz joins them, looking around the quiet parking lot pensively. "Come on, let's get our bags."

Alex hisses through his teeth, shaking his head as he realizes how close he's come to forgetting about the three duffels waiting patiently in the trunk. _Yeah, forgetting your gear in the trunk of some nondescript rental is just asking for trouble,_ he rebukes himself. In the end, he carries Morrison's and his own while Miz takes care of his own, which is a first in their mentor-pro relationship.

"Let's get moving." It's somewhat slow going, with John too sleepy and sore to go very fast, so Miz and Alex keep a close eye on the surrounding areas, some of the tension leaving them as soon as they get inside the hotel. "I think Nexus is staying here so keep an eye out," Mike mutters to Riley, who nods quietly, glancing around. "If we weren't all wiped out, I'd suggest we change hotels but who knows if we could find anywhere good to stay at this hour. When we go to Raw tomorrow, we can scope out a better hotel then."

"Alright," Alex agrees, relaxing even more as they enter the elevator. He's normally not the paranoid type but with the way this evening's going, it feels very good to be locked in these four walls, away from stares and whispers, even for the short time it takes to go to floor three. He goes first, leaving Miz to keep an eye on an amenably exhausted Morrison, peering down the hallway- left and right and once more for good measure before ducking back into the elevator. "Coast is clear," he says, feeling like some top secret spy or something equally cool.

Miz nods, relief flashing across his intense blue eyes. "Good. Let's go, Morrison." He reaches out for him, faltering as he remembers the reaction his sudden movement earlier in the hospital room caused. However, this time John barely reacts, yawning with a grimace as he makes his way out of the elevator. Miz sighs and shrugs, face heating up slightly as he looks everywhere but at Alex. "This way, John," he mumbles, walking to the left. Morrison follows, looking around blearily as Alex trails along after them.

Thankfully the hallway is quiet as they hover outside of their door, Alex patting his different jeans pockets upon putting the duffels down safely. "Come on," he mumbles, it being his turn to blush slightly as Miz stares tensely at him. "Aha!" He grins as he finally finds the keycard. "Here we go." He sticks it inside the key slot, closing his eyes in relief as the lock clicks open. _Thank God._

"Go on," Miz mumbles, hoisting his own bag up higher as Alex turns to pick his and John's up. Morrison leads the way inside, immediately sinking into the nearest chair. Miz keeps quiet as he walks past him, dropping his bag under the window across from the beds. As Alex drops the other bags near his, Mike straightens up and faces Morrison, raising an eyebrow at the man. "Up."

"What?" he rasps, grimacing at that simple word.

"Take one of the beds," he says slowly, prodding Morrison's boot with the toe of his own when he doesn't respond immediately. "Move it."

John looks like he wants to argue but the instant he opens his mouth, the lines of pain across his face grow more pronounced. He presses his lips together tightly and releases a shaky breath, slowly struggling out of the chair. Halfway to the bed, he turns back towards Mike, who shakes his head wordlessly. Giving up, John huffs faintly and collapses onto the mattress, not even caring that the sheets are starched almost to the point of being able to stand up on their own.

Appeased, Miz enters the bathroom. He pokes his head back out a second later and looks back and forth from Morrison to Alex, who's still standing near the bags, uncertain what to do next. "Keep an eye on him," Mike orders before ducking back into the bathroom and closing the door behind him with an echoing click.

Alex glances over at John, who's since melted fully into the bed, the bruises along his throat moving in time with each of his shallow breaths. _Probably fell asleep soon as he laid down,_ the rookie thinks, lips twisting awkwardly as he realizes what exactly he's feeling as he stares at him- sympathy. He sighs and sits on the edge of the bed to wait for Mike, eyeing the chair that Morrison had been forced to vacate. _After tonight, even that looks comfortable,_ he thinks tiredly, eager to just sink into anything and sleep. He's so exhausted, he thinks he could even sleep standing up.

The clicking of the bathroom doorknob catches his attention and he's half off of the bed when Mike finally reappears, scrubbing his hands through the damp hair that's plastered across his forehead. "Don't bother," he says, waving at him to stay where he's at. "I don't plan on sleeping right now."

"Wha-?" Alex is halfway through asking when Mike manhandles the chair over to between the two beds, sitting down heavily in it and turning to examine Morrison. _Oh._ "He's been fine," he finally says once he's found his voice again, the awkward sensation that he's intruding on a private moment between the two easing away slightly as Mike glances over at him, nodding.

"Thanks, A-Ri," he mumbles, tilting his head as he looks back at John once more. The nickname relaxes Alex further and he settles in against his own pillows, head still turned towards Miz and Morrison's side of the room as he falls asleep as well, Miz picking at his nails as he leans closer to check John's breathing once more the last thing he sees.

_Darkness. All he sees. His thoughts are muddled, breathing rapid as he presses down on something, his fingers curled tightly around whatever it is. He thinks fleetingly if his nails were any longer, he'd be tearing straight through it as something smacks into his shoulder, distracting him briefly. If anything, the strangely muted sensation of getting hit does nothing but encourage him, his grip tightening._

_He senses more than feels as the last bits of fight leaves the thing he's holding onto, something heavy slumping over onto him as his grip slips, instinctively holds the slumping form up. His eyes finally open, reality imposing itself on the darkness that had invaded his mind as he gapes at what-_ who _\- he's holding onto. John Morrison's pale, lifeless form is propped up by his hands, finger marks-_ his finger marks- _branded into his skin._

Alex jerks awake with a gasp as something hits him in the forehead, pulling him out of his warm sheet cocoon. He groans and feels around, finding a box of kleenex on the bed next to him. Before he can yell at whichever of the two he's currently sharing a room with is responsible, he hears a muted groan and sits up immediately, recognizing the sound.

Miz mumbles quietly as Alex and John both glance at each other in the faint light coming from the window. Morrison moves first, leaning out of bed reluctantly. By the time he reaches him, he's shifting restlessly, his lips twisted unhappily. "Mike, hey," Morrison mumbles softly, gripping his shoulder to wake him up from the nightmare he's caught in.

"Stop!" Mike gasps, jerking forward. He would've fallen out of the chair and faceplanted on the floor if not for John's hand on his arm. He blinks away the sleep and stares up at Morrison, lips parting in shock.

"Mi-" Alex starts to speak but his voice dies away as his mentor lunges up, knocking the chair against the table, which in turn crashes against the wall, and walks quickly to the balcony door, exiting before either man can say or do anything. "Uh."

"Awesome," Morrison says drily, cringing. Alex shifts, working at untangling himself from the clingy sheets but Morrison waves him off. "Give him a minute," he says hoarsely, the most he's said at once since the ER.

Alex huffs but stays where he's at, glancing over at the balcony door quietly as Morrison fumbles in the semi dark, reaching out to the bedside table where the bottle of water has tipped over since Miz's freak out. Thankfully the lid is on it but it's rolled to the other side, just out of John's reach. The rookie sighs in exasperation before pushing it towards him. They barely glance at each other as John grabs it and takes a slow, tentative sip. Somehow his throat feels worse than it did earlier, just after leaving the ER.

Alex slides back down into his bed, looking at the ceiling as he waits for something, _anything_ to happen. He's unsurprised when, a few minutes later, Morrison sighs and puts the bottle down, awkwardly dragging himself out of his own nest of sheets and pillows and pads quietly across the room, walking carefully due to the aches and pains from earlier. This more than anything keeps Riley from speaking up as he pushes the doors open a bit and slips outside.

He shivers immediately as soon as he steps outside, realizing a little too late that he's left his shoes in the room but he doesn't feel like making a further spectacle by backtracking just to return a moment later. "Miz?" he asks quietly, not having to look far to find his former tag partner since the balcony is relatively small. He waits, watching as Miz breathes evenly, his back to him.

Mist streaming from his lips proving just how cold it is outside, Morrison rubs his hands up and down his pant legs, wishing for gloves or warmer clothes or all of the above. Miz isn't dressed much better for late-November early morning weather. _I wonder how long he would've stayed out here alone,_ he thinks, taking his silence as neither an acceptance or dismissal. Steeling himself, he settles awkwardly down on the cold, hard floor, grimacing as the chill seaps through the jeans he's been wearing since the attack.

The silence holds as the two competitors gaze out at the nightlife, taking in the muted 3 AM bustle of the city in front of them. "What do you want, John?" Mike finally speaks, startling Morrison. "I'm fine," he adds as John struggles to think of something to say.

"I can tell," he mumbles, picking idly at his cuticles. "What happened inside, Mike?"

The silence that follows is tense and combustible and John can't help but think if it wasn't already freezing outside that the air around them would drop another ten degrees, despite Miz having not moved an inch since Morrison joined him. "I just needed some air," he finally growls, his voice cracking slightly.

"You hate this weather," the words tumble out of John's mouth before he can think or stop himself, give Mike a minute. _Take it easy, Morrison. This is why you stopped Riley from coming out... pushing too much won't help matters,_ he reminds himself.

Miz says nothing, leans over so his forehead is resting against the cold, metal railing.

 _Is he... shaking?_ Morrison frowns, having had enough of the silence. He's on his feet and by Mike's side within seconds, gingerly reaching out.

Before he can even get close to touching him, Mike stiffens and brushes past him. "Don't, just don't," he mutters, huffing slightly as he turns back to the doors that lead into the hotel room.

"Mike," John attempts one more time, annoyed that, despite only having said ten words at most the whole time he's been out here, the cold air and previous injury to his throat are working against him and it feels like knives through his vocal cords just to get that one word past his dry lips. "Please." That said, he gives up, his throat hurting too much to continue trying to get Mike to open up. _I can't force him to talk. This sucks. I just want to sleep, forget this crappy day... but something's wrong, I know it is. Something other than the attack earlier. But what?_

Mike stops at the doors, fingers hovering just over the knob before his hands clench into fists. "It was a nightmare," he mumbles, keeping his eyes locked on the plain white curtains covering the inside of the balcony doors. He sighs and glances out of the corner of his eye when Morrison says nothing, almost statue still as he waits for more. "I don't even really know... I just, I couldn't _see_ but I felt my hands around something and when I finally opened my eyes, you were there and you weren't moving and..."

John clears his throat, cutting off Miz's anxious ramblings. "So you took Barrett's place."

"Basically," he mutters miserably. "What if it's my subconscious telling me something?" His voice is almost as shaky as the hand that Morrison can see pressed against the glass door. "Our past isn't exactly drama-free, after all. There have been some insanely tense moments between us. One wrong step and that dream _could_ become reality."

The biting cold and throbbing pain that feels like his throat just wants to explode and be done with it at every word spoken is forgotten as he stares at Miz's back, taking in how tense he is standing. As if he's afraid to move, to look at Morrison. "We went through almost two years of being pissed at each other after the draft," he points out, swallowing as his voice cracks and comes close to failing once more. "Neither of us tried to kill the other then. The subconscious is just a weird thing, Mike. It doesn't mean anything."

Miz shakes his head, not willing to believe Morrison's words, however logical they may seem. "Can't take the chance," he mumbles so quietly that John barely hears it over the wind.

Annoyed at being ignored, John rocks forward on his feet and glares. "Look at me," he commands. "Mike." His voice is strained, obviously close to giving out completely. It's this more than anything that makes Miz turn to face him, his eyes skittering everywhere but on John. "Lo- _Look_ at me." Finally, their eyes lock, John's intense, dark gaze a sharp contrast to Miz's wide eyed, freaked out look, and the seconds tick away tensely, the city noises dying away as if also holding its breath to see how this would be resolved. "I know we both said a lot of crap after the draft. But, even when we basically hated each other," he forces out, "did you ever want to _really_ kill me? End my career? Anything like that?"

Mike hisses and scrubs his hands through his hair, looking away again.

"Did you?" Morrison demands, his throat all but forgotten as he glowers over at Miz, unwilling to let this topic drop. "Mike-"

"No! Happy now? Of course I didn't, but, dammit, John-" His voice dies away as John holds a hand up, stopping him.

"No. That's all I needed to hear. Dreams are weird, Mike. Just random mixtures of whatever we're thinking about on any given day; most times, there _are_ no meanings behind them, despite what people say." By now his voice is cracking and just plain giving out almost every other word so Miz simply nods, deciding to believe him- for now.

"Fine, fine. Can we go inside now? It's freakin' freezing out here," he adds, knowing that his moaning about the weather would encourage Morrison to believe he's returning to normal quicker than anything else.

"Took you long enough," he breathes, following Miz back into the delightfully warm hotel room.

Alex is sitting on the edge of his bed, unabashed at being caught peering through the sheer drapes out onto the balcony, turning to glance at Miz. His mentor looks a lot calmer and put together now so he glances thankfully at John before quietly handing over the bottle of water, lips twitching upwards as Morrison sighs in relief at the soothing liquid washing over his painfully dry throat.

Miz grimaces, pulling on a sweater from his duffel bag. The conversation on the balcony had only distracted him briefly but now that he's back inside, all he can focus on is how _cold_ he feels. He wishes for California warmth, pressing his hands as close to the heater running fruitlessly in the corner as possible and sighs, shaking his head.

Morrison settles quietly on the bed, pain and general exhaustion making him sink further into the sheets, relieved to be out of the cold. He may not hate it as much as Miz does but when he aches like this, the last thing he wants to do is stand around in the harsh winds and feel even worse. But, he supposes, it was worth it because Miz now looks much more at ease as he turns back to the chair he'd been settled in barely fifteen minutes beforehand.

He's about to sit down when Morrison clears his throat and shakes his head, staring at Mike. "What?" the world champion asks in exasperation, pausing mid-movement, unnerved by Morrison's intense stare.

He opens his mouth briefly before cringing, his throat still feeling like it's on fire. "Y-you were out on the balcony longer than I was," he manages on the second attempt, voice a little stronger thanks to a quick sip of the water. "I'm _fine,_ Mike. Get some sleep."

He looks petulant almost, crossing his arms over his chest as he stands up straight once more, twisting his lips unhappily as he stares at John.

Alex wonders if he's missed something when Miz grumbles, moves away from the chair. "Budge over," he mumbles, purposely not looking up when Morrison shifts to the other side of the bed and he settles down on the mattress, blatantly uncomfortable with the situation. It doesn't stop him from settling under the sheets with a bit of a shiver, still cold despite the extra layers he had pulled on before trying to return to the chair.

John settles quietly back, his arms crossed under his head as he stares at the ceiling, relieved that the beds are fairly large as Miz tugs at the pillows, adjusting them just so. "No title belt tonight?" he mocks in a croak.

"Shut up," he mumbles, shifting once more before rolling onto his side with a vague, exhausted sigh. He's floating in a half-asleep haze when something almost soft drapes across his frame, waking him up just enough to realize it's a blanket, his hand curling around the edge of it as he finally gives in to his body's need for rest.

"Night," Morrison's whisper is the last thing he hears.

The rest of the night goes quietly enough, despite Miz waking up a couple of times and instinctively peeking over at Morrison, who's so deeply asleep that he doesn't even twitch when Miz shifts. As soon as he sees that his breathing is still regular and deep, he falls back asleep.

When he wakes up again, something feels off but he can't place it, peering tiredly at Alex's empty bed in the pale sunlight streaming through the drapes. He instinctively grabs his phone from where it's resting on the table between the two beds and peers at the time, yawning blearily as he registers the time. _8 AM,_ he thinks, relieved that it's a rare media-free morning. His mindset is far from one of a world champion due to everything that's happened with John. _Crap, Morrison,_ he remembers a second later, sitting up.

The room appears empty, except for the light gleaming under the bathroom door, and Miz pales as he struggles to free himself from the blankets, uncoordinated and still half-asleep. That feeling of wrongness continues as he finally frees himself and stands up. "John? Alex!" Before he can take a step, the bathroom door opens and Alex peeks out, toothbrush in one hand. He's blurry eyed and seems about as alert as Miz but it doesn't stop the champion from walking quickly towards him. "Where's Morrison?"

"Uh," he sighs, hesitating. "I- I woke up in time to see him leave," he manages, instinctively cringing away from Mike's now-wide awake glower.

"You let him leave?" His voice is low, frightening in a way that he doesn't often use on Alex.

"I- I couldn't stop him," he says, knowing instantly it's a mistake. "He-"

"You couldn't stop him," Miz says, laughing mirthlessly. "What about _Nexus is in the building_ do neither of you understand? I'm surrounded by idiots," he mutters, blinking down at his phone as if just remembering it's still in his grip. He turns back to Alex and locks eyes with him. "You, stay here. If Morrison comes back before I do, _call_ me. Can you manage that?"

"Of course," he mumbles, still frozen in place as Miz angrily storms out of the hotel room. He had received the brunt of Miz's anger once or twice before about things to do with their careers but this time, it felt... personal. _I really screwed up._ With a tired sigh, he returns to the bathroom to finish up.

Miz stays by the elevator for perhaps two seconds before his jitters become too much and he gives up, storming over to the stairs. Adrenaline and anger makes running down the three floors go by quickly, while giving him the sense that he's at least doing _something_ , unlike waiting around for the elevator to reach its destination. When he reaches the lobby, he doesn't even stop to catch his breath, already on his way to the front desk to ask if anyone's seen his wayward coworker.

Halfway there, he stops, his tired eyes resting on familiar, disgustingly perfect brown hair visible over the top of a plush couch facing the windows and away from the elevator. _No frickin way,_ he thinks angrily, his fists clenching at his sides. He pauses uncertainly, wanting so badly just to march over there and slap Morrison upside the head for freaking him out but just enough relief is mixed in with his anger that he takes a couple deep breaths, forcing his fists to relax before he walks rigidly over to the couch and sits down next to Morrison.

The tense silence remains unbroken as both men stare out the window at the city life trickling by slowly in the mid-morning hour, such a contrast to how it looked out of the balcony merely five hours beforehand. He takes the time to focus on breathing- his, _and_ Morrison's- until he feels less likely to explode the instant he opens his mouth. "What were you thinking?" he finally asks, each word spoken slowly, an even amount of time between every syllable, as if highlighting just how much anger is hidden beneath the seemingly bland statement. Before Morrison can answer, he turns to face John and nudges him on the shoulder with two fingers, keeping his eyes off of the nasty bruises along his throat and spreading towards his collarbone. "I made it clear yesterday that the Nexus were probably in this hotel so why did you do this? Why take the first chance you get and run off alone somewhere? Might as well have just taped a target to your back, begging the Nexus to come after you again."

Morrison looks annoyed as he glances down at the fingers still pressed against his shoulder, shrugging the touch off after a minute. "I was thinking that I knew this hotel pretty well and they give out ok breakfast food, _and_ that I was going to be in a lobby full of people."

Miz frowns, not seeing much to argue about with that logic, before glancing over at the bag resting on the coffee table in front of John. He releases a deep breath, softening slightly as he leans away from Morrison. "That breakfast?"

"Yeah," he mumbles. "Nothing special. Donuts and stuff."

"Donuts? Hell, why didn't you say so?" Miz asks, lips turning up slightly as Morrison glances at him out of the corner of his eye, relaxing a bit in response. "Come on, man. Let's go back to the room. I gotta get ready to go to Raw."

"Wait a minute," he says, not moving. When Miz turns to look at him, he shifts anxiously. "I have something to tell you."

"Oh?" Uncomfortable with the look on John's face, he sits back down and faces him. "What?"

"I remembered something... Something Wade said last night. He, uh, said that they came after me to get to you, that he still wants the WWE title, no matter how distracted he's been by Cena lately. And he said... he thinks Riley would make a good member of Nexus." Morrison presses his lips tightly together as he turns to look at Mike. "I'm only telling you this so you'll be careful. Nexus is... well, Nexus. Who knows what they'll do next."

Miz listens solemnly, his eyes narrowing as Morrison finishes. It doesn't really surprise him that they've resorted to using people against him, to make it easier to go after his title belt. Has been kind of expecting something like this for awhile now, despite being too distracted by drama with the GM Email and Orton to really give it much attention. After some thought, he sighs and stands. "Come on, let's go eat breakfast; we'll worry about this other stuff later." This time he's content to take the elevator, while trying to get the bag of donuts away from Morrison as they wait.

The trip up to the third floor goes peacefully, Miz relieved to find the hallway deserted as they venture back to the room. As soon as they enter, Alex meets them anxiously, glancing back and forth, taking in the calmer looks on their faces. "Everything ok?" he asks, looking away as Miz stops in front of him after finally tugging the bag out of Morrison's grip and handing it over to Riley.

"Leave me a few, huh?" is all he says, patting Alex on the shoulder before brushing past him towards the bathroom.

John chuckles faintly, shaking his head. _He always did suck at apologies,_ he thinks, but Riley looks a good deal more relaxed none-the-less as he sits back down on the bed, digging through the bag full of various pastries and donuts.

When Miz finally emerges from the bathroom, showered and ready for the day, the bag of donuts are back with Morrison, who quietly hands them over when Mike grabs for them. "Morrison," he mumbles a few minutes later, mouth full of the glazed treats. After swallowing, he continues. "I told the road agents what happened to you. They've given you tonight off." He watches as John stiffens, obviously unhappy with the news. "Look, I know you don't like it but you look like crap, man. And what if Nexus goes after you again? Just... hang out here today, Alex or I'll come back with food when we can."

John looks disgruntled at the notion of staying away because of Nexus but, after a lengthy silence where he just sits there, fiddling with the bag of donuts, "Fine," he finally relents, wincing. If at the pain of speaking or saying that damning word, or both, Miz is uncertain.

"Ok," he says lowly, leaning over to grab his duffel. Alex echoes his motions across the room, double checking to make sure the briefcase is secure in his own bag before heading for the door. "See you later, Morrison."

"Bye," he mumbles disgruntledly, scraping his fingernails against the bedding.

Mike pauses at the doorway and sighs, turning back around. "John?"

"What?" After a moment of silence, he looks up and their eyes lock, Miz's dark and somehow compassionate in comparison to his dull, exhausted gaze.

Whatever he's about to say dies in his throat and he hesitates for a long moment before remembering that Alex is waiting for him. "I... you're going to stay here today, right? No random donut runs the instant my back is turned?"

John sighs heavily before nodding, his eyes shadowed in the faint light.

Miz swallows before continuing to speak, somehow feeling like a real heel (no pun intended) despite knowing he's only doing what's best for the beaten, weary man before him. "Why don't you get some sleep? We'll be back in a few hours."

"Uh huh," he mumbles as Mike finally slips out of the door, closing it securely behind him.

Despite Miz being too busy to get away, the day seems to drag anyway, filled with media events promoting this and that to do with the WWE, which are hard to focus on as he can't help but be nervous- with Alex hanging around on the sidelines and Morrison alone in the hotel room, Nexus prowling who knows where...

He's unable to get away so it's left to Alex to go check on John and drop food off at the hotel so he doesn't get tempted to leave the room or order room service, anything that would open him up to another Nexus attack. Miz isn't thrilled with letting Alex out of his sight for very long either, but there's nothing to be done for it- Nexus seems to have other plans for Riley, and Morrison is injured and a bit more vulnerable in the long run. It doesn't stop him from fussing, however.

Despite Alex's safe return and confirmation that Morrison's fine, if a bit cranky, Miz remains tense and a bit distracted until finally Raw begins- things start to move a little faster then _and_ he can keep a closer eye on Nexus as they make multiple appearances on the show any given week. By 11 PM, they're finally able to leave and, after a quick stop at a nearby restaurant that's actually still open, he probably drives a little faster than neccessary on the way back to the hotel but Alex says nothing, just holds onto his seat belt with one hand and armrest with the other until they come to a stop in the hotel parking lot.

Miz only pauses a second to look over at him before pulling himself out of the car and grabbing his bag from the trunk, Alex right behind him. He snuggles deeper into his coat as they make their way through the parking lot, looking around just in case. Paranoid on a good night, especially with the gold belt weighing down his duffel bag, Miz can't help but feel like they're being watched as he pushes the hotel door open and enters the lobby with a sigh. "Got the key, Alex?" he asks, jitters easing a little as they enter the elevator and he feels a little more secure within the four walls.

"Yep," his protege says, digging around in his pockets for the small keycard with his free hand, the other busy holding onto the bag containing their food. "Here ya go." Handing it over to Miz, he grabs his duffel off the floor and slings it over his shoulder, both men looking relieved as the elevator finally dings to a stop on the third floor.

308 isn't that far from the elevator so Mike's at the door almost before Alex makes his way into the hallway, unlocking and pushing it open with a flourish. The room inside is dark and he glares inside it uncertainly, not liking that he can't see everything. He holds his fingers to his lip in a shhh-ing motion to Alex, before resting his duffel bag outside the door and venturing in. Alex shifts anxiously, his own duffel digging into his shoulder uncomfortably as he waits for some sign, fighting the urge to go in and back-up Mike just in case. He's about to give up on waiting and go in anyway when he hears Mike chuckle.

His eyebrows raise as his mentor finally emerges from the inky darkness, his lips twitching as he grabs his duffel. "It's ok," he whispers. "John's asleep, just go on in but be quiet." He slips back into the room and Alex hears the faint sound as he feels around the wall, until finally finding the light switch and flicking it, the whole room seeming less menacing now that they can see. On the other side of the room, Morrison is stretched across the bed, the light not effecting his sleep in the slightest.

Alex shakes his head, relieved to drop his bag next to Miz's before dropping on the free bed, sorting through the bag of food while half-listening to Mike rustling around in his own duffel. "Here," he says after a minute, holding out John and Mike's food to the world champion as he walks past, his fingers twitching to dig into his own cheeseburger and onion rings. He hadn't had a lot to do that day in comparison to Mike but he's still starving.

Miz stops just long enough to grab the food with a nod of appreciation before settling down on the bed next to a still out Morrison.

"Does he always sleep this heavily?" Alex asks after swallowing down some fries, frowning as he looks over at the other bed.

"Yeah, you'd be surprised," Mike chuckles, dropping the food containers on the bed. "Hey, John." He nudges him slightly, relieved that the sheets are up high enough to hide the bruising along his throat for now. "Morrison. Get up and eat." He pushes on his shoulder with a little more force, rolling his eyes as John simply turns away from Mike. "Oh, no, you are so not ignoring me." He opens one of the containers and smirks mischeviously. "Hey, where's a straw?" he asks a curiously watching Alex, who finds and tosses the unopened utensil his way. "Mmm," he mumbles, dipping it into the vanilla milkshake in hand and leaning over John's shoulder, brushing the milkshake-coated straw along his moustache. Halfway through, Morrison wakes up with a gasp and takes an uncoordinated swing, which Mike just barely avoids as he ducks away with the milkshake safely.

"What the hell?" John groans, scrubbing sleepily at his face and blinking in confusion at the cold slush coating his hand. His eyes narrow as he spots Miz peeking up from the edge, after diving off of the bed just to avoid Morrison's wrath. "You...!"

"Milkshake?" Mike asks, lips twitching as he hands over the relidded vanilla milkshake, trying and failing to look innocent. "It'll help your throat," he adds, sobering up a bit as he catches a glance once more of the discolored skin along Morrison's collarbone and throat.

He glares down at him but takes the offering, blinking rapidly as if staying awake is a struggle. He finally yawns and sits up, looking slightly more conscious as the sheets drop away and leave him to the slightly cooler air of the hotel room. "What time is it?" he mumbles, brushing matter out of his eyes.

"Around 11:30," Mike comments, watching him with a frown.

"Damn, seriously? I last remember it being 5," he mumbles, looking distastefully at the straw that Miz had handed him with the milkshake.

Once Miz feels it's safe to get off the floor a minute or two later, he returns to the bed and pushes one of the containers over to Morrison and watches as he examines the chicken wrap and mashed potatoes within.

"Thanks," he says after a few moments, glancing at Mike before sipping at the milkshake, after pointedly tossing the straw in the trash.

They all eat in silence for a few minutes, Miz content to dip his fries in his own milkshake between bites of his cheeseburger as Morrison alternates between ignoring him and grimacing at the habit that's been one of the banes of his existance since they first began tag teaming. Once Morrison is mostly through with his food, Mike nudges him in the knee. "We have an early flight out to LA in the morning. Talked with the road agents again, they'll be in contact with your doctor about you being allowed back on the house shows this weekend."

John looks far from pleased but nods anyway, his lips pale and thin, as Mike looks solemnly at him.

"Hopefully you'll be able to sleep after your long nap," he adds with a bit of a smirk as he tries to break the tension, eating the last bit of his cheeseburger with a flourish. Without another word spoken to his two companions, he gets up and, after tossing his garbage, grabs his things and holes up in the bathroom for a minute, clenching his fists around the edge of the sink as he takes deep breaths. He would never admit it to anyone but he's reluctant to leave- almost hesitant to split up from both Alex and John right now, with Nexus planning to do who knows what. They're not always safe outside of WWE arenas, which has been proven by various attacks in hotels, personal homes and even grocery stores over the years. Sometimes animosity becomes so personal that even risking jail time isn't a hinderance to wrestlers- if they want to attack someone, they will, consequences be damned.

Admittedly, Morrison wouldn't be that far away but with the suddenness one can be attacked, if he was needed, five minutes might as well be an hour. And Alex lives across the country, in Florida. He slams his hand against the sink and shakes his head, trying desperately to clear it of these worries. "Dammit," he mumbles, shaking out his fingers. "Dammit, dammit, dammit." With nothing to be done about it, he turns and begins preparing for bed.

The flight to LA the next morning goes alright, considering Miz is a big ball of tension most of the time. He's relieved that he was able to get them seats next to each other this last minute as he keeps a close eye on Morrison, not sure what, if anything, the changes in pressure as they climb higher in the sky might do to his already tender throat.

Miz somehow has gotten a couple days off of media appearances before the weekend house shows, so he enjoys LA to the best of his ability, relieved to be away from the wintery states that they had been touring the past few weeks.

Tuesday, he stays busy by taking care of some errands that have been needed done for a _long_ time and then hitting some clubs in the evening. The instant he returns home, however, and settles in to catch up on some much needed sleep, he automatically pulls out his phone and checks it. The lack of the _Missed Messages_ screen taunts him as he stares at the wallpaper of himself holding the title belt up over his head, taken when he first won the title. He glares at it tiredly, shaking his head. "Dammit," he mumbles, scrubbing a hand through his hair. The silence from Morrison is almost as weird as how bothered he is by _not_ hearing from his former tag partner.

He huffs and rolls over. _Could go weeks without hearing from him before... and now not even a few hours?_ He scrunches his hand around his pillow before burying his face into it. _Damn Nexus..._

Wednesday passes much the same, Miz wasting time driving around LA and reacquainting himself with the city he doesn't get to spend a lot of time in, despite living there. He's about to give up and go home around 10 PM, catch up on some TV, when his phone goes off. He plugs it into his hands free set and answers after stopping at a red light, not even bothering to check to see who's calling first. "Hello?"

He hears nothing but silence for a moment, comes this close to hanging up, when finally the person on the other end speaks. "Mike?"

He blinks. "John?"

"Yeah. Hey." Morrison sounds painfully awkward, though his voice seems somewhat stronger than it did just yesterday morning.

"You alright?" Mike's already peering around, trying to find the closest exit that would lead to Morrison's apartment, his mind working overtime at the worst case scenario of what this call could mean. _Dammit,_ he begins chanting once more, traffic going slow as it always does in downtown LA. _This has to happen the_ one _time I go to one of the more congested places,_ he thinks angrily.

"Yeah, I'm fine," John responds, easing a little of Miz's apprehension. "I... dunno, I guess I... was just wondering if you wanted to come over?" Despite sounding "fine", the more he talks, the tireder he sounds.

Mike freezes and stares ahead, knuckles gripping the steering wheel tightly. _He calls for the first time in maybe a year and a half and he invites me to come over?_ "Why?" Paranoia worms through him and he wonders if maybe it's a trap, if Nexus is forcing him to make Miz come over. If he would give in to such demands... _But would you really want him to be stubborn and get hurt worse just to protect you?_ his annoying conscious grates at him, as he leans over and presses his forehead against the steering wheel, once more remembering just how bad things looked after the initial attack on Sunday.

John sighs into the receiver, causing Miz to wince at the burst of sound that assaults his ears, but he keeps quiet, not wanting to miss anything. "It's Nexus," he admits, Miz's blood pulsing in his ears as he considers getting out of the car and just running the rest of the way. It'd take forever but with the unmoving traffic around him, there probably wouldn't be much difference. "It- It's stupid but I can't stop thinking about it," he mutters, embarassment tinging his words. "The attack, I mean."

Mike sighs quietly as finally the traffic begins to inch along again, the exit he's now trying to get on coming into sight.

"If you don't want to, that's fine," Morrison starts to say, his voice a little strained.

"No," Mike cuts him off emphatically. "I'm heading your way now, traffic's just been a joke. Give me about ten minutes, alright?"

"Ok." He pauses for a second. "Thanks, Mike."

"See you in a bit," he responds before hanging up, a little surprised by how much he doesn't want or need John's thanks for this.

When he arrives, Morrison is sitting on the front steps of his apartment building, staring up at the dark sky overhead. He joins him after a few moments, tilting his head upwards as well. One of the few things he misses about Ohio is being able to see stars almost nightly, depending on the weather. LA is so bright, the stars just can't compete. "What are you doing out here?" he finally asks once the silence becomes unbearable.

"Apartment was getting stuffy," he mumbles, finally looking over at Mike. "Needed some fresh air. And at least out here..." He stops, his lips thinning as he looks down at the sidewalk.

"Out here what?" he asks quietly, nudging Morrison with his leg when no answer comes. "Come on, John. Who'm I going to tell?"

"Out here I can see what's going on around me," he finally finishes. The _No one can sneak up on me out here_ remains unspoken, but Miz still knows that's what he's thinking.

It's a weak argument and they both know it but somehow Miz understands it anyway- like the hotel lobby, a sidewalk full of passerbys seems safer to Morrison.

They're still sitting there ten minutes later, Miz this close to asking if they can just go inside already, passing people's curious glances their way grating at him, when John finally speaks. "Saw my doctor today."

Immediately he forgets the trivial annoyance of sitting out here and shifts on the step to face Morrison. "What'd he say?" It's too dark and shadowy to get a good look but his gaze falls to Morrison's throat anyway while he waits for John to respond.

"He cleared me to wrestle by the house show Friday. Said it'll take a couple weeks for the bruises to clear but all in all, I was lucky."

"There's nothing lucky about getting attacked by Nexus," Miz says, his voice steel-edged as John glances at him, a little surprised by the reaction.

"That's not what he meant. I was lucky because..." He awkwardly clears his throat, his fingers fiddling with some invisible lint on his dark jacket as Miz stares at him. "Because despite everything, there were people willing to run down and stop what was happening. So tha-"

"No," Mike grumbles. "No. Don't thank me. I didn't do anything, John." He stands up, agitated, and starts pacing back and forth despite the stairs not being that wide to begin with. "I stayed on the outside of the ring and just watched until Truth and Alex took care of everyone in the ring. I did what I always do- I stayed on the sidelines until it was safe and in the meantime, Wade was _choking_ you! If I had stopped and thought for a minute, I could've snuck up on him while the others were distracted, maybe you wouldn't have needed to visit the ER, wouldn't have those damn bruises on your frickin throat right now..."

Mid-rant, Morrison stands up and, by the end, he steps in, effectively stopping the other man's pacing just to grab Mike by the shoulders roughly, staring at him. " _You_ stayed on the sidelines?" he says with a harsh laugh, shaking his head. "Sure, maybe you should've done things differently in hindsight but at least you brought Truth and Riley out to help- what did everyone else do? Stood by the gorilla position and watched like it was some show put on for their entertainment?" His voice softens as he shakes Miz slightly. "And besides, if Truth and Riley had gotten in over their heads and I was still getting beat up in the corner, what would you have done?"

He starts to answer, then pauses, uncertainty in his blue eyes, as Morrison stares at him. "I don't know."

"Yes you do. What would you've done?"

He takes a deep breath and leans forward, close enough that he thinks he can see the marks along Morrison's throat despite the poor lighting. The answer comes to him and he doesn't even second guess it, just speaks it, calmly and matter-of-factly. "If Truth and A-Ri couldn't have managed it, I'd have gone in myself and used whatever necessary- chair, briefcase, steel steps, my title itself if I had to- to stop those idiots. To help you."

John smirks a bit, releasing his grip on Miz and stepping back. "Told you," is all he says.

"I hate you," Mike mumbles, even as his lips twitch upwards. John just laughs.

After his conversation with Morrison, Mike feels a good deal better about things, actually relieved to be back on the road. He still has to worry about Nexus, but Morrison seems to be in a good place. And the doctor's releasing him means things can go back to normal for the three of them. Or so he thinks, anyway.

That is, until Alex catches up with him in the middle of Friday's houseshow, a worried look on his face. "Mike, we have a problem," he spits out before Miz can even ask what's up with him.

"What?" he asks.

"It's John," Alex manages before they both turn, watching as the man himself storms down the hallway. The look on his face is almost indescribable, unlike anything Mike's seen before. He doesn't even look at them when he goes past, his eyes locked on the floor as he brushes past various staff and wrestlers alike, simply desperate to get away.

As soon as he's gone, Mike rounds on Alex, already regretting that he didn't take the time to just _watch_ Morrison's first match back since the attack by Nexus. "What. The. Hell. Just. Happened?" he demands, glaring up at his protege.

"He was wrestling DiBiase," Alex explains, continuing to talk even as Miz grabs him by the arm and leads him to a quieter area where there wasn't a bunch of people whispering and gossiping about Morrison's rush through the arena. "It was going ok but then... I don't know, the angle was a little off, I couldn't see everything, but it looked like DiBiase tried putting him in a sleeper and Morrison just... froze as soon as he locked his arms around his throat, he didn't struggle or anything. So he lost and when the ref finally got him to come to, he just freaked out, started fighting off the referee. That's when I came to find you. Do you... do you think it's because of the Nexus attack?"

Miz nods grimly, looking down the hallway. "Listen, I'm going to look for him. Don't worry, I'll be back before my match. On the off-chance I'm not... text me or something." He walks off before stopping a few feet away. "Alex?"

"Yeah?" his apprentice says, turning around.

"Thanks." That said, he continues along his way, mind racing with what could possibly be the cause of Morrison's reaction to the sleeper hold. _If it's what I think it might be, this could be bad_ , he thinks reluctantly.

_"Hey, John, we need to leave for a little bit. Remember the house show tonight?" He waits patiently until John nods, a tired, blank look in his eyes but it's enough of a response for Miz, who continues. "I have some business to handle afterwards too, but we'll be back as soon as possible. You'll be alright, just relax, ok?" He hates leaving, especially with Morrison looking so tired and defenseless, but even he can't just skip responsibilities at the drop of a hat. Besides, John is fine, he's breathing and in a hospital with a so-far diligent staff. "See you later, man," he whispers, leaning over to squeeze John's shoulder. As soon as he stretches his arm out, John tenses up, staring up at Mike with wide, fearful eyes. Miz aches at the foreign look on Morrison's face, his lips parting slightly as he pauses mid-movement, time stopping as the two former tag champions stare at each other._

_Finally he sucks in a deep breath and stands up straight, turning towards the door as a feeling of failure and pain assaults him._ What's wrong with him? What did I do? _"We'll... be back a little later, Morrison," he calls, unable to think of anything else to say or do as he tries to get away from the fragile-looking man as quickly as possible._

"DAMMIT!" he cries, slamming his palm against the nearest wall so hard that his whole hand stings. "I should've known then, in that moment. I'm so _stupid._ " Shaking his hand out, he takes a deep breath and scrubs at his face. _Pull yourself together, Mizanin. Greedy bastard, this isn't the time to dwell on yourself, Morrison needs help and you screwed this up from the get go so it's your chance to really fix things for once. Come_ on!He glares around before picking a hallway at random and wandering down it. He hears footsteps ahead and speeds up, hoping to come across Morrison... but quickly deflates upon catching sight of a tech as she walks past him, busily talking into the headset she's wearing. He sighs, walking off. He stops midstep a couple moments later, realizing something. "Hey, wait a sec!" He turns and dashes off after her.

She freezes and faces him, an eyebrow raising as she takes the headset off so she can hear him easier. "Yes?"

He takes a deep breath, already knowing how weird this is going to sound before the words are even formed in his mind but not exactly caring. All he cares about is finding Morrison. "Do you know of any locker rooms that aren't being used tonight?"

Sure enough, she shoots a funny look at him but ultimately checks the clipboard in her hand, where a layout of the building is just visible. "There are, actually, a block of rooms down the hallway from the trainer's office. May I ask why...?"

He takes off like a shot, however, as soon as she says "trainer's", too anxious and worried to fuss over trivial things like manners or explaining himself. _You better be there, Morrison,_ he thinks anxiously. He ignores everyone he passes, concentrating only on the path he's taking as he rushes down different hallways. As soon as he spots the _Trainer_ sticker on one of the doors, he skids to a stop and looks around.

The rooms behind him are occupied, the voices and lights coming from them obvious despite how far away he's standing. Refocusing on the four doors leading past the trainer's office to the exit at the end of the hallway, he walks slowly towards each one, uncertain how to figure out which one Morrison's hiding in, if any of them.

The closer he gets, however, the easier it is to tell: only one of the rooms' doors are cracked open a few inches; the other three are shut tight. He tries peeking inside but the light is off, and the dim gleam in the hallway isn't enough to cut through the darkness within. Not wanting to rush in and make Morrison angrier or shut down more, he takes a deep breath and settles down on the floor, his back pressed against the doorframe. After a few strained moments, he wraps an arm around his now-bent knee, getting as comfortable as he could on the hard tiled floor for a potentially long wait.

Ten minutes or so pass, torturous and unbearably quiet, when he hears shifting from inside. He holds his breath as the sounds grow closer to the door, half-expecting John to just shut it the rest of the way on him. He wants to say something so bad, his lips parting as finally the movement stops. The door remains open slightly. He peeks in and just barely spots Morrison's form in the shadows, leaning against the opposing section of door frame, now close enough that Miz could reach out and touch him if he wanted to. The silence remains unbroken.

He's not sure how much time passes, his gaze ping-ponging from the nondescript hallway before him to glancing over at Morrison and back, until finally... "What the hell do I do now?"

The words are spoken quietly, in an almost defeated tone. Miz cringes, wanting desperately to turn to look at his friend but not wanting to stop him from talking. "What do you mean?" he asks hesitantly after a few strained moments.

"Didn't Riley tell you what happened?" he asks bitterly. Without waiting for Miz to think up an answer, he plows on. "I just... stopped out there. I've _never_ froze like that before but... DiBiase's arms were around my throat and all I could remember was Barrett and... I can't compete like that, it's... it..." His words failing him, Morrison punches the floor and Miz winces at the sound of flesh against tile that echoes out of the door. "I can't..."

"John." Mike, tired of talking to him like this, finally turns to face him. Even though he can't really see him that well, it still makes him feel better. "That attack last week... it would mess anyone up, man. It... it isn't something that'll be permanent, ok? We'll figure it out."

"How? If this happens again... if it gets worse... It's... too obvious a weakness, the entire locker room's probably already aware of it. Before you suggest it, I can't go to a psychiatrist or something to figure this out, it'll take too long... I just... Raw is only two days away..." He knocks his head against the doorframe and sighs, turning his head to look at Mike. Despite the bad lighting, Mike can still see the hopelessness in his eyes. "We both know anyone thought to be a liability or unable to hold their own are usually let go like that." He snaps his fingers derisively. "I can't take that chance, Mike." They all have their issues with the business, the politics and grueling schedule and expectations get to all of them at one time or another, but in the end most of them honestly love it too, the rush of the crowds and actual competition.

Before he can think through _anything,_ he's talking, words trailing from his lips with an unknown origin; the certainty behind them startling even him. "We'll figure it out. Ok? It'll be fine. Just give me some time to work on it. Don't worry, John. Just... leave it to me."

John shifts, sighs. "It's kinda crazy," he mumbles after a few moments, picking at the grooves in the tiles. "But I can't help but believe you'll find something."

"Of course I will," Mike says with a confident smirk, forced though it is, to put John at ease a bit. "You know me, I'm obstinate like that." He feels a twinge of success when Morrison huffs a slight laugh.

"That's a big word for ya, Mike."

"Yeah, yeah. Are you going to make me talk to you through this door all night or are we getting out of here? I feel ridiculous," he makes sure to add in a mumble, though what other people who might see him talking to John like this are thinking is the furthest thing from his mind.

"Fine... fine." When John finally starts to move, Mike stands up and crosses his arms as Morrison pushes the door open, the two eyeing each other. "I..." he starts, his hands clenching and unclenching. "I'm ok," he says vaguely, stepping into the hallway.

"You will be." Mike claps him on the shoulder, taking in how he only flinches slightly at the movement, before leading him back towards the main locker rooms, his mind already racing with possible ways to help.

Alex wakes up the next morning, squinting through the early morning sunshine, before his mind catches up with his other senses: a loud buzzing sound coming from the table between his bed and Mike is the cause of his abrupt wakefulness. Fumbling for the phone, he quickly shuts it off and groans, flopping back into bed. "Mike?" he mumbles, dropping an arm over his face. He wants to sleep but something tells him that's going to be impossible. "Mike?" He sighs and rolls over, looking at his mentor's bed.

Mike is propped up on a bunch of pillows against the headboard, his hands pressed against his laptop's keyboard even as he sleeps.

Torn between letting Mike sleep and curious at why he was up late on the laptop and what the alarm was set for, he reluctantly pulls himself out of bed and pries the computer away, carefully placing it on the table, next to Mike's phone. "Mike?" he asks softly, turning back to the world champion. When he receives no response and Miz barely moves, he sighs and pats him on the shoulder, pushing slightly with each pat. "Miz. Wake up."

His wrestling name always cuts it as he jerks awake and looks around blearily, confused and a little panicked at the loss of his laptop. _Did I knock it off the bed?_ he can't help but think, gazing around the dimly lit hotel room wildly.

"Calm down, Mike. Your laptop's fine," Alex says, settling down on the floor with his elbows pressed against the edge of Mike's bed as he watches his mentor calm down and wake up bit by bit. "Your alarm clock went off a few minutes ago. Why do we need to be up this early? I don't think I forgot any media events..."

"Crap," he mumbles, sitting up and feeling around for the cell phone. "What time is it?"

"A little after 6 AM. Mike, what's going on? You fall asleep with your laptop on after setting your alarm clock for 6?"

Mike sighs and kicks the sheets away, yawning as he stands up. "Morrison needs us," is all he says with a faint frown before walking into the bathroom.

Alex's jaw drops slightly as he watches his mentor's exit. "Of... course he does," he mumbles, abruptly feeling extremely tired. He sighs and sits down on the bed he only vacated a little bit ago to wait for his mentor's reappearance, reluctant but yet curious to see what exactly Mike thinks they can do for Morrison after yesterday's tense end to his match. After Morrison had stormed through the halls and Miz went after him, John hadn't been seen for the rest of the evening, which hadn't helped the locker room gossip in the least.

When Mike finally emerges from the bathroom, looking a bit more awake and aware, he settles in across from Alex and grabs for his laptop, tapping the touchpad until it slowly cycles back to life. "Read this," he says blandly, turning the machine towards Alex.

"...Exposure therapy... behavioral treatment... targets behaviors that people in engage in in response to situations..." Alex mumbles to himself as he reads the article, before peering up at Miz. His eyes are wide and a little worried. "Mike... I get that you're trying to help Morrison, but, I mean, it's not like either of us are knowledgeable in this sort of thing. What if trying this behavioral therapy thing back fires and makes it all worse?"

Mike leans forward, eyes burrowing into Alex as he points a finger at the computer screen. "Imagine if you were in Morrison's shoes, and some damn cowardly gang jumped you, could've killed you... and left you frozen in that moment, unable to wrestle normally to the point where you couldn't defend yourself during a _chokehold_. Wouldn't you want to do anything possible to try to get back to normal?"

Their eyes still locked, Alex slowly nods, unable to argue Miz's passionate logic. As always. "Ok," he sighs. "What do you need me to do?"

"Go talk to Santino and Kozlov," Miz says with a grimace, as if it pains him to even speak the words aloud.

"WHAT?"

A little later, a grumbling Alex wanders through the halls of the hotel, picking at the edge of the paper with the room number of Santino and Kozlov written on it that the girl at the front desk had given him after some convincing and a little charm.

 _"Be careful,"_ Miz's voice echoes in his mind. _"Nexus could be anywhere in the hotel. If this didn't need to be done and fast, I'd suggest we go together but we're running out of time."_

"Dammit," he mumbles, catching sight of their room number just down the hall in gleaming gold letters.

Steeling himself, he crumples the paper in hand and knocks sharply, two, three times before letting his arm fall back to his side.

"Kozlov, who is-a that at the door?" the unmistakeable voice of Santino yells from inside.

"Secretariat?" the thick Russian voice suggests a moment later, Alex groaning out loud as he wonders how much Mike would hate him if he aborted this mission right now.

"That's it, I'm not allowing you to watch that Craig Fergusoneses ever again!" Santino yells over his shoulder as he answers the door, coming to an abrupt stop as he comes face to face with Alex Riley. "Oh. What do _you_ want?" He puffs up with false bravado as Kozlov joins them at the doorway, glowering down at the rookie.

Trying to hide his discomfort at being this close to the easily angered Russian, Alex rolls his eyes. "I need to talk to you both."

"Yes, well," Santino huffs, affronted. "We are both very busy men, tag team champions, you know. Bother us at the arena." He's about to shut the door, muttering something to Kozlov about turning "I Dream of Jeanie" back on when Alex throws a hand out, not willing to give up after all the BS he's already gone through just to get this far.

"It's about John Morrison."

The door stops before it even hits his hand and slowly re-opens, Santino staring solemnly at him. "What about him?"

Twenty minutes later, they arrive at a nondescript gym, pausing outside to wait. "Think this will work?" Riley asks quietly after a minute, squinting over at his mentor while shielding his eyes from the early morning sunshine.

"It has to," he mumbles, ignoring as his rookie's worried gaze tracks his progress to the gym doors. He peers inside briefly, only just catching sight of Morrison, when Alex nudges him. "What?" Turning around, he watches quietly as a simple red, rental car pulls up and parks. He grimaces as R Truth gets out and walks towards them. "Where the hell are Santino and Kozlov?"

"He inside?" the rapper asks, burying his hands in his pockets in an attempt to protect them from the early morning chill.

"Yeah," Miz mumbles, wanting to talk to Truth as little as possible. "Just waiting on Marella and Kozlov."

Truth smirks with a bit of an eyeroll, peering into the gym. "Great."

"Yeah." They wait around for almost ten more minutes when _finally_ another car pulls up, the obvious form of Kozlov visible through the passenger window, an annoyed grimace on his intense face. When he exits the car, he immediately turns and barks something in Russian to the other man. Miz groans in aggravation as Santino snaps back in Italian.

"They seriously argue like that?" Alex mumbles, alternating between intrigue and just being too cold to care. "How the hell do they understand _what_ they're fighting about...?"

Miz waits until they get closer, his hands clenching into fists as he stands up at his tallest height, still falling short next to Kozlov. It doesn't matter. "SHUT UP!" he finally roars when the tag team champions near them, startling both men into blessed silence. His voice drops to a dangerously low level, as he points into the gym with a vicious glower on his face. "John is _in_ there and if you two idiots keep bickering like children, this thing isn't going to happen. So. Shut. Up. Now."

The four men surrounding him all look a little uneasy after his tirade, his exhaustion, helplessness and just plain anger fueling every word out of his pale lips.

"Sorry," Santino and Kozlov mumble together, looking away in shame.

"Good," Mike all but snarls. "Now, let's go." He gazes warningly at all four of them, only stopping briefly on Alex before peering harshly at Truth, Santino and Kozlov in turn. _They better get along... or else. I hate this too but desperate times, desperate measures. Morrison needs people he mostly trusts or at least seems to like to do this thing._ Pausing only long enough to rub his hands anxiously against his pant legs, Mike grabs hold of the gym door and pulls it open, hoping he looks more confident than he feels.

It's not hard to locate Morrison once they're inside- he's near the dumb bells, and Miz rolls his eyes as Alex opens his mouth to say something. "Don't bother," he interrupts his rookie. "Do you know how tired those jokes are by now? Focus."

"Fine, sorry." The others wisely keep their comments to themselves, Mike turning on his heel and walking towards John.

"Well, well, look who it is," he says calmly, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

John pauses and looks up, carefully putting one of the dumb bells down. "What are you doing here, Mike? I appreciate the concern but I really don't need-"

"Who's to say I'm not here to train?" he asks, struggling not to look over Morrison's shoulder for very long at the other four, who are talking quietly to the gym manager across the room.

"We haven't used the same gym in years," he responds, frowning curiously at Mike. "So why-?"

"What, you mean it's a crime now if I decide to come here? Possessive much, John? Geez, it's just a gym, relax," he says mockingly, only just catching as Alex motions to him with a slight nod. _Great,_ he thinks as the four are led into a back room by the manager. _Now how do I get_ John _to go back there too?_ "How are... things this morning?" he asks awkwardly, mind still working double time trying to figure out a way.

"If by things you mean, have I frozen up? Not so far, but no one's tried to strangle me yet," he says dryly, leaning over to pick up the dumb bells once more.

Mike pauses, trying to figure out the best way broach the subject. _Ah screw it,_ he decides, pushing John's hands away from the work out equipment. "I have an idea."

"What are you doing, Mike? I just-"

"Want to work out, I know, trust me. I remember how you get if you don't get to work out but... I think I have a way to help you so what happened last night never happens again. Are you willing to try?"

Alex, the tag team champions and R Truth wait in one of the back rooms, looking around anxiously. "He is not coming," Kozlov speaks up after awhile, his slow, stilted English a chore to listen to for everyone but Santino.

"Give Mike some time to convince him," Alex grumbles, suffering a bit of a headache after listening to more of Santino and Kozlov's strange conversation in Italian and Russian. "He'll be here."

"I am a-bored," Santino offers after another few minutes, crossing his arms against his chest petulantly.

"Hey," Truth says, the only one content to sit quietly and wait. "Morrison needs us, and that's the truth. How many times has he had your back this year alone, Santino? You can wait five minutes, yeah?"

"Oh, fine," the Italian superstar mumbles, settling back down with a huff to wait a little longer.

They all relax when finally the door opens and Miz enters, Morrison reluctantly following behind him. "What are you-?" he's asking when he catches sight of the others. "Uh. What are you all doing here?"

"We're all here to help you out, dawg," Truth says, finally standing up.

"And how are you going to do that?" he asks skeptically, his gaze wandering around the room before it stops on the gym's ring mostly used by boxers. "Oh."

"Hear us out?" Miz asks, a bit of uncertainty niggling at him as he takes in the blank look on Morrison's face. As John nods, he takes a deep breath. "Ok. Well, I figured since you would be at the gym today that it'd be a way to use the gym's ring, so no one else could see what we're doing. We, hmm, _rented_ the ring for the day, and the manager agrees to keep people from using it until we're done."

"I don't see what the point is-"

"Have you heard of exposure therapy?" At John's reluctant nod, Miz sighs. "I think we should try something like that. If it doesn't help, we'll stop when you say so... but if you really want to be back on your game before Raw tomorrow night, then I think it's our best bet."

The six men stand around tensely until finally Morrison takes a deep breath, his gaze falling to the worn brown carpet underneath their feet. "Fine, let's try it."

As Morrison enters the ring and prepares for his first opponent, Miz bites his lip for a moment, examining the four other men. After some pondering, he points to Santino. "Go."

The easily excited Milan Miracle salutes Kozlov, who frowns at him in confusion, before rushing towards the ring just to trip over his own feet, his resulting forward motion somehow enough to roll through the second and third rope, sprawling awkwardly in front of Morrison.

"For God's sake," Miz mumbles, slapping a hand to his forehead as John leans over to help him up, his lips twitching.

The match starts off normally enough, both men feeling each other out with a few of Santino's surprisingly agile feats mixed in. Miz only half watches until Morrison misses a punch and Santino takes the opening, spinning around and wrapping a forearm around his throat, clinging tightly. The results are staggering and immediate, makes Mike feel a little sick- John immediately stops moving, his face paling as he drops limply to the mat, Santino's jaw dropping in response to the lack of fight from the man.

Mike regains control of himself after staring for he's not sure how long and rushes to Santino's path of vision, holding three fingers up. Following the rules he himself had placed on this before they had begun the match, he folds each finger under his thumb until he's simply holding a fist upright. At this, Santino releases the hold as Miz rolls into the ring, grabbing John by the shoulders. "Dammit. Dammit. Morrison, are you ok?"

His eyes are a bit glazed over but he nods, hands instinctively going to his throat.

"I'm sorry, sorry," Santino is babbling as Truth and Kozlov join them, Truth leaning over Morrison as Kozlov pats his tag partner awkwardly on the back.

"It's my fault," Miz grumbles, feeling stupid and thoughtless. "This was too damn soon-"

"No," John breaks into his self-recriminations, eyes clearing and flashing dangerously as he looks up. "I agreed to this. And we're not quitting. I refuse..." He clears his throat, wincing slightly. "I refuse to let Nexus win. Please, Mike. I think... think this could work."

He sighs heavily and shakes his head at Morrison's stubbornness. "Fine. Once more. But I want you to tell me if it gets to be too much." Miz looks back and forth from Truth to Alex- far from ready to throw Kozlov in there just yet- and finally points at Alex. "Your turn, A-Ri."

Morrison seems to let his body go on autopilot, as Alex only manages a couple of hits early on. When his first chance comes, Miz hesitates for only a second before lunging through the ropes and grabbing John's leg, tripping him up just enough for Alex to scrabble for his opponent and lock in a sleeper hold, exactly like what DiBiase had done barely twelve hours previously. Morrison's still off balanced from Miz's actions and Alex's weight just makes it worse as he trips forward, running into the opposing turnbuckle and knocking Alex into the metal post on the outside, effectively dislodging his hold.

For a moment, Miz is thrilled, until he takes a closer look at Morrison's disappointed face. "It was a fluke," he mumbles, slapping a hand against the mat. "If you hadn't grabbed my leg, I would've just frozen like I did with Santino."

"It's ok," Mike mutters, frowning. "Do you want... to try again?"

An hour passes with limited results- sometimes Morrison handles chokeholds, sleeper holds, any kind of move involving the throat better than others, but for the most part, nothing changes. In a stroke of desperation, Miz's eyes lock on the as-of-yet unused Kozlov and he nods, pointing to him. "Go."

"Are you sure, Miz?" Truth asks uncertainly, glancing over at Morrison.

"Yes," he says, peering into the ring as he too second guesses this decision.

Kozlov glares over at Morrison, an almost sadistic smile on his face as he waits for his opponent to get close enough for him to grab. Not one to shy away from a fight, Morrison lunges forward and they struggle for the upperhand until Kozlov headbutts him in the sternum, sending him into the turnbuckle. John huffs and rubs at his chest as he pushes his way back out, just to get met with another headbutt. Before he can even attempt to recover, Kozlov rushes forward and grabs him around the throat, leaning heavily against Morrison.

"Hey!" Miz yells, about to rush into the ring to break this up and lay into Kozlov. One thing they had discussed at length was _no_ open chokes, no matter what.

"Wait, wait!" Santino cries, both him and Truth grabbing Miz. They all watch, jaw dropping as Morrison _finally_ fights back, elbowing Kozlov in the side of the head until his hold slacks, opening him up to a kick. "Holy crap," the four men watching all mutter as Kozlov staggers back and Morrison stands tall, a little worn, but proud nonetheless. "He did it."

Miz pushes Truth and Santino off, once more rolling into the ring. "What the hell, John? How-?"

Morrison stares at him, looking just as surprised, before shrugging. "Would you believe if I said... I heard you yell and it... distracted me from the memories, I guess? All I could see was that flashback of Barrett choking me out, and then I heard you yelling and it dragged me back... I could see it was Kozlov, and you all standing around watching, and the rest just came naturally."

His mind works furiously and he groans, slapping a hand against his forehead. "I'm an idiot." At Morrison's quizzical glance, he explains: "While looking this all up, I saw something about grounding a person whenever they suffered flashbacks... it's so obvious, I should've thought of it sooner."

Morrison's lips twitch a little as he shrugs. "No big deal, we figured it out."

Miz scoffs. "Yeah..."

"So," Morrison says quietly as they turn to look at the four other wrestlers still hanging outside of the ring, "can I say it now?"

They glance at each other, Mike the one fighting a smile now. "If you must," he says smugly, eyes soft despite his tone.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

They stand there for awhile longer, content with watching as Santino and Kozlov carry on with their antics, arguing about who knows what as Truth watches on with an amused look on his face. Alex, however, looks like he's swallowed a lemon.

"You really know how to attract 'em, huh?" Miz can't help but ask, glancing around at the eclectic group, a lot more at ease now that things appear to be back on the right track.

John looks around for a bit before smiling. "I guess misfits are just drawn to me." Before the words are completely out of his mouth, he realizes what he's said and shakes his head, glancing over as Miz starts to speak. "Don't. Just don't."

Mike's rare, honest laughter becomes contagious as John joins in. From the floor, Alex looks up and smiles slightly. _Now maybe things can return to normal,_ he thinks, sighing in relief.

Weeks pass. Nexus' attention returns to Cena once he is re-hired. Morrison's issues become simple memories in time and Miz returns his focus to Orton and defending his title. Not long after Cena takes out all of Nexus, rumors begin to circulate that Barrett might be off of Raw after tonight and this news alone makes Miz happy- he won't miss the Brit at all.

He's wandering the hallways, humming quietly as he holds onto his title belt. For now, things feel good. Orton's still sniffing around, sure, but- He comes to an abrupt stop as he hears a familiar accent, peeking around the wall to see what's going on. His breath catches in his throat as he realizes what's going on.

"You think just because Cena's been distracting me, that I forgot about your friend, the Miz?" Barrett asks, pressing Morrison against the wall, his arm pressed tightly against his throat in an eery reenactment of the attack weeks earlier. "I haven't. That title will be mine. Very, very soon..."

Mike is about to rush forward and help when Morrison opens his eyes, slamming his elbow into Wade's face again and again, until finally his tight hold slackens. John takes the opprotunity and kicks him in the back of the head, sending him staggering to the side.

Miz grins a little, relieved, until Wade glares while rubbing his skull gingerly, obviously about to attack again. The sound of steel against concrete stops the possibly-former Nexus leader when Alex appears behind him, briefcase in one hand and steel chair in the other. Mike then joins them, taking the chair from his apprentice. "Problem here, boys?"

Wade glowers at them all before huffing out a tense "No" and marching off, his very walk the one of a man heading towards the gallows. He's exiled from Nexus only a half an hour later, Miz's relief only second to Morrison's.


	32. chapter 32

Many things can happen in a week. Championship reigns can come and go, the highs of a victory can fade into bitter reality that the win isn't as meaningful or important as originally thought, injuries can heal. Friendships can die, partnerships can be reborn. But for every change, more things seem to remain the same.

John Morrison sighs and blinks, trying once more to bring the monitor into clearer focus. Seven days after CM Punk's attack against him, spraying chemicals into his face at close range, his eyes are still gritty and enflamed, almost as painful as they were directly after the attack. His fists clench as he remembers the look on the specialist's face as he suggests worst case scenarios such as permanent damage, leaving John with little more than a sick feeling in his stomach, a bottle of prescription eyedrops and a vague encouragement to try not to worry, just give it a little more time.

But he knows time is one thing he doesn't have- Elimination Chamber is in mere days, not to mention Wrestlemania only being a month and a half away by now. He needs to be at the top of his game but with his eyes feeling like someone's pouring sand into them every time he blinks, he's not sure how that's going to happen. He scrubs at his face angrily before giving up on watching the beginning of Raw- everyone's abuzz about who the host of Wrestlemania will end up being but the energy in the building barely attracts his attention for more than a few minutes here and there.

He has a match against R Truth later in the evening and finds himself almost dreading it- Truth's a friend and considering where his head's at currently, it wouldn't take much for him to snap and do something he regrets. He's finally knocked from his thoughts when someone walks in front of him, blocking his fascinating view of the floor. He looks up with a grimace, somehow unsurprised to find Miz in front of him, the always-present Alex Riley a few feet away. "What?" he asks.

Mike shrugs, his brows furrowed as he takes in John's appearance. "You look like crap," he finally says, shifting slightly as John glares at him, his reddened eyes only adding to the menacing look on his face.

"Yeah, well, who knew, hair spray isn't _great_ for one's eye health," he spits, grumbling as his vision once more blurs up after he blinks, his hands reaching up to wipe at them once more. _And I'm supposed to wrestle like this, great._

The silence that follows is strained and awkward as Miz stares down at him for a moment longer. "Come on, A-Ri," he finally mumbles, heading down the hall. Morrison watches, bemused, as he pushes a tech out of the way and into some boxes and things scattered around the hall.

In the end, John's many worries are unfounded, however, as the GM Email announces just before their match that he and R Truth are to actually tag team _against_ Otunga and McGillicutty. On top of that, his vision holds up well enough that he manages to take out some of his anger on all three members of New Nexus that are present. It's not Punk, but it helps nonetheless.

He's leaning against a wall, partially hidden from view as he watches from a monitor close to the gorilla position as Orton wrestles Sheamus. Something tells him that Punk won't be far behind, looking for another opportunity to weaken one of his opponents this Sunday. He doesn't exactly like Orton, especially after their exchanges while he was number one contender, but his need for revenge outweighs any other tension he may have with the other Elimination Chamber competitors, so when New Nexus overpowers Orton despite his best attempts, he's the first one out.

Only seconds after he enters the ring, his vision blurs and he curses, somehow still holding his own for a little while longer- before he finds himself thrown from the ring, peeking up over the apron in time to see Cena and Orton clear the ring of the New Nexus. He slams an aggravated fist against the hard steel supporting the ring before scrubbing at his eyes in annoyance. _This has to be fixed by Sunday,_ he thinks grimly. _I can't_ do _anything with my damn eyes like this..._

The walk back up the ramp seems to take forever, John only vaguely aware as Truth follows him, tries to talk to him. He stops just past the gorilla position, looking up just to find Miz leaning against the wall across from him, before his gaze drops to the WWE title hanging over his shoulder. Most, if not all, of the guys in the back dream of competing for and achieving that goal- being WWE champion one day. Breaking through and accomplishing what so few have. His one chance weeks back made him all the hungrier to reach that level, that honor. The Rumble and Raw Rumble had left him feeling annoyed and wanting- his best just wasn't good enough on either attempts. _I can't,_ won't, _let the Elimination Chamber slip through my fingers, too,_ he thinks stubbornly, brushing past Alex Riley as he heads for the locker room.


	33. chapter 33

It's been a long few days. Matches on both Smackdown and Elimination Chamber. Mike hasn't been put into a match and he's pretty relieved at the prospect of an off night- come out for a bit, address what Rock said the past week, talk about his main eventing Wrestlemania, and anything else that comes to mind, then go relax in his locker room and watch as the show struggles on without him- but of course, it doesn't go as planned. The Email GM has other ideas and places him in a tag team match with John Cena against the Corre for the tag belts.

Even Alex seems to know how serious this is and remains quiet as they walk through the hallways, Mike's glower at everyone passing by keeping them from speaking or even looking at him for very long. They're almost at Miz's locker room when Alex blinks and he's gone. Startled, the younger man looks around for his protege before spotting him standing next to John Morrison, the anger on his face growing. Riley is glad that look isn't aimed at him.

"Sit down before you fall down, idiot," Mike is growling as Alex joins them, pushing a heavily limping Morrison over to a trunk. "Where the hell's the referee or... anyone?" he demands once John is safely settled, looking around.

"I told him I could make it on my own," the stubborn man explains, his face lined in pain as he breathes through his nose, hands clenched at his sides. "Heard about your tag match," he attempts to change the subject, lips twitching slightly as he looks up, relieved that his eyes have, actually, slowly gotten better so he can see the murderous look on Mike's face. "Teaming with Cena, lucky you. Email GM must like you as a tag champion."

"Shut up," the WWE champion grumbles, kicking fruitlessly at the trunk.

Morrison actually chuckles, his face smoothing briefly as he smirks over at his former tag partner. "I know what your problem is... He's making you team with the wrong John, huh?"

Mike groans, choosing not to justify him with an answer. "Think you can make it to the trainer's office on your own now? Some of us have real championships to focus on." He turns in time that only Alex catches the flash of aggravation and bitterness on Morrison's face before he shifts his knee to stand, the pain caused by the motion wiping out every other emotion on his face. The rookie hesitates for a split second before turning on his heel and following Miz the rest of the way to his locker room.

Around an hour after the initial announcement, Mike stands in the ring with Cena, staring down Heath Slater and Justin Gabriel. He doesn't even look twice at Cena, breathing steadily as he shakes his wrists out, loosening up a little more before the match begins. It doesn't take too long for him to get the advantage and keep it, refusing to tag Cena in more than neccessary- his whole career up to this point, he's felt like he has something to prove and this is no difference as he keeps Slater and Gabriel down as much as he can. When he hits the Skull Crushing Finale on Heath and wins yet another tag title, he can't help but feel a bit vindicated. Ordering Cena around to mirror his pose with the tag belts- the obvious exception being that Cena only has one belt to hold, of course- is just the icing on the very delicious cake that this is.

He doesn't want these belts anymore than he wants to look at Cena's face ever again so when he watches Corre freaking out on the outside of the ring, he can't help but be humored. Slater is yelling for help from Barrett and it's only a matter of time before something gives- and give it does. Barrett demands they have their rematch right now, and the Anon GM accepts. Miz smirks. _For once, the GM does something I wanted him to do._

It takes awhile- Miz lets Cena in the ring more often this go around, waiting for an opportunity, a distracton, Cena to not be looking... anything. It comes when Mike gets knocked almost clear out of the ring. He's laying on the apron, trying to catch his breath, when he sees Cena prepare to set Slater up in the Attitude Adjustment. Here's his chance but the four matches he's wrestled in four days now and all of the abuse he's taken has left him tired, sluggish. He closes his eyes briefly and... _"...the wrong John, huh?"_ His eyes snap open as he remembers Morrison's mocking words, shaking his head to clear his mind. The memory is enough as he somehow manages to make it to his feet and lunges for Cena, hitting an awkward Skull Crushing Finale on his blessedly temporary tag team partner. He can't help but laugh as Slater collects himself and pins Cena, taking away Miz's tag titles almost as quickly as he had won them.

He's lighter this time around as he makes his way down the various hallways to his private locker room, smugness bleeding from his very pores. He doesn't even falter when he comes across John Morrison still sitting on the trunk that he had left him on, tentatively shifting his leg around. "Have you moved at all since earlier?" he asks, rolling his eyes.

"Of course I have," Morrison mumbles, smirking slightly as Miz settles next to him, thoughtfully running a hand over his remaining title belt. "I see you weren't thrilled with being co-champion with Cena."

"What, would you have been if it had happened to you?" he demands, raising an eyebrow.

"No, not really."

Mike leans his head back, staring up at the shadowy ceiling over their heads. After a few moments of strained silence, he sighs, uncomfortable words crawling to escape from his thoughts, become real. The sensation makes him twitchy. "You weren't wrong," he finally manages to say- the closest he can come to admitting it at all, that for a split second when he was listening to the Email GM's order, he thought perhaps there _was_ going to be "Morrison" after that John, and it hadn't felt necessarily bad. Then Cena's name had been said instead and the slight, incomprehensible bit of hope lingering within him had disappeared along with his wish for a relaxing night. "Come on, A-Ri," he mutters after a second, pushing himself off of the trunk.

After they disappear from his sight, Morrison leans his head back against the cool wall, his eyes slipping closed. "I know."


	34. chapter 34

**February 28th, 2011**

**To:**

**From: [Unknown]**

**Notify John Morrison- he doesn't have a match scheduled, I'm giving him the night off. If he refuses to leave the arena, kindly escort him off of the premises.**

Mike "The Miz" Mizanin rolls his eyes as he watches the latest recap of Rock and Cena's tired back and forth on one of the many backstage monitors cluttering the hallways further. "It's like they've forgotten who the champion is," he grouses, not even needing to look to know that Alex Riley is nearby, hanging on his every word.

"You should remind them then," the rookie suggests, a knowing smirk on his face as Miz stares intensely at the monitor. In the half-lit hallway, the screen's glow off of his title belt is almost creepy.

"Oh, I will," he mumbles, his brain already working at double speed to think up the best way to go about it, something controversial that'll get everyone talking for weeks to come, something special leading up to Wrestlemania.

He's so busy thinking about what to do, how to spend the next few weeks reminding people Cena _isn't_ facing Rock at Wrestlemania, oh no, far from it, that it's not until he's back in his locker room, preparing to go out to the ring and address the Rock and Cena and everything else that comes to mind that the small whisper in the back of his mind that he's been ignoring for awhile now becomes a little louder, a lot more persistent. It takes a couple of moments before he realizes why. Something's missing.

World title, check. Carefully selected suit for tonight, check. Protege, check. Silver briefcase, check. Duffel bag, keys, outrageously expensive designer sunglasses, wallet, check, check, check, check. He frowns and picks at his sleeves, a rare nervous habit.

"Something wrong?" Alex asks, watching him worriedly.

"Feel like I'm missing something, but can't figure out what..." he mutters, going back over his quick check off list. Troubled blue eyes peer around the room as he tries to think about something he forgot to do or bring. "Dammit, this is going to bother me all night long."

Alex smiles bemusedly as they finally head to the ring, a weird feeling shuddering down the rookie's spine. He's about to say something to Miz when the world champion skids to a stop, his gaze locked on the outfit designer down the hall who's fastening sequins to one of the diva's shirts.

"I got it!" he exclaims, shaking his head in disbelief at not figuring it out sooner. "Where the hell has Morrison been tonight? He usually bugs me at least once by now."

It's just luck that a passing tech overhears and pauses midstep. "John Morrison? I overheard Cole talking about it, the anonymous GM gave him the night off."

Miz gapes after the man, who slowly slinks away, a bit unnerved by the WWE Champion's wide-eyed stare. "What the hell?" he finally manages, a grimace on his face. "Great, sounds like the anonymous GM is back to screwing with everything." To almost anyone else in any other profession, a night off would probably sound like heaven but to guys like John Morrison- who seem to breathe competition-, it's tantamount to torture.

Alex watches quietly, that slight, niggling feeling still there, making him want to say something but unable to, in case Miz should realize he's really nothing more than an uncertain rookie still trying to fit in with the big boys. Finally he shrugs the sensation away and opens his mouth. Instead of saying what he wants to, he manages, "As long as the GM only messes with Morrison, right?" Miz doesn't look pleased with this, in fact he looks madder than he did just moments earlier, and Alex immediately clamps his mouth shut, that uncomfortable squirming feeling spreading through his veins.

"Hardly. We're former tag partners, it's enough that if the GM is messing with him, it's only a matter of time before he starts going after me again too. I knew the last few months of him leaving me alone was too good to be true- Wrestlemania is coming closer so he's back to being a nuance." His frown deepens as Alex watches him carefully, worried to say something wrong again. "But I'll handle it. It'll be fine."

It's not until they're in the ring and Miz suggests that Alex wrestle Cena- Alex's career on the line- that the almost nauseous feeling returns to him with a vengeance, his vision swimming slightly as the Anonymous GM's sounder goes off and he puts the match in a steel cage. _There's no way,_ he thinks with a sinking feeling as if he'd just dropped off of a cliff and had no choice but to stare down at the ground coming up too quickly to swallow him whole. He doesn't blame Miz, not really. The man has bigger things to worry about than his protege's career but still it bothers him that he can be thrown under the bus so easily on the off chance that Cena will lose and declare Miz the best champion ever. _This is the GM's doing. Whenever he gets involved, Miz gets careless and desperate to prove himself..._

Miz, on the other hand, is the prime example of confidence as he claps Alex on the back once they get back to the locker room. "It'll be fine. You'll see."

But it's not, and Alex knows it. He's lacking in experience and confidence, which is a bad combination when going against someone like Cena. His worries distract him so he only half-watches as Miz attacks Daniel Bryan before his match, shoving his face into the barricade wall and yelling at him. Why exactly, Alex doesn't know but it gives him less time to wait before he has to come out to face Cena.

Miz finally throws Daniel away from him, a pleased sneer on his face as he stands tall over his twitching body. "You'll never be what I am. US champion, WWE champion, the most watched..." he pauses to kick the man in the ribs once more, "champion of all time... NONE OF IT, you understand me?"

Alex watches blankly as referees ease a beaten down Daniel to the back, Miz not even bothering to come back for him. Instead, his mentor settles down at the commentary table and he takes a deep breath, hands sweaty and shaking. It's time.

In the end, even Miz's help isn't enough as Cena overwhelms Alex and ultimately defeats him. As the cage is slowly lifted around him, Alex stares blankly ahead, his body throbbing in time with each heartbeat. _Mike didn't even wait._ He can't help but think maybe it's a good thing- after all, the last time anything remotely close to this happened, Miz didn't hesitate to kick his tag partner in the stomach and hit him with a Reality Check. His hand clenches into a fist as he struggles not to lose it in front of the audience members still clustered around, jeering and mocking him. His dream is gone, his career is over. He'll never wrestle in this ring again.

With a heavy sigh, he pulls himself off of the ring apron and slowly makes his way up the ramp. Despite not liking the man, he can't help but wonder how Morrison felt the night of the draft in 2009, having to leave the ring after Miz's betrayal. This... this is on a different level but he can't help comparing the two situations. Whereas Miz has only been his mentor for a few months, he and Morrison had partnered for years at the time of Miz's attack. _Who knows, if I had been around him for longer, maybe he would've gone that extra mile. Maybe he would've stayed._

He keeps his eyes cast down on the ground as he makes his way towards the exit, not even bothering to get his duffel or figure out a way to leave here. It's New York, public transportation isn't that hard to find, after all.

His hand is on the door when he hears footsteps behind him. Even with his back to them, he recognizes the sound, closes his eyes in anticipation of what'll happen next.

"Alex? What are you doing?" The confusion in Miz's voice cuts through Alex like a knife and he freezes, his very skin feeling brittle. Breakable. "Alex? Did you hear me?" His mentor- former mentor- drops a hand on his shoulder and Alex spins around, staring at him. The emotionless gaze that's drilling into him causes him to step back, jaw dropping slightly. "Alex-"

"You left," he says dully, hating himself for sounding so pathetic in those two small words. But he's unable to stop with just them. "You put my career on the line, after everything I've tried to do for you these last few months, I lost and got fired and I looked up thinking maybe you'd at least stick around long enough to ask if I was ok, and you were _gone._ You did what you had to do and you _left._ Like me getting fired was no big thing. What was the point of all this?" He finally stops, drained verbally and emotionally, peering into Miz's face as he tries to catch his breath.

Miz looks frozen now, his eyes icy and cold as he stares at the younger man. "Did you honestly think," he says softly- for a moment Alex wonders if he's gone too far, if maybe now Miz _will_ attack just because of his own stupid mouth- "that I put you in that position without a Plan B? I thought you trusted me more than that, Alex. This ... is far from over." He holds out Alex's dark blue duffel bag, his face softening slightly. "Trust me?"

"Y-Yeah," he mumbles. "Of course." He thinks he should apologize, should say _something_ else but all he can manage is to grab his bag and hold it closely, feeling the wrestling gear and plain clothes through the rough canvas.

"Get ready to leave," Miz commands, some of the volume returning to his voice. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Sure." As Miz walks off, Alex takes one quick look at the arena. Despite his mentor's words, despite Alex's faith in his sincerity, this still feels like the end of a chapter of his life. He sighs heavily and heads out to the parking area


	35. chapter 35

For show, Miz has convinced Alex to not be at the arena tonight. He hasn't worked out every factor yet but his protege will be an ace up his sleeve eventually, once he's ready to rub it in the face of the Email GM and everyone else that he's found a way around his apprentice's needless firing. So while Alex is enjoying the impromptu vacation, soaking up the balmy weather in Florida, Miz is stuck too north for his tastes, trying not to freeze as he pokes around Twitter. The reaction after his announcement that he's going to boycott Raw serves to amuse him for awhile, more so as he reads it from the free wifi provided by the arena.

After awhile he sighs and pushes the laptop away, only half caring as it teeters on the edge of the flimsy table. The room is almost too quiet- a perfect hide away in one of the many abandoned corners of the arena, suits his needs perfectly... but yeah, still kinda creepy. Almost like something he'd expect the Undertaker to hide in.

If he listens hard enough, he can somewhat hear the nearest monitor. It's a way to pass the time until he hears Cena's obnoxious music vibrating through the arena, stuck in this dark room listening as Raw passes him by. He overhears various wrestlers and divas laughing and whispering as Cole's attempt to announce JBL as his referee fails thanks to Stone Cold Steve Austin. He sighs in exasperation before leaning against the door, raking a hand through his short hair. His mind wanders a bit as the next match, Sheamus vs Daniel Bryan, begins, a pleased smirk spreading across his lips as he remembers beating down the wanna-be last week.

Sheamus loses by count out and Miz peeks out of the door carefully, able to just see the monitor as the Irishman starts ranting about how his bad luck as of late and how if he doesn't win his match the following week, he'll quit. _This must be something in the air,_ Miz thinks blandly, guilt welling up within him as he thinks about how callously he caused Alex his job just seven days ago. Before Sheamus can say anything else, the GM email alert goes off, Miz stiffening at the mere sound of it.

Since Cole is off complaining to whomever will listen, Jerry takes over reading the email. "The anonymous GM says since Miz is too good to show his face tonight, he's taking it upon himself to make the following match- Miz vs Sheamus for the US title next week. If Sheamus loses, he's fired immediately."

Miz pales.

Despite the announcement distracting him, his plan later in the show goes off without a hitch- he beats Cena down again and relishes every second of it. It's not until he returns to the back that the reality of what the following week will bring him starts to seep in.

"I think you need to look up what boycotting means," Morrison's voice cuts into his thoughts as he marches back to the dark, empty little room that he had dropped his things in before rushing out to deal with Cena. "This... just isn't it."

"Shut up, Morrison." Despite not seeing the man for almost two weeks, it's like muscle memory- as soon as Miz hears his voice, he tenses up and prepares himself for the usual caustic barbs they almost always exchange.

"Gee, for someone who just laid out John Cena, you're not sounding too thrilled. Missing Alex, are we?"

Mike closes his eyes as he pulls out his duffel bag and the US title drops off of the top of it. No attention had been paid to the belt for so long, he had stopped bringing it out with him. It had been the building block of his single career, what had caused him to believe he could win the WWE title with enough time and hard work. Now he's in risk of losing it and it leaves him empty- he's seen what Sheamus can do, especially considering his long history with the man standing next to him. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little worried.

"Do you want some advice?"

"No," he mumbles, not looking even as John peers over his shoulder at the impeccably gleaming title belt.

"Take it easy," he insists. "Of course the US belt means a lot to you but Wrestlemania is right around the corner. I know how wrestling Sheamus can be- you'll go out feeling fine and return looking and walking like you've been in a car accident." He subconsciously stretches his knee out as if just the memory is enough to make the pain and stiffness return.

Miz sighs. "I'll take that under advisement," he mumbles half-sarcastically, not willing to show Morrison how much his suggestion really means to the WWE champion.


	36. chapter 36

Miz is starting to feel like a spy with all of the sneaking he's been doing the last few weeks, an amused gleam in his eyes as he slips into yet another poorly lit locker room. "Hey," he greets Alex Riley, smirking slightly as the kid looks up. "Take this." He tosses a couple bottles of water over, along with odds and ends he's grabbed from catering.

As the former NXT rookie goes to work on the sub and chips, Miz settles across from him and watches quietly for a minute before his gaze drops back to his title belt. He and Alex have worked together for a few months now but it still surprises him how easily he went from being a loner after the whole ShowMiz thing back to... this. He knows the advantages of people having his back but he also knows the weaknesses- someone almost always around who witnesses _everything_ and knows just what to do or say to become better than you. To take your spot in the pecking order.

"Mike? You ok?" Alex asks, pausing midway through eating as he takes in his mentor's distracted gaze.

"Huh? Sure, I'm fine," he mumbles, trying to shake himself out of the funk he's dragged himself into. "We need to discuss tonight though." Before either can say anything, however, the telltale pyro/music mix goes off, marking the beginning of Raw. "Crap," Mike mumbles. "I want to kick the show off." He pauses at the doorway, looking back at his rookie. "Take your place in the audience just in case. The Email GM is back to his old tricks."

"Ok, I'll be ready," Alex nods, quickly stuffing the meager remains of his food into a bag.

Miz doesn't even bother to look back, well aware that as he heads resolutely to the ring, Alex is already going the short way around the building to the entrance to get into the audience with the fourth row ticket that they scored from a fan who was more than willing to give up their chance to see _Cenaaaaaa_ for $500.

His paranoia is founded as the GM interrupts him addressing his accomplishment the week before to announce two new matches- Cena vs Alberto Del Rio and Miz vs... Khali. Of course. Miz may have the speed advantage but Khali has size and strength. On top of that, Morrison's advice from the week before to take it easy before Wrestlemania- _and that was for Sheamus, he didn't even factor in someone like Khali!-_ echoes through Miz's mind, not to mention the match later in the evening against Sheamus for his US title.

When he gets just too overcome by the large man's sheer power, he spots Alex running forward out of the corner of his eye and relaxes, preparing for the tide to turn. It results in a disqualification but he doesn't care as his protege runs out of the ring and grabs a steel chair, slinging it inside. All of his tension from the past few months bleeds out of his fingers into the weapon as he slams it again and again across Khali's back, cutting him open as the chair cracks under the onslaught. Finally sated, his anger drained from him for now, he pulls away and stares down at what he's done as he breathes deeply. With a derisive sneer at the referees and trainers trying to keep him away from Khali, he throws the chair to one side and rolls out of the ring to catch up with Alex.

"So what do you want to happen with the Sheamus match?" Alex asks once Miz returns to his private locker room, still clinging to the busted up chair. "I might be able to find a different hiding spot-"

"No," Miz interrupts, shaking his head. "You did exactly what I needed you to do. I'll handle Sheamus on my own. The last thing I need is the anonymous GM to think of something else tonight."

"Ok," Alex says uncertainly. "If you change your mind, just let me know."

"I won't," Mike mutters, his eyes dropping down to the title belt in his hands. "Thanks anyway."

For a wild, crazy moment, Miz thinks he has a chance- Sheamus falls out of the ring like he did last week against Daniel Bryan and the count begins, but he recovers quickly and rolls back inside.

Reluctantly he goes back after Sheamus, attacking him with kicks and punches, aimed at his possibly injured leg from the week before. Gaining some momentum, he rushes for the ropes to knee Sheamus in the face but the Irishman gets back to his feet in the blink of an eye, spinning with his hands clasped before slamming them both into Miz's chest, sending him back against the turnbuckle, his upper body throbbing with each breath or movement. "Oh, God," he wheezes, hand splayed against his collarbone and down as he tries to regulate his breathing.

Sheamus, however, is not forgiving as he lunges forward and hits his running Brogue Kick, sending Miz flush against the turnbuckle before he falls limp. He barely registers as he's dragged out of the ropes to the center of the ring, or when he's pinned to the three count.

When he finally focuses on his surroundings once more, Sheamus is stumbling backwards out of the ring, title belt gripped tightly in hand. He's unable to look away as the redhaired man leans against the black barricade wall, trying to catch his breath even as he stares down, captivated by the US title gripped tightly in his hands.

As Miz watches, exhausted and angry, an emboldened female fan standing just behind Sheamus reaches out and, grabbing him around the neck, kisses him. "What the hell?" he mouths, jaw dropping as Sheamus dazedly waves off the security that come running. "Fangirls never try to make out with me!"

Alex greets him as he returns to the locker room a little later, unusually quiet and somber. "I'm sorry," he says awkwardly, handing over the WWE title that Miz had left in his care so all of his focus could be on defending the US title. "Are you going to try to get the title back?" As soon as the words slip out of his mouth, he knows it's a stupid thing to ask- almost everyone who's lost a belt tries and tries and tries to get it back.

So when Miz answers, it surprises Alex. "No." That's all he says. But Alex finds he doesn't need any further explanation as he tracks his mentor's gaze, finding it locked upon the all-important WWE title.

The US belt would always be important to Miz, but for now his focus would remain on Wrestlemania and retaining the WWE title.

Miz remains quiet and thoughtful until it's time to get ready to interrupt Alberto Del Rio vs Cena... Alex somehow manages to keep his laughter to himself as he gets a good look at his mentor wearing the bald cap. "Good luck," he manages, holding his breath until Mike is out of hearing range before dissolving into laughter.

"Well, isn't this cute?"

Miz sucks in a deep breath as he comes to a stop, half-turning towards his former tag partner, who's leaning calmly against a wall, arms crossed as he peers at Miz's interesting outfit. "Why the hell are you always around to catch me at the most embarassing moments, Morrison?"

"It's a gift," he comments smoothly, pushing away from the wall and joining Miz. "Who do you think you're gonna fool with this?"

"Uhhh, let's see... kids who know no better and their equally dimwitted parents? Maybe some nearsighted people while I'm at it?" He pauses to ponder it and shrugs. "Nope, think that's about it."

John rolls his eyes. "So... things alright?"

Miz blanches slightly, knowing that he's fishing around about the title loss earlier but chooses to brush it off instead, keep his focus on the potential attack against Cena. "I think I should be asking you that. Snooki didn't give you anything, did she, while you two were talking?" He takes a few steps to the side, as if afraid to touch Morrison.

"Oh, shut up."

"And you get to team up with her at Wrestlemania... lucky, lucky you," he says, smirking. "Hopefully the crew remembers to sanitize the tag rope and turnbuckle once she's gone."

"Says the man formerly alligned with Extreme Expose," John mutters dryly, smirking as Miz rolls his eyes. They both stop bickering as they discover they're already at the gorilla position, techs openly staring at Miz as he checks himself over quickly to make sure he's ready.

"Well, here we go," he mumbles quietly, turning to the entrance to the ramp. He may have lost the US title but here, now, he will begin to do everything to hold onto the WWE title.


	37. chapter 37

"Are you going to get the US title back?" Alex asks almost hesitantly, watching as Miz glares at Sheamus' back as he passes by. He had asked a similar question last week but that was then, this was now. The first lesson you learn in the WWE is that things can change ridiculously quickly, and to just go with it.

Miz hoists the WWE title higher up on his shoulder and shakes his head. "No," he mumbles. "I have enough to concentrate on right now. When I want my belt back, I can get it at any time."

Alex nods, relieved to hear some bravado in the champion's voice despite everything that's gone on the past few weeks. "I know you will."

"So you know what to do later?" Mike asks after a period of silence once they return to the relative quiet of his locker room, thoughtfully tapping his fingers against the title belt spread out in front of him. He tries to focus on the here and now instead of Daniel Bryan challenging Sheamus for what still feels like _his_ title belt.

"Yeah." He runs his new job title around in his mind, trying once more to memorize it. Googling it earlier had been a mistake and left him dazed, a bit confused and a lot worried.

Their segment- where Miz will unveil his revised title belt- is at the very end of the show, which makes the WWE champion happy.

"Good," he comments, poking at the non-spinning spinner belt with a pleased gleam in his eyes. "This title should've always been like this. It just looks better. Doesn't it?"

"Of course it does, Miz." Alex is only half listening but knows none-the-less what his mentor wants to hear, his mind still on his title. As far as he knows, it's just for show- he'll still do what he did in the past for Miz: protect him when he can, distract opponents when warranted, and learn from the very best at all times.

However, nothing goes exactly like they plan. Yes, they reveal Miz's "new" M belt- which was a pain in the _ass_ to flip, considering how bent the plate was after years of being used as a weapon- and Alex gets through the whole announcement about his new title without one interruption from the Email GM, but then Cena cuts in, and reveals that he's actually _at_ the arena.

Things go downhill quickly from there, Miz just barely getting away, but Cena then turns his attention fully on Alex and all he feels is his leg bending in a way it shouldn't bend and his neck screaming in protest as the STF is locked in again... and again... and again.

Finally the trainer and referees get Cena to release him and he rolls away, groaning. He's not sure where to touch first, his throbbing neck or his knee. He had watched in the haze of pain as Miz hesitated on the ramp, not sure what to do, before slipping back past the curtain. He doesn't blame him and he's not surprised when Cena finally leaves that Miz picks that time to reappear- frazzled and angry, but there. "He wasn't supposed to be here!" he hisses, waving off one of the referees and taking over on helping Alex the rest of the way up the ramp to the back. "Idiot, always ruining my plans. Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Alex mumbles even as he steps wrong and cringes, fresh pain stabbing up his knee.

"Don't be stupid," Miz mutters back, readjusting his grip around his protege's mid-section. "The hell do you have to be taller than me for?"

Alex huffs a laugh before hissing once more, his neck protesting the twitchy movement this time. "Damn."

Miz is about to wonder how referees manage this week in and week out with guys almost double their size and height when he spots Morrison out of the corner of his eye, leaning against a wall talking with Trish Stratus. "Wait," he says, stopping midstep. Once Alex's forward motion stops too, he pulls away and turns. "Hey, Morrison!" Ignoring Trish's startled look, he waits until John faces him.

"If this is about Vickie pinning me, Miz, I really don't-"

"Make yourself useful," he snaps, not in the mood at the moment to tease Morrison about something caused by another lame decision by their amazing anonymous GM. "Help me get Alex to the trainer's office."

Morrison looks like he's about to argue but takes one look at the rookie's pale, sweaty face and how he can barely put weight on one leg- something Morrison's gone through time and again in the last few months-, his resistence draining from him in one fell swoop. "I'll catch up with you later," he tells Trish, who nods, her eyes wide with surprise as John joins them and quietly loops Alex's other arm around his shoulder. "You owe me, Miz," he mutters as they start to walk again.

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs, not believing it for a second.

Alex wants to say that he doesn't need both of them to escort him, that the beat down from Cena wasn't that debillitating, but before he can say or do anything, his focus slowly slips as the exhaustion from the past few weeks weighs him down, the repetitive sounds of their steps lulling him further into a half-doze.

He's disoriented and confused when he finally surfaces, reality re-imposing itself as a somewhat familiar hotel room. Something icy is pressed against his knee, disrupting the warm emptiness he had been floating in previously. "What the hell?" he manages, his voice thick with sleep.

"You slept all through the trainer's office," Morrison's voice breaks into the remaining fog. "He says you'll be fine, with some rest and ice... my favorite line." He huffs a thin chuckle, leaning back in the cushions of the chair. "Getting you back here was a bitch, by the way."

"Miz?" is all he can think to ask, still a bit out of it.

"Check the other bed," Morrison orders, standing up.

Alex does so, finding Miz fast asleep across the room, one hand curled around the strap of his title belt. Alex chuckles, closing his eyes. _Some things never change._

Morrison leans over to collect his coat from the dresser next to him before turning back towards Riley, an eyebrow raised as they stare at each other awkwardly for a few moments. "Now, as comfortable as this chair is, I'm going to find an actual bed."

John's half out of the room when Alex clears his throat, staring at the ceiling. "Thanks, Morrison."

He pauses but doesn't turn around again, shrugging slightly. "You're welcome." Without waiting for the moment to get weirder or Alex to think of anything else to say, he closes the door with a resounding _click._

The new "Vice President" sighs, shifting his leg slightly as he moves the icepack a little. Despite the various aches, he can't help it. _It's good to be back._


	38. chapter 38

Six days before Wrestlemania. Morrison shakes his head as he runs a hand over his face. It's honestly come up fast- quicker than he expected, and although he can understand the advantages of being in a match with a celebrity, what it could mean for any future career plans he may have inside and out of the WWE, a part of him misses the Money in the Bank match. _At least I would've had a chance to be in it and it would've kept me out of ridiculous situations like this,_ he thinks, watching Vickie Guerrero mimic his slow-motion entrance.

Daniel Bryan is waiting to go out too, warming up slowly close to the gorilla position, but before John can join him to go over last minute ideas, Miz's loud, hard-to-ignore voice cuts into the tense silence that takes over the backstage area before every Mania, each person in the building desperate to get things right, to hold momentum leading up to the biggest event of the year.

"Hey, Morrison, if you need some help with Vickie tonight, you know where to find me," Mike says, smirking as he comes level with his former tag partner. "We've all seen what a tough opponent she can be. Especially last week."

"Ha ha," is all John says dryly, glancing over at Miz. To any other person, they'd think the champion was the very picture of confidence and calm. Morrison can tell better, by the tight, white knuckled grip he has on his redesigned M belt. How his eyes fail at focusing on John for more than a few moments before shifting down the hallway, as if on the look out for something untoward. How Alex stands closely, keeping a paranoid eye out as well.

Despite the year being successful as far as title runs go for Mike, it's been far from easy between the Raw GM and all of his shenanigans, the off and on drama between them, and then not even getting to take all the focus in his first 'Mania main event because of the Rock's issues with Cena. Morrison softens slightly as Miz glances over at Alex. _I wonder if he realizes with Cena's attention more on Rock, he might be lucky enough to pull this whole thing off at Mania. Sometimes that's all that's needed._

"You have a match next?" Mike asks, finally turning his own attention back on John.

_Someone's been too distracted to check the board,_ John thinks, glancing over at Daniel Bryan briefly. "Yeah, a tag match."

Mike's eyes track John's gaze, a hissed grumble huffing out of the champion's mouth. "Seriously? They're making you team with _him?_ Against who?"

Before Morrison can even think up the proper response, Sheamus appears on the scene, US title held proudly on his arm as he glowers at them all.

"No way," Miz mumbles, his grip tightening even more against the strap of his belt.

Sheamus pauses and turns, staring across the hall at Miz. "Well, well, if it ain't the man I beat to win this beauty here," he says, his accent deep and boastful as Alex glances back and forth from Miz to the Irishman, unsure if he should intervene or just let this confrontation play out. "Better watch yourself, Miz. I might just start wanting more gold after 'Mania... Hell, if _you_ can hold both the US belt and the WWE title for months, it can't be that difficult, right?"

John steps forward as Miz stiffens, his eyes turning icy and threatening. Before anyone can say or do anything, however, Dolph pushes away from the wall where he's been waiting for Vickie to finish introducing him and brushes past Sheamus, distracting him from glaring at Miz. "Come on, it's time to beat these idiots."

They leave, Morrison watching quietly as Miz slowly deflates, his eyes falling to the floor.

"Mike?" Alex mumbles, just to be ignored. He looks away with a sigh, not wanting to anger his mentor further.

"Hey," John reaches out for him but Mike brushes past him.

"Shut up, John," he mumbles, storming back towards the locker room area.

John tries to hold his own in the match, he really does, but his mind is stuck back on that confrontation in the back, the look on Miz's face, and he never really gets out of the gate. In the end, he's thrown out of the ring and hits his back hard on the barricade wall, dazing him long enough that Daniel gets taken out by Sheamus and pinned quickly.

Once their opponents leave, he rolls slowly back into the ring and, trying to reach the ache in his back, kneels by Daniel, who still looks dazed and confused about what exactly just happened. "I'm sorry, man. That loss was my fault."

Daniel just stares at him for a long moment, frowning thoughtfully. "No offense, Morrison, but did you do that on purpose?"

John sputters for a long moment, his eyes wide as he brushes wayward hair out of his face. "What do you mean? Of course not."

"I know you and Miz are ... kind of friends," Daniel continues, ignoring Morrison's denials. "Or whatever. It's complicated. Fine. But he's never liked me and now I'm going after the US title so quickly after he lost it. I saw how he was looking earlier- not exactly how you'd expect a champion going into Mania to look. He puts on a good act but I see through it. We never got along but he was still my NXT pro for awhile, I sorta got to know him. Enough to know this cocky attitude he has going now- with the flipped belt and crap- is all an act. So did you ensure our- my- loss tonight to make him feel better?"

The referee is prodding them to move it along, there are other matches to come, the audience is getting restless, etc. etc., so finally Daniel stands and pulls Morrison up with him. "Listen, I understand- like I said, it's complicated. Maybe you did it subconsciously without really knowing but... you've been able to hold your own against Sheamus in the past a lot better than what I saw tonight. That's all." He pats Morrison on the shoulder, a curious, thoughtful look in his eyes, before heading for the ramp.

As crazy as it sounds, Morrison can't help but wonder if maybe the guy was perhaps onto something.

"This sucks!" Miz's yell is detectable all the way down the hall, as Morrison wanders around, trying to distract himself from Daniel Bryan's earlier suggestion, find some way to tell himself that the aspiring US champion was wrong.

He instead finds himself hovering outside of Mike's locker room, peering in through the partially opened door. He flinches as Miz kicks the lockers, the toe of his shoe thudding loudly against the steel and causing Alex to jump as well.

"Six days before Mania and all people can talk about is Rock or Cena, Fruity Pebbles, everything _but_ me," he fumes. "It's like I'm not even in this match _at all._ " His hand splays across his chest, where the People's Elbow had slammed into him only a bit ago, and he shakes his head in fury. "I'll show them. I'll show them all. They can't ignore me. I won't let them."

When Miz finally falls silent and Alex moves closer, their voices little more than quiet murmurs as they begin going over strategy for the pay per view, Morrison slinks back into the shadows, a vague sigh slipping from his lips. _Yeah,_ he thinks quietly, heading back to the locker room he had been using this evening. _Daniel Bryan was right about one thing. It is complicated._


	39. chapter 39

After spending his Wrestlemania taking out Dolph and opening things up for Snooki to finish off Michelle, John Morrison follows his two tag partners around, half-listening to their chatter as they head for catering, his eyes sliding from one monitor to another while Miz and Cena's match is broadcast to the backstage area. Thankfully there's a monitor within view of the catering table so he keeps one eye on the match as he downs some bottled water, nodding along to whatever it is Snooki and Trish are saying about Laycool.

Not that long into the match, the action ends up on the outside and he gapes, losing all pretense of listening to the women, as Cena clotheslines Miz over the barricade wall, both men hitting the concrete floor- Miz taking the worst of it, as the back of his head thuds off of the hard surface. Morrison's muffled curse attracts both Snooki and Trish's attention. "What?" Trish asks, turning to also stare at the monitor.

A replay runs just in time and both women gasp as Morrison starts to move, ignoring everything around him as he heads for the gorilla position, his mind swimming with too many thoughts. He's not surprised to hear Justin Robert's muffled voice announce it a double countout, or the various boos that follow this statement, but he is somewhat surprised to see The Rock rush through the curtains to confront the participants in the match.

Even with just peeking through the curtains, John can tell Miz is unstable, his balance tenuous at best. When the GM email tries to intercede and Rock interrupts _him_ just to restart the match, he hisses and runs a hand through his hair, brushing it out of his face. "Dammit." The "restart" only lasts a few moments, however, as Rock immediately Rock Bottoms Cena, opening him up to Miz taking the advantage and pinning him quickly. He releases a deep breath, glad that it's over, just to blink as Rock attacks and eventually delivers the People's Elbow to Miz, downing him completely.

Alex isn't in great shape either after his earlier attempts at getting involved, so it seems to take him a life time to get Miz out of the ring and even longer up the ramp, even with the referee's assistance. Morrison watches until they finally reach the curtain, quickly joining them. "I have it from here," he tells the tired looking referee. "Go take care of Cena." Not that he really cares about Cena, but it's an easy way to get the referee to move away as he hooks Miz's arm over his shoulder, taking barely a second to look the WWE champion over, before helping Riley ease him through the hallway.

Mike's eyes are open, but glassy, his chin bouncing against his chest with each step as he seems unable to keep his head up. His breathing is so heavy and all-encompassing that Morrison barely hears as he murmurs, "John?"

Unsure, he peers down at his former tag partner's head and whispers, "Mike?" There's no response and he looks up, locking eyes with Alex briefly. The protege shrugs helplessly and they walk a little faster, both men worried at the lack of bragging or _anything_ from the usually very vocal man between them.

The trainer's examination of Miz is as thorough as it can be and seems to take a lifetime, as Alex watches from an uncomfortable leather chair, his hands gripping the edge of the seat between his legs. Morrison settles for standing rigidly near where Miz is settled, his gaze on the ceiling overhead as a muffled lamp lights the trainer's way.

The instant they had entered the office earlier, Miz had recoiled from the bright overhead LED lights enough that he almost fell over Morrison's feet and would've possibly hurt himself worse if both Alex and John hadn't moved quickly to grab him, John getting him under the arms and A-Ri grabbing him around the waist just long enough to ease him down into the nearest chair before Morrison had slapped the light switch, casting the room into mostly darkness.

The trainer clicks his pen light off with a sigh and faces Alex and Morrison, who both sit or stand straighter at the pensive look on his face. "It seems like a pretty severe concussion," he explains. "He needs to go to the ER, no ifs ands or buts about it. I just don't have the equipment here to make sure it's nothing more serious. He took a hard fall against the floor and it's better safe than sorry."

Morrison was moving before the trainer was even half through the first sentence, easing Miz up off of the cot that the trainer had collected since he could barely sit in a regular chair without slipping back out of it. "I figured," he mutters. "We'll take him." It seems almost common to suggest such a thing by now and he almost smiles at the startled look the trainer still gets on his face when these things happen- first with Alex a few weeks ago, now this variation of the situation. He wonders how the trainer'll react if his turn ever comes to need help out of the arena, well... _if_ Miz would provide it.

Alex nods, taking up Miz's other side almost immediately. "Let's go."

The drive to the hospital is quiet, Morrison navigating the streets knowledgeably as he takes some lesser used streets to get where they need to be all the quicker, avoiding the more common paths away from the Georgia Dome. Alex stays in the backseat with Miz, keeping an eye on him and making sure he doesn't remove the dark towel the trainer has provided to keep the garishly lit downtown area from enraging Miz's headache further.

As they arrive at the hospital, John glances over his shoulder. "Think he'd kill me if I get a wheelchair?"

Judging by the momentary look on Alex's face, it seems like he thinks Morrison is a genius for even thinking about it. "Do it anyway," he says with a smirk, leaning back over to adjust the drifting towel across the top half of Mike's face.

"Be back in a minute then," he says with an eyeroll as he stops the car in front of the ER doors and slips out.

"You'll be fine," Alex tells his mentor, not even sure if he's awake at the moment. _Shouldn't concussed people be kept awake? Or was that little suggestion changed now? Ugh, researchers... they change their minds every five minutes,_ he thinks, a thrill of terror slithering down his spine at the possibilities. "Then we'll celebrate like the awesome people we are. Maybe we should even invite Morrison, even though he's far from awesome..." He grimaces a little, both the awesome thing and mocking John falling a little flat without Miz aware enough to even roll his eyes at Alex's antics or anything else.

When Morrison returns, it's with a wheelchair and calm determination, which somehow eases Alex as they work at getting Miz out of the car without slamming his head against the door rim or dropping him on the pavement. "There we go," Morrison sighs once he's finally safely settled. Alex takes over pushing him into the ER, needing to feel at least somehow useful as John leans over to adjust the towel across Mike's eyes once more. "You'll be ok," he mumbles, as the doors slip open automatically.

Nurses converge on them almost immediately, obviously alerted to the situation by Morrison- due to recent attention from both the public and Congress, concussions were treated a lot more serious now, especially by athletes. Alex reluctantly moves aside as a nurse takes over pushing the wheelchair, taking it into an examination room off to the side.

"Follow me," another nurse urges. "We need to get some information before we can do anything."

This process seems to alternate between taking forever and rushing past, as Morrison and Alex work together to answer what they can. The original nurse is fussing over Miz in the corner, taking his vitals and talking quietly with him to try to get a sense of how bad the pain is, if he has any other symptoms, various other questions. Sometimes John overhears her ask other questions- like who the president is, what month it is, what city he's in. Despite the answers being slow, Mike manages to answer all correctly and even confuses the nurse briefly by asking where his title belt's at.

_Someone's feeling a little better, I guess,_ Morrison thinks, glancing over at Alex. By the relieved look on his face, he had overheard too.

They end up spending the night in the hospital, as this test and that test is performed on Mike. Alex is fast asleep around 5 AM when the doctor comes in with the latest test result that confirms there's no bleeding or swelling in his brain. Morrison almost melts into his chair at this, smirking as a much more alert Miz squints at the doctor, carefully sitting up. "So I can go?"

The doctor briefly hesitates before glancing at Morrison and Alex, grimly nodding as his eyes finally settle back on Mike. "Fine. But I don't want you to be alone. And you need to _rest._ This is a severe concussion, young man. Your brain needs time to heal, among other things. I'll leave a list of things to avoid with the nurse, who'll be in shortly with your release papers."

Before Miz can protest, John nudges Alex and sits up. "We'll make sure he abides by it, Doc."

"Huh? What?" A still half-asleep Alex groans, jerking forward in the horrible ER chair. "Where am I?"

"Shut up and agree," Morrison mutters, rolling his eyes.

"Oh. Yeah, ok, I agree. Wait, what am I agreeing to?"

The doctor- whose name none of them had remembered when they first met hours earlier- chuckles, heading for the door. "Yeah, I can tell he's in good hands," they vaguely hear him mutter sarcastically as he leaves.

By the time they get out of the hospital, it's nearly 6 AM and the sun is just starting to peek up through the dark twilight, Miz's eyes protected by both a pair of sunglasses and the ever-present towel. The doctor had commended the trainer for thinking of it, and encouraged Mike to wear it whenever the lights bugged him just a little too much. As long as one of them keep Miz from walking into something, he's a little steadier on his feet by now, so with a little guidance, they all get to the car without any major mishaps.

"You ok to drive?" Mike asks after a few moments. It takes Morrison double that time to realize he's talking to him.

"Oh, yeah. I'll be fine," he nods. _Thank God the hotel is only a few minutes away,_ he thinks, rubbing a hand over his face. They had all been running on fumes the week of Wrestlemania, working WrestlemaniArt and various Axxess commitments, not to mention many, many media things. Spending the night after Wrestlemania in the ER wasn't exactly in his plans. He glances into the rear view mirror and watches as Alex slaps Mike's hand away from the towel, shaking his head. _Weird how things work out,_ he thinks. Despite his bone deep exhaustion, he's just glad to have heard with his own ears that _with enough time_ Mike would be back to his annoying, abrasive self.

"You can't be serious," John finds himself saying, so exhausted that he feels like he's watching someone else's life as Mike picks at the suit he's wearing, Alex shifting anxiously next to him. "It was barely twelve hours ago that the ER doctor was telling you to avoid _watching TV_ and rest... and now you want to go be ON TV in front of thousands of people? What the hell, Mike?"

"I regained the title," he argues, squinting out at Morrison from behind his sunglasses. "I can't just not show up tonight. I'm not stupid, I won't challenge anyone to a match. I just... need to keep this momentum going somehow. You know?"

Morrison lowers his head, the cascade of hair that follows shadowing his eyes so Miz can't see anything. When he finally looks up, he glowers at Alex, the combination of his wildly disheveled hair and thick facial hair making him look all the more menacing. "You keep an eye on him, understand me? If he does anything stupid and you let it happen, I swear to God..."

Alex nods, bowled over by the intensity in Morrison's dark gaze. "It'll be fine, it will," he babbles, uncertain what the former ECW champion would do and not wanting to find out.

Mike huffs. "Yes _mother._ Can we go now?" Without waiting for a response, he motions to Alex and they leave, the rookie glancing back uncertainly at John before clearing the door.

Morrison half listens to the monitor as he prepares for his match, glancing up as the various Tough Enough kids introduce themselves. He smirks, remembering his own experiences in the original Tough Enough, when the telltale "AWESOME!" cuts into the walk down memory lane, his attention immediately focused on the screen as Miz comes out, Alex tagging along. Even in the split second glance he gets of the rookie, he sees how nervous he is. _As he should be,_ he thinks grimly, dropping wrist tape back in the bag resting between his legs blindly.

Miz talks from the top of the ramp for awhile, showing how he gained the concussion, before heading for the ring. John's ears start to ring as he watches this, flushing with anger at Miz's stupidity. "Oh yeah sure, you have a concussion but let's walk down to the ring anyway where _Austin_ is waiting!" he mumbles, almost tempted to go out and kick Miz's ass himself. He listens intently as Miz continues talking, starts to wonder if his ears are playing tricks on him as Miz comes straight out and asks if Austin thinks he has enough for one more run. _He is not! That idiot...!_

Morrison catches another glimpse of Alex, who is looking like a squirrel's just ran over his foot, as Miz challenges Austin to a match. Before Austin can say anything, Alex attacks him and actually holds his own long enough for Miz to come back to his senses and scatter, the champion getting far away as Austin regains his upperhand and hits a stunner, planting Alex into the mat.

Feeling like his life is going in circles, Morrison finds himself back at the gorilla position as Miz follows the referees assisting Riley to the back. "What were you thinking?" he growls at Miz, pointing from him to Alex. " _I won't challenge anyone to a match._ What was that, another lie?" His words are sharp, drowning in anger but Mike doesn't flinch away as they glower at each other, both men at the end of their ropes, itching for confrontation.

"It was impromptu," Miz mutters, voice pitched low and dangerous as his icy blue eyes bores into Morrison's darker gaze. "I didn't plan on it, but I wasn't completely stupid- I know I'm not in any condition to wrestle... but I also knew Austin wouldn't accept either, since he's not cleared to wrestle because of his neck."

Morrison snorts and waves over at Alex, who's watching them tiredly from where the two referees settled him when he refused to leave due to their arguing. "It didn't stop him from stomping a mudhole in Riley, _or_ laying a Stunner on him!" He huffs, closing his eyes. "It could've been just as easily done to you, Miz. Considering you can't even watch TV right now on Doctor's orders, what the hell do you think a Stone Cold beat down would have done to you? Huh?" Suddenly feeling drained physically and emotionally, he turns away. "I have a match."

After he and Trish beat Dolph and Vickie, he heads into the back and quickly collects his things, desperate to get out of this arena, this city. Home in LA is sounding ridiculously great right now, even though it's Miz's home too- they tend to not search each other out when they _are_ both in town, so he's not worried- but before he can even collect all of his things scattered around the locker room, there's a knock on the door and Zack Ryder peeks his head in. "Oh, hey," he says. "I was looking for Primo. Have you seen him?"

"No," Morrison says shortly, still packing.

"Oh." Ryder watches him for a moment, frowning. "Uh, you know you can't leave, right, bro?"

"What? Why not?"

"Tornado warning, the weather is really bad out there right now. All of us have to stay until it clears up some. The fans have been told to stay at the arena too for awhile," Zack explains. As soon as he finishes talking, a loud, drawn out boom of thunder washes over the area, rattling the walls with its intensity.

Morrison groans. "So we're stuck here?"

"You know it. We're all meeting in catering to wait it out. You should come join us, bro." Receiving no response to this, Zack shrugs and leaves to continue his search for his tag partner.

Giving up on packing as a worthless endevour, Morrison leaves the locker room. Instead of heading towards catering, he goes the opposite way and turns towards the exit. The hallways are empty, quiet. Almost creepy in their unnatural peace. After breaking the silence by opening the squeeching door, he slips outside quickly and lets it slam softly behind him. He stands for awhile, absorbing the cool, strong wind rushing against his skin like it wants to push him over but isn't sure how to manage it, the soft spray of spring-time rain sticking his hair to his face and neck, the loud rumbles of thunder shaking the ground beneath his feet and sharp slivers of lightning crawling across the dark sky, showing precisely where the line of clouds begin and the sky ends.

He's been among the elements for about ten minutes when the door opens behind him and someone joins him, not saying anything as they stand behind him, watching quietly. Nothing needs to be said, he only knows one concussed idiot who would dare to follow him out in a storm like this one.

Finally, "I'm sorry."

"I know," John mutters after a few moments, spent waiting for the loud crack of thunder that had followed to die away. His anger has dissipated since witnessing the power of nature, leaving him with a cold sense of _what if?_ If Austin had moved faster than Alex, if Miz had hit his head again, if, if, if... One wrong move and Miz would've had more to worry about than not being able to watch TV. After another minute of watching the storm crawl across the Atlanta landscape, he turns and smirks awkwardly at Miz, watching as the lightning reflects off of his sunglasses. "No more random match challenges until the doctors clear you... right?"

Miz sighs, grimacing as more rain pours down his face, taking the product out of his hair and making it stick to his forehead. "Right. Can we go inside now? Damn rain."

"If we must," Morrison grins as Mike huffs, the eyeroll visible through his drenched glasses. "If you don't challenge anyone while we wait for these storms to pass, I may even let you tweet." John and Alex were alternating between taking care of Mike's phone, since the doctor had included it in the list of things to keep him away from, only letting him use it to make phone calls when neccessary.

"Don't tease me," Mike grumbles, glaring over at him as they head for catering.

After the tornado warning expires and they make it back to the hotel, all manage a solid few hours of sleep before they have to face reality again. Morrison keeps his word.


	40. chapter 40

He had heard the whispers. Knew as soon as he had entered by the mood in the locker room that something was off. _I heard someone say Edge is going to announce his retirement later_. He stares blankly at his phone, those words bouncing around his skull. Who knew a random comment from Gail Kim that he had accidentally overheard would stick with him so stubbornly?

He barely looks up as people wander past him, too busy with their own thoughts and agendas to spare him a glance either. _Edge is only six years older than me,_ he thinks, jaw clenching as he stands up, the tense silence finally getting to him. He heads out into the hallway and wanders for awhile, eyes downcast as he instinctively dodges people and things scattered around as they prepare for the event. He had lost track of his dreams after losing to Miz at the start of the year, culminating in this feud with Dolph Ziggler at Wrestlemania taking up his time and chances. _Well, no more._

When Raw starts, he watches blandly as Cena talks about Wrestlemania 28- something that feels like a lifetime away to Morrison- and the here and now, just to get interrupted by Orton. It's partial impulse, partial determination to follow through on his earlier thoughts as he heads down the ramp and continues the chain of interruptions. That's not the end of it, however, as Dolph and Vickie interrupt, and then R Truth. The Email GM's interruption is almost unsurprising as they're all standing at a stalemate, each declaring how they deserve to be #1 contender for Miz's belt.

The five man gauntlet match that is made in response leaves Morrison pondering as he reflects on his opponents, working out ways to beat all of them just in case. His eyes are closed as he thinks, a leg across his bag while he stretches to prepare for the match. Despite numerous distractions, he still notices when the whispers and various sounds of his coworkers preparing for their individual matches dies down to near nothingness.

"What was that?"

John sighs, folding his leg at the knee and hooking his bag with his foot, dragging it back over towards his bench as he opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow at his former tag partner and his "vice president". "What was what?"

"Don't act stupid," Mike huffs, his eyes narrowing as Morrison looks nonplussed. "You going after this again?" His fingers tap spastically across the M plate of his title belt, piercing gaze locked on Morrison, weighing any reaction that is forthcoming.

"And if I am? You gonna Reality Check me again?"

"Don't tempt me," Mike mumbles, gazing at him for a moment longer before nudging Alex. "Come on, let's get out of here."

It's only later that his words come back to haunt him when he's facing off against R Truth while Miz is watching, doing commentary. It's a simple flub and he can almost hear Miz's voice reprimanding him for doing high risk moves off of the top rope, berating him for pulling a Rey Mysterio when his knee's his weak point, and sure enough when he lands on his feet on the empty canvas, his knee buckles and distracts him just enough that R Truth gets the advantage and pins him for the three, his chance slipping through his fingers once more.

His dark eyes blaze, a bitter taste in his mouth as he watches Miz and A-Ri cause Truth and Cena the match, the referee claiming it as a double count out. But of course the Raw GM interrupts again and makes the main event at Extreme Rules a triple threat. Miz vs Cena vs Truth. _Dammit,_ he thinks angrily. _Why do I keep screwing this up?_ Not in the mood to run into Miz again, he collects his things in record time and leaves the instant the show is over, needing some air and quiet to think.


	41. chapter 41

After spending a whole week dividing his time between media appearances, long flights or bus trips and studying matches to prepare for Extreme Rules, Miz is tired of watching R Truth and John Cena both so he doesn't feel too bad when he skips R Truth kicking Raw off to talk about his opportunity at the upcoming pay per view. Instead, he leans against the wall, half-mesmerized by the glow of the overhead lights against his title belt while Alex searches the nearby catering table to find decent looking food.

They pause and glance at each other when Morrison's music starts playing. After a few moments, Miz shrugs and Alex resumes looking through the food selection as his mentor listens to the muffled _Ain't No Make Believe_ fading away, a grimace on his face. _Don't tell me..._ It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Morrison will pick and pick until Truth, in his infinite wisdom, will put his opportunity on the line and then...

He doesn't realize exactly how _far_ Truth takes it, however, until they're walking back towards Miz's personal locker room, Alex's hands full with plates of food. It's not that far from the gorilla position for once, so when Truth comes rushing through the hall, startling a group of techs, Alex barely has the time to press against the wall to save the food. It all happens so fast Miz doesn't realize at first what's happening nor has time to react, falling back against the wall as Truth slams into him, repeatedly mumbling something that sounds like "He brought it on himself, he caused this, it's all his fault" as he rushes for the exit. Miz barely has the time to notice the strange mix of regret and anger in his eyes before he's gone.

"What the hell was that?" Alex demands, shaken. "Are you alright, Mike?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he mumbles, gazing down the hall with a frown. "Come on," he says, pushing away from the wall. He would like to teach R Truth a lesson for disrespecting the WWE Champion but right now, they have a match to focus on. "So, about Sin Cara..."

Upon returning to the locker room, they find the monitor blank due to a commercial break. While waiting, they strategize about Alex's match against the newly signed Mexican wrestler while picking at the pizza and cheesy breadsticks that Alex had managed to save from Truth's rampage. Their conversation is railroaded, however, when the monitor begins showing the recap of Truth's attack on Morrison. "Oh hell," Miz mumbles, grimacing as Truth blows smoke across a prone John, then flicks the lit cigarette at him. _The only thing he hates worse than so-called bad eating habits is smoking. We'll probably never hear the end of this._

There's plenty of time before Alex's match so once they feel comfortable with their plan, they split up- Alex to clear away the trash from the catering, and Miz just to clear his head. It's a flimsy excuse and Mike has no doubts that his former NXT rookie can see right through it but he goes anyway, wandering down hall after hall while keeping an eye out for R Truth just in case.

It's outside of the main locker room that Miz comes across his real target- Morrison is leaning against the wall, blatantly ignoring everyone as they come and go. He doesn't even respond, staring ahead blankly, as Miz walks up to him slowly, glancing around at the scattered superstars and divas, techs and referees. He feels annoyed with them all and isn't sure why. "John?" He kneels down so they're at the same eye level, ignoring the faint smoke smell wafting up from him, and waits patiently as his former tag partner doesn't respond. "John?"

Other than some bruising along the side of his face, he doesn't look injured- sore, maybe, but that's unfortunately the name of the game, they've all learned to work through it. He finally manages to look away from the oddly shaped bruising and glances down, something about Morrison's ringwear catching his eye. He swallows when he realizes what exactly it is- Morrison's new tights, made just for the glitz and glamor of Wrestlemania, has a frayed burn hole at the knee, obviously caused by Truth's cigarette earlier in the evening. "John...?"

"Leave me alone, Mike." The words are quiet, barely hearable, but Miz almost instinctively knows what he said as he leans back, eyes wide. "I don't need your fake pity."

"It's not fake and it's not pity," he protests, eyes narrowing as John mindlessly picks at the hole in his pants, still not looking at him. "I just want to know you're ok, John-" He reaches out, trying to stop him from making the rip in the fabric worse, but gets slapped away for his troubles. "Hey!"

"Did you and Riley laugh when you saw Truth bash me down?" he asks after a few, tense moments, his voice low. Harsh. "Did it make your night? Just another challenger for your belt getting what they deserve, right? Hell, maybe you suggested Truth finish what you started two years ago."

Miz snorts, his lips twisting into a snarl as an unexplainable anger wells up in him. "You really think I'd need _Truth_ to do that? Please, I think I proved I'm more than capable of handling you at the start of the year. Remember that? If I wanted to finish you, I could do it at any time but why bother? It'd just be a waste of my time, _John_ , because you're not in my league and never will be." The instant the words are out, he feels cold and empty, as he stares into Morrison's steely eyes. The words he's said so many times in the past sound foreign, like someone else's saying them. It's different, somehow, saying them face to face with no crowds or cameras around that they're playing up to, more vicious, almost beyond cruel. _Oh crap._ "I-"

"Shut up," Morrison mumbles, pushing Miz out of his way as he struggles to his feet. "I don't know what it is about the draft, but almost every time one is announced, things go to hell for me. I don't know why I thought this year would be any different. But no matter what happens, what R Truth did tonight- what might happen in the next couple of weeks- nothing will keep me from taking that belt from you."

Miz's jaw drops as he watches Morrison slowly walk away, one hand going to his head as he heads for the exit. "Great going, Mike," he mumbles once John's out of sight.


	42. chapter 42

Alex Riley watches quietly as his mentor paces back and forth in the almost claustrophobic locker room that he's barely left the whole of Raw. Even with the small victory of Cena getting drafted to Smackdown in the first draft pick, tension remains in the WWE champion. When it comes to championship matches, draft picks don't count for much- titles can still be lost, taken to another brand where opportunities to get a title shot becomes thinner and thinner due to fresh competition, not to mention the divide between the two shows. Adding in that it's early in the evening and anyone can still be drafted away after each match, Alex doesn't blame Mike for being on edge. _Not sure what happened with him and Morrison last week but having another of his opponents for this Sunday drafted only days away from the match wouldn't help him any,_ he thinks glumly, picking at his sleeve.

_Last week, Miz had returned in time for their match, a thunderous look on his face. That anger had fueled him through a promo and tag match with Alex against Sin Cara and Cena, just for Riley to afford them a loss. Miz had been nearly apoplectic, ignoring his apologies and attempts at conversation all the way to the hotel. It was only when they were inside the hotel lobby and overheard a kid talking to his father excitedly about John Morrison that Mike looked at Alex, his eyes cold as ice. "Come_ on _." The speed that he used to march over to the nearest elevator was nearly unbelievable, Alex blinking once just to find his NXT pro already half across the lobby._

_After a tense, silent trip up to their room, Alex is relieved to drop their bags onto the biege carpeting and relax a bit as Miz storms into the bathroom, the door slamming behind him. Flustered, the younger man sighs heavily and watches the door as water starts to run, not covering up the sound of Mike's angry mutters at all. It only takes a few moments before the door reopens, the Vice President of Communications watching while Mike purposely doesn't look at him, his eyes locked on the floor as he grabs his bag and takes the whole thing with him. Alex swallows painfully and fists his eyes, feeling unexplainably tired all of a sudden._

_When Miz finally comes out, his hair damp and changed into a plain grey t-shirt and sweats to sleep in, Alex almost doesn't say anything but before he's even sure where it's coming from, he finds himself speaking up anyway. "Are you ok?" He cringes, prepared to be ignored or ranted at, but neither happens._

_Instead, Miz sits down quietly on the edge of his bed and picks at his nails, an inscrutable look on his tanned face. "No," he finally mumbles._

_"Is there anything I can do?" Instinctively, Alex knows it's a stupid question but he can't help asking, willing to do almost anything to ease some of the burden on the man before him._

_"Unless you can cancel the draft, then no," he sighs anxiously, raking his fingers through his hair. Flopping back against the bed, he closes his eyes and breathes quietly for a few minutes, surprising Alex when he begins to talk again. "No one would probably believe this," he mumbles, voice cutting in and out tiredly. "But I hate the draft as much as Morrison does, if not more. You have no control over what happens, either it's determined by matches held on television or by the general managers to be announced online... Everyone knows how much I love both the GMs and not being in control of my own career..." He turns to face Alex, a strange look on his face. "The whole turning on Morrison thing was a split second decision. I had little time to think; he had cost me that match against JTG, caused me to be drafted away from ECW... I wasn't even sure what I had done until I got to the back and people were staring at me like I had lost my mind- and maybe I had for a little bit, I don't know. After that... when Morrison got drafted to Raw last year, I never expected that it would lead me, us, here. You know?" he chuckles mirthlessly. "Now this whole thing with Truth... no wonder he's pissed," he mumbles, his eyes finally fluttering closed in the muted light as Alex obligingly turns off one of the lamps, leaving only the bathroom light on._

Mike's words echoing in his mind, Alex looks away and sighs softly. _I wonder if either men noticed how different Miz's attack was to Truth's, though. Mike's was straight forward and over almost as soon as it began- Truth's was vicious and unending. But I guess that's another point- Morrison probably won't give Truth's a second thought in months to a year, whereas Mike's still effects him two years later, if their arguments and rivalry is any indication._ He glances over with a slight smirk, observing how Mike brushes his hand over the title belt, taking off nonexistent dust. _Even so, they're still willing to help each other out when they need to... such a complicated business we're in._

They both look up as one when Truth's long, drawn out rant against the audience and their being out of tune comes to an abrupt close when Morrison finally runs out and attacks, barely getting in five punches and kicks before the referees swarm out and put a stop to the fight, encouraging a derisive scoff from Mike. "Where were those idiots last week?" he mumbles, rolling his eyes. "Ineptitude from Raw brand officials, who would've guessed..." Alex nods in agreement, relieved when the pacing finally stops and Miz settles down on the bench, his eyes locked on the TV.

With each draft, the tension ebbs and flows, conversation minimal as Mike gets ready for his six man match during the main event. Being champion, he doesn't have to make an appearance at the room where all the superstars are at, watching the proceedings on a huge monitor set up just for tonight. Alex wonders briefly if, with all the clashing superstars and opposing brand members in one room, their tension is less than Miz's and his own. Doesn't seem possible for it to be stronger.

For the most part, Miz throws the tension away and embraces his usually cocky nature in time for the match, Alex holding his breath from the outside as it goes back and forth. With Smackdown taking Cena and Orton- _no big loss, they can have them as long as Raw keeps Miz,_ he can't help thinking- CM Punk seems the most determined of the three to get the last draft pick for the red brand. Alberto Del Rio seems to only care for himself, and Miz has this Sunday and Cena to focus on. Just when it looks like Smackdown may win, Mark Henry of all people turns things around for his former brand by betraying Cena and Christian, leaving both men down and groaning. Taking the opportunity, Miz hits the Skull Crushing Finale and pins Cena. Afterwards, they all watch breathlessly, ignoring the buzzing fans surrounding them, as the draft spins through the Smackdown options teasingly- just to stop on Cena's image. Things go to hell then as Cena attacks them all, leaving an already shocked WWE champion laying in the middle of the ring as he celebrates his return to Raw.

Miz slowly sits up, slamming a fist on the mat as Alex joins him hesitantly. "Dammit!" he yells, knuckling his forehead. "So close to getting that idiot off of Raw completely," he mumbles. "I want to win, I lose. I should lose, I win. Ugh."

Alex opens his mouth to say something before falling silent, his lips pursing as he stares at his mentor. _If he had lost, there would've been a chance he could've been drafted to Smackdown too. Would he feel any better then?_

After quickly collecting their things and changing out of ring gear, the two return to the hotel room, eager to put the day behind them and just relax until the Supplemental draft in the morning. "When's your flight to Florida?" Miz mumbles, mindlessly flipping through TV channels as Alex sorts some things he had thrown carelessly into his bag earlier so he wouldn't keep the stressed out champion waiting for too long to leave.

"Uh, I'm not sure," he comments, looking up at the sudden silence. Finding Miz staring at him oddly, he flushes. "See, I was kind of waiting to see when the Supplemental draft is. I don't want to be on an airplane when the announcements are made. Just in case."

"Do you think you'll be drafted?" he asks blankly, looking over at the TV with the same kind of intensity he was just staring at A-Ri with moments earlier.

"I... don't know," he hedges, stumbling a little over his words as blind fear engulfs him. Some days he has all the courage in the world that he can make Miz proud in singles competition and sometimes it feels like NXT was just yesterday, all that he's learned slipping through his fingers like sand. "It's possible though, right?"

Mike grunts vaguely. "Do you want to be drafted?"

There's a weird edge to the quiet words and Alex feels unsettled, his eyes widening. One wrong word here and things could be made much worse, very fast. In the end, he decides to be truthful, as he has been from the beginning with his mentor. "Not really," he shakes his head. "If I am, I'd accept the opportunity but I can't complain about the role I have currently, learning from you."

"It wasn't that long ago you were saying at house shows that you'd be world champion soon," he recalls, his eyes flickering over towards Alex for a moment.

"I had just gotten fired," he mumbles, embarrassed. "I was saying whatever I could to stay around, to keep the Anon GM interested. I knew you had a plan, you told me yourself. I just wanted to give you time to make it work."

"Alright." And just like that, the topic is dropped, Mike returning to his inane channel flipping. "You should come to New York with me."

"Uh? What?"

"I'm going to Dancing with the Stars," he explains. "Jericho invited me and it's not like I was doing anything else this week." Sarcasm infuses his words for a moment. "My flight's early, we should arrive before the supplemental draft. I won't have to be at the DWTS set until evening, so we can keep an eye on the results from the hotel."

Alex sucks in a deep breath, honestly surprised and, truth be told, honored that Mike would even offer such a thing. The first half of the draft- his first draft ever- had been nerve wracking and he had been dreading the supplementals, knowing that there was a bigger chance one or both of their names could be called out of the average of twenty-plus superstars that get called at the supplementals versus the amount on TV. "Sure," he agrees. "But what if there isn't a seat left on the flight?"

"Leave it to me," Mike mumbles. "I'll call and check." He grabs his phone and walks out to what Alex had mockingly labeled the in-door "balcony", which is nothing more than a second floor hallway type path that juts out from each hotel room's back door, overlooking the hotel pool and lounging area. Another door across the room, of course, leads to the main hallway that takes wandering feet to vending machines, elevators, and the ice machine. Alex had seen a few weird hotels in his day, but none quite like this one.

Alex gets up and mutes the TV, fiddling with the remote absently as he waits for the verdict. His eyes wander to the door as he hears voices, realizing that Mike had left the door open a few inches so it wouldn't lock behind him. He shifts so he can see Mike's back, shifting further and catching sight of familiar, long brown hair- _Morrison._ He hesitantly pushes himself up off of his bed and steps behind the door, shamelessly listening in. _Just in case Morrison tries something. Yeah, that's all. They are on a balcony, after all. Ok, maybe I've been watching too much TV lately..._

"What are you doing out here?" Mike asks, his voice strained with tension. Alex thinks he can almost hear his cell phone cracking in his grip.

"Thinking," Morrison mumbles, taking a deep breath. "What about you?"

"Checking on flights for A-Ri."

"Funny, I thought it'd be the other way around."

"Haha." Shifting, Miz leans against the railing surrounding the hallway. "Never gets easier, does it?"

Alex holds his breath, waiting as more shuffling sounds reaches his ears. Collecting up his courage, he peeks around the edge of the door and blinks, watching as Morrison too rests against the railing only a few feet away from Miz, staring down at the lobby as people wander back and forth beneath them.

"Not really."

Awkward silence holds for awhile and Alex almost sneaks back to the beds just in case Mike should give up and come back inside but finally he clears his throat. "Saw that Julie fixed your ring gear."

Alex raises his eyebrows. _What the hell?_

"Yeah, it's pretty much unnoticeable now that she's worked her magic." Another pregnant pause before the two glance over at each other. "About last week-"

"I was thinking-"

They quickly look away, Mike shaking his head while John chuckles a little, slapping his palm against his forehead. "Go ahead."

"I was having a bad night," Morrison says, pressing his hands into fists as he stands up straighter. "Truth ran like a coward and there was no one else around who would even look at me. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"I didn't help much," the champ admits, glancing over at his former tag partner. "Used to be better at knowing when to just leave you alone." He shrugs again. "So... what do you say we forget last week and just head into Sunday with the usual amount of animosity between us, instead of R-Truth induced anger on top of it?"

"You always did have such a way with words," John snorts. "But it sounds like a plan."

Sensing the end of their conversation coming, Alex slips out from behind the door and quietly settles back onto his bed, trying to look innocent as he flips through the phone book, chuckling at some of the weird names in the area.

After a few minutes, Mike returns, looking a lot calmer than when he had left. "Plane ticket is set," he announces, putting his cell phone down on the dresser.

"Great," Alex comments, looking up briefly.

"And I told Morrison you said hi," he says with a little smirk, raising an eyebrow meaningfully as Alex pauses mid-paper turn.

"How the hell...?"

The next day, after a long flight spent in coach for A-Ri, they arrive at the hotel in New York. Miz sets up the laptop while Alex slumps down into a chair and dozes off, relieved to get away from the ringing in his ears caused by all the crying babies that were on the plane. Once everything's set up, Miz throws a pen at Alex. When he startles awake, he smirks over at him. "It's supplemental draft time."

"Ugh, ok," he groans as Mike shifts the laptop so he can see it easier without moving. "Anything interesting?"

"No." It doesn't take too long for them to grow bored, with updates only coming every fifteen minutes or so. "Man, between this and Dancing with the Stars later, this is definitely going to be the best day of my life."

"Tell me about it," Alex chuckles. "Should we venture into the live chat?"

"I guess so," Mike says reluctantly, clicking the link. They mock some of the comments made by fans for awhile, more relieved than anything to have a way to pass the time. Finally the draft starts winding down, with the chat hosts announcing that they're down to the final three picks. The two men exchange glances as all of the Zack Ryder fans start insisting anew that Ryder go to Smackdown. "Maybe I should start another web series," he comments dryly.

Alex is about to respond when the 27th draft pick is announced. He's unable to see the laptop right away, Mike's hand going slack and jostling it to the side. "Mike? What's wrong?" When his mentor doesn't respond, he stands up and looks over Mike's shoulder, staring blankly at the screen as the words blur before his eyes.

_Alex Riley to Smackdown!_ Alex swallows, sinking down onto the bed bonelessly.

After a few minutes, Mike finally moves again, looking over at Alex with uncertainty in his eyes.

"Now what?" his protégé asks, feeling lost and a little sick at what this could mean for the both of them. For him.

"I don't know."


	43. chapter 43

_"So you're telling me...?"_

" _After examining Mr. Riley's contract as your employee and comparing it to his Smackdown contract, I see no reason why he shouldn't be able to hold both positions as long as the duties he provides for you do not conflict with his Smackdown duties, as determined by Mr. Long," the stiff lawyer whose name Miz had already forgotten intones boredly._

_Despite initially bristling at the man's tone, by the end of his speech, Mike relaxes slightly and nods, his grip on the cell phone lessening. "Thank you," he murmurs, his eyes closing before he flicks the phone shut and leans back in his cushy sofa. Peering over, he reaches out and brushes a hand across the title belt settled next to him. "Now... to focus on Sunday."_

John Morrison stretches, trying to prepare for his match. He watches people walk back and forth before him, keeping an eye out. He knows the business well enough to know that, after the last few weeks, R Truth will want his revenge- if not before the match, then during it. It being a cage match is very little comfort, similar matches in the past showing that the wall of steel chain links can mean very little if someone _really_ wants to hinder someone's efforts.

He and Miz may be a little less angry at each other after their talk last week but John knows if it comes down to helping him, or retaining his title belt, Miz will pick the title belt- and he doesn't blame him, honestly. After all, John has no problems competing against his former best friend and holding nothing back, for the exact same reason.

He tenses up as footsteps get louder, more distinct. When they pause behind him, whoever it is shifting from one foot to the other, his eyes snap open as his body immediately reacts, going from a sitting position to standing within the blink of an eye, his fists held up to defend himself if need be.

"Whoa, relax, it's just me," Mike says, his hands raised unthreateningly as John raises an eyebrow at him.

"What the hell are you doing, trying to get your head taken off your shoulders?" he asks, only half kidding as he looks around the hallway for anyone else. Finding nothing out of the way, he relaxes and turns his attention back to Mike.

"No, hardly," Miz grumbles, rolling his eyes. "I was just wondering... have you seen A-Ri around tonight?"

"What, he hasn't been glued to your side like always?" Morrison shifts, putting all his weight on one leg as he stretches out his bad knee.

"I wouldn't be asking if I had, now would I?" He huffs. "I have something to tell him and he hasn't answered his phone or any of the texts I've sent him since the supplemental draft..."

"Ah, lover's spat?"

"Shut up," Mike rolls his eyes. "I just figured since you're stuck in the main locker room, maybe you'd seen him or heard something."

"Maybe if you didn't hide in your little private locker room all night, you'd know where he was at," Morrison points out dryly, brushing the hair out of his eyes as he stands up. "But I honestly haven't seen him."

"Lovely," Miz groans. "The worst possible night for this to happen too..." A self-satisfied glint in Morrison's eyes causes Mike to click his mouth shut. "Don't say it," he warns, raising a hand to point at John. "Don't even-"

"You're worried about being in the ring with me," he chuckles, swatting his hand away. "That's why you want your apprentice around. Poor Mike, having to defend his title all alone."

"Oh, shut up- how do you know I don't just want him there to witness me trashing two of the most annoying Johns in the WWE?" he demands, crossing his arms over his chest.

"The Godfather's back?"

"... I hate you."

Sure enough, Truth comes out in the middle of the match- just when Morrison can see an end in sight, only inches from hitting the floor and claiming victory. He attacks Morrison when he's hanging onto the side of the cage and can't defend himself, causes him to land awkwardly on the door before flopping back into the ring, hurting too much to even think straight. After Truth lunges into the ring and continues beating him down, all Morrison can do is watch from the edge of the ring apron as Cena and Miz battles back and forth. It's only a few minutes later that Cena gains the final upperhand, hitting the Attitude Adjustment on Miz off of the top rope. Morrison is half up the ramp, a referee supporting him on one side, when Cena makes an announcement. He sighs tiredly, thinking distantly of the timing of it all, his neck throbbing with each step.

When he reaches the back finally, people are scattered all over, gaping at their phones or the monitor- which for once, is not showing the usual arena feed, instead blaring a news channel. He waves the referee off and settles down gingerly on a nearby trunk, relieved that Truth is nowhere in sight. "I'll go to the trainer's soon, ok? I just need a minute," he tells the stubborn referee, rubbing his neck carefully as he watches the monitor for a few moments.

As the shock wears off, his colleagues begin getting louder and louder, the news finally sinking in more for everyone with each passing second. He's still sitting there, watching them, when Miz settles down next to him, his lips twisted into a sort of snarl as he takes in the proceeding. "What are they so damn pleased about?" he grumbles.

Morrison looks over at him, his own tiredness returning to him twofold as he takes in Mike's empty gaze raking over their fellow wrestlers, his fingers clenching and unclenching where his title belt used to be. He tilts his head towards the monitor and repeats the headline currently echoing across the world from mouth to mouth, watching as Miz's eyes widen, his own title loss momentarily forgotten.

"I'll be damned," he mutters. "Finally, huh?"

John smiles mirthlessly, remembering what brought all of this to be almost ten years ago. Ponders what could possibly come of it for a moment. "Yeah. Finally."

"You alright?" he asks after awhile, as the hallways finally begin to empty, the wrestlers, for once unified, leaving to find a more spacious place to hold their celebration, preferably with copious amounts of drinks and food.

John grimaces, remembering his promise to go to the trainers, and shrugs. "Little sore, should be ok though."

"Ok." Miz stares down at his hands, a distant look on his face, as Morrison struggles to think of something- anything- to say.

Finding that everything just sounds wrong no matter how he replays it in his mind, he shifts awkwardly to the edge of the trunk before hopping off carefully. "I guess I should find that trainer before he leaves," he sighs. "See you around, Mike."

"Hey, hang on a minute," Mike finally speaks up after he's only taken a few steps, causing fresh pain to pour through him as he stops short. When John turns to look at him, Mike raises his eyebrows. "Where are you staying?"

"What? Uhh..." He pulls a face. "Truth booked a room," he admits reluctantly. Miz makes a quick motion with his hand, urging him to continue talking. "You're not going to drop this, are ya?"

"Not right now. Spill."

"The hotel was booked full by the time Truth attacked me. So were most other worthwhile hotels in the area."

"What are you planning on doing tonight, then?" Mike wonders quietly, picking at his nails while staring at the floor.

"...My rental car was looking kind of comfortable. Why?" he asks, a weird thought coming to him as he waits, his lips twitching ever so slightly.

"Alex can't be bothered to be here for a title defense," he intones slowly, unconsciously gazing down at where his belt would ordinarily be. "Good chance he won't be needing the second bed in my hotel room." It's ridiculous, what Mike is about to ask, even he looks a little exasperated at himself but finally he looks up completely and speaks. "Why don't you just take it?" It's brusque, far from charming, but they're both tired and hurting, angry and not sure where they're going to go from here, though Morrison's got a rough idea, so he takes the words at face value.

They've both been knocked down a few rungs by different factors despite being in the same match and it's this that encourages John to shrug, a small smile overtaking his features as he nods. "Sure, what could it hurt."

Miz nods too, hopping off of the trunk a little easier than John's earlier attempt. "I'll get the spare key and drop it off at the trainer's before I leave."

"Ok," he agrees, his neck throbbing slightly as he turns to follow Miz, the champion's locker room just down the hall from the trainer's office. As much as he hates the trainer, neck injuries are never anything to ignore- Edge's recent and sudden retirement had proven that- so he's almost glad when the door finally is in sight. He's about to enter when he realizes Miz is frozen in the middle of the hallway, staring blankly down the hall at the name plaque reading "WWE Champion". "Mike?"

His answer seems to take a long time, his voice quiet and strained when he finally does speak. "This... this is gonna be the last time I get to use this locker room," he manages to choke out. "After this, I'll have to start using the main locker room again..." His fists clench once more before he lunges forward and punches the nearest wall, his whole body trembling. "Dammit!"

Morrison releases a deep breath. "Mike..."

"No, don't," he huffs, shaking the pain out of his hand. "I'll be back in a minute." He ducks into the locker room and this time John remains, not even bothering to look at the trainer's room. Miz almost looks surprised when he storms out of what was just an hour ago his personal locker room, duffel bag in hand, and has to stop short to keep from barreling a waiting Morrison over. "Here," he hisses, pushing the spare hotel room key into his hands. "I'll see you there."

Morrison watches, lips sagging wordlessly, as the former WWE champion slams down the hallway, not even caring where he's going or what's in his path. _This is going to be a fun night,_ he thinks, staring down at the keycard.

After some range of motion tests and sensation checks, the trainer gives his usual response- ice and rest- before sending John on his way. _Great,_ he thinks, carefully carrying his own bag through the mostly deserted hallways. _Wonder if Miz has cooled down at all by now._ Thankfully the drive to the hotel is short, as John's aches and pains, along with bone-deep weariness, makes him anticipate melding into a bed as soon as possible. Just in case, he enters Miz's hotel room quietly, well aware of the fact that it's after midnight by now, and blinks at the soft light coming from the TV. It casts just enough of a glow that he can see his former tag partner fast asleep, remote held tightly in hand as a newscaster drones on about the evening's happenings.

He holds his breath, gingerly toeing across the thin carpet. He drops his bag carefully at the bottom of his own bed before turning to Mike. Smiling slightly, he shakes his head. "If only I had a camera," he whispers, leaning over. A vague feeling of deja vu washes over him as he quietly tugs the remote from slack fingers, automatically clicking the TV off without looking away from his fast asleep rival. As soon as he puts the remote down on the table between their beds, he shuffles across the room and, not even caring that he's still in jeans he's changed into after the trainer visit, he drops onto the mattress and immediately drifts off.

It's disgustingly early when something smacks into his face, startling him back into the world of soreness and just plain pain after the cage match only hours earlier. "What the-?" he demands, blinking groggily as he mutters a curse at the sun gleaming into his eyes.

"Good, you're awake," Mike's too-annoying-for-6-AM voice greets him as he stiffly flounders to sit up, tangled in his bedsheets and a couple pillows. "Time to drive to Miami."

Finally freeing himself of the cumbersome covers, he glowers at Miz blearily and wipes at his face. "The hell did you-?" Before he can finish talking, he finds a sock hanging off of his arm and stops short, rolling his eyes. "Seriously?" As Miz attempts to respond, he throws it back and watches as it lands, drifting lazily off of sleep-mussed hair.

"Ffffah," the former world champion sputters, smacking it off of his face. "As I was trying to say... Go take your rental car back."

"What?" Morrison snorts. "Bossy much? How the hell am I going to get to Miami if I don't have a rental car?"

Mike stands up and tugs his back onto the bed, sorting things inside to make up for the anger-induced packing job he had done the night before. "Listen," he says, his back to Morrison as he focuses on his chore. "Truth was your travel partner- that's over now for obvious reasons." Morrison rolls his eyes. "A-Ri was mine, and he got himself drafted. The way I see it, we both are in the same position right now. So why not?"

It's ridiculous, almost hilariously horrible an idea, so why exactly " _alright then"_ slips out of Morrison's lips as he begins digging around for his rental car information, he's not sure.

After dealing with the red tape to return his rental car early and surviving the drive to Miami, Miz stops short behind Morrison as a referee greets them outside of the main locker room, an uncertain look on his face. John recognizes him as the ref who helped him out of the ringside area after the cage match the night before, Chad Patton. "What's up, man?" he asks calmly, trying not to worry over the man's demeanour as he shifts from one foot to the other, barely able to look John in the eye.

"You have a match tonight against R Truth," he explains quietly, looking briefly at Miz before turning back to John. "Good luck." His lips thinning, he glances over anxiously before turning and leaving as quickly as he'd appeared.

"Thanks...?" John blinks, swallowing down his many questions as he turns to look at Mike. "Well, that was weird."

"Yeah," he mumbles, staring down the hallway that the referee had just disappeared down.

It's not that much later that, after watching Rock's opening segment, Morrison heads down to have his match with Truth. He barely makes it to the ramp when he feels someone slam into him, sending him further down the steel before he comes to an awkward stop. The beat down that follows seems unending, his body still feeling the match from the night before. He hisses out a relieved breath as black and white streaks appear before his strained vision, referees finally pouring out to break up the melee. It doesn't stop R Truth for long, however, as his anger ensures he breaks through and attacks Morrison further, slamming him awkwardly down onto the thin padding outside of the ring.

The referees persist, finally getting him to leave, as they attempt to help John up the ramp. He's barely with it, struggling to communicate to the men trying to assist him that he can't _feel_ the pain he knows should definitely be there, had been there only ten minutes previously. Even so, he knows when Truth returns, the muffled sound of the referees yelling as he's pulled away, gravity failing him as he's slammed mercilessly once more into the steel, his arm outstretched behind Truth's shoulder. He attempts to curl into the pain as the referees return again, some yelling senseless words at Truth and others trying to keep Morrison from moving- exacerbating things any further.

Finally sense returns to Morrison and he somehow focuses on the words being uttered over his head. "We need to move him." "But what if we do more damage? Neck injuries-" "If we wait, Truth might return and then what?" Tired of the nonending arguments, he slowly levers himself up on one side, effectively shutting the arguing referees up. He can't focus his vision too well, his right arm strangely numb, so he uses his left arm to feel around as he struggles to stand. "John, maybe you shouldn't move-" Robinson finally shuts up as he somehow makes it to his feet, barely hearing the audience members as they cheer for him.

It happens quickly, before he can take another step on his own, three sets of hands rest on him, holding him up. "Ok, here we go," another referee mumbles near his bad arm, trying not to jostle him too much as they walk together the rest of the way to the back.

As soon as the audience noise drifts away, Morrison's focus fades with it, his senses tunneling to the feel of taking one step after the other, the sound of his shoes on the tile. He can't keep his eyes open at all any more, the last of his energy draining from him but he's unable to speak, his lips moving soundlessly. There's nothing he can do or say, the three men surrounding him unprepared as he stumbles and loses it,when his body finally falls forward. He mentally braces himself, unable to understand how he can still sense what's happening around him without being able to do anything about it, but instead of hitting something hard and unyielding, he lands against something warm and... _human._ Arms wrap around him, keeping him upright even as his body fails to respond to his commands.

His face pressed against something soft and cottony, he feels himself being lowered to the floor. His focus locks on the soft murmurs around him as he struggles to understand what's going on. Finally he hears a quiet "John?" close to his ear and releases a shuddery little sigh. _Miz._ "What happened?"

Before the referees can begin to explain, he manages to open his eyes slightly and grip Mike's shirt, struggling to regain his equilibrium. He's still too tired and worn to move very much but every little bit feels like an accomplishment, his body slowly responding to him again as he stares down at the I'M AWESOME logo only inches from his face.

"Someone get some water," someone yells. "We need a trainer over here."

As the flurry of activity around them grows, Mike slowly eases John back until he's settled against the wall. "I'll be right back," he tells him, eyes flashing angrily as he stalks over to the referees. Thankfully one of the techs run up with a bottle of water and it helps, the pure exhaustion and disconnect that he's been feeling since Truth's earlier attack slowly releasing him enough that he can concentrate on his surroundings just before the trainer arrives. The next few minutes go by quickly as he's checked over as thoroughly as possible and asked questions about his complaints of numbness.

When Mike returns, Morrison watches him approach as the crowd slowly disperses, uninterested now that the drama begins to pass. "What's the verdict?"

The trainer looks from Mike to John. "Judging by what he's said, it sounds like a pinched nerve. He should go get checked out ASAP though, just to make sure it's nothing more serious."

"Why did he pass out then?"

"Combination of things probably. Exhaustion, pain, maybe dehydration. Some rest, he should be ok." The trainer stands, dusting his hands off on his pants. "If you need _anything_ or start to feel worse, you know where I'll be at," he tells Morrison.

"Yeah." John pushes himself up onto his knees, using his left arm to support himself, as the trainer turns to return to his office.

Mike helps him up the rest of the way, ignoring the bland stare fixed on him as he pushes him carefully towards the locker room. "Grab your crap, we're gettin' out of here."

"What, you're going to make me miss the rest of the Rock's party?" he snarks. "And what about your rematch? I know that's soon."

"I have plenty of time to drop you off at the hotel and get back here-"

"No way," John shakes his head. "You'll be rushed and it'll just be stupid. I'll be fine here."

Tempting as it is to listen to him, Miz hesitates. Truth is who knows where and he doesn't want to leave Morrison open to further attack. But his chances of actually making it out of the title match with his belt back if he leaves and misses out on some good preparation time... He taps his foot in aggravation against the tile as he stares down at Morrison, his arms crossing over his chest as time ticks away. "Fine. But you do not move. And if I hear or see _anything_ about Truth, you're out of here, I don't care if I have to drag you out by your damn hair."

Morrison's lips twitch but when Miz's glare turns almost murderous, he holds his good hand up in surrender. "Fine, fine. I'll stay and I'll be a good boy. Alright?"

It sounds a little too sarcastic to thrill Miz but his match is soon so he simply glowers a bit longer before leaving. He goes to the second locker room, which is generally smaller and quieter, needing some time to clear his head. Leaving Morrison might not be the best option but he'll be left alone through Miz's whole match against Cena so a few more minutes wouldn't hurt... right?

He's grumpy and weighing the various thoughts in his mind when _finally_ Alex arrives, giving some cheap excuse about the Rock's party keeping him from joining Miz and an even worse one how he wasn't at Extreme Rules because he had been drafted to Smackdown. Miz finally gets to tell him what the lawyer had said last Friday, but he's so angry and fed up with everything this week that his words come out biting and demanding, not the logical way that the lawyer had explained them, or even how Miz had intended on explaining the situation.

Things only become worse when, during the match that follows, Miz has victory in his grip- is rewarded the three count and everything, but then the referee spots the title belt hidden underneath him and reverses his decision. For the second time in less than twenty four hours, the title belt is pried from his trembling fingers and given to John freakin' Cena.

Everything- Truth bashing Morrison to the point of passing out, Alex not being around when Miz wanted to tell him that their partnership could continue despite the draft, Mike losing the belt not once but _twice_ \- builds up within him and he pushes Alex. Time freezes but before he can fully determine what's just happened, Cena attacks and lays them both out with clotheslines and Attitude Adjustments.

After they stumble to the back and meet up with Morrison, who's succeeded at remaining undisturbed the duration of Miz's match, it's unanimous that since Alex is the least worse off of the three of them that he'll drive to the hotel. Before he gets into the car, he looks curiously from Mike to John and can't help but wonder what, exactly, he missed in the last twenty four hours.


	44. chapter 44

**Text from: Morrison**

You're in town right? Can you come over to the apartment?

**Text from: Miz**

That's not menacing or anything. Why?

**Text from: Morrison**

Have something to tell you.

**Text from: Miz**

Oooook. Be by in a little bit.

Eyebrows scrunching up curiously, Mike tosses his cell phone onto the passenger seatof his car and taps his fingers against his steering wheel, waiting until the light turns green so he can turn a left instead of his originally planned right to loop back around to the closest street that would lead him to Morrison's apartment. He hadn't heard much from John since early Tuesday when they had arrived back at LA and went their separate ways, except for a quick text a few hours later saying that the trainer's suspicions of his neck problems being a pinched nerve had been confirmed by a doctor with more tests planned for later in the week if needed. Morrison had thankfully caught him on a rare Thursday afternoon off, between weekend houseshows and media events leading up to the Mexico tour the upcoming week.

After being stuck in traffic for a torturously long time, Miz finally arrives at John's apartment and looks up at the building, his intense blue eyes examining its exterior as he tries to ignore the slight feeling of dread welling up within him. _Ok, Mike, no point sitting out here being stupid. You won't learn anything that way._ He closes his eyes briefly before pushing the car door open and slamming it behind him, forcing the grimace off of his face. _He'll be fine. It'll be fine. Just... go inside._ He takes a deep breath and walks through the first door, examining the nameplates. Finding Morrison's half way down the list, he presses the button next to it and waits. When it buzzes to allow him in a few moments later, he jerks despite expecting the sound and shakes his head at himself as he enters the main lobby. _Get yourself together, Mizanin,_ he mentally lectures himself, bypassing the elevator completely and heading for the stairs, too antsy to wait.

He makes it to the third floor quickly and looks around before turning down the hallway, keeping an eye on the apartment numbers until finally he finds 3-8. He knocks and steps back, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for it to be answered. He scrapes his teeth against his lip as seconds tick by, tempted to knock once more when finally he hears the locks on the door click.

"Hey," Morrison greets him once the door's finally open, stepping aside. "Come on in."

"Hey," he responds blankly, looking around at what he can see of the simply decorated apartment from the doorway as he enters. While Morrison shuts the door, he watches him with a frown. Other than looking tired, he looks fine- until he turns around and Mike realizes just how carefully he's holding himself, his arm trembling slightly at his side. "It's gotten worse," he comments quietly, not even needing to ask as John nods grimly.

"Yeah," he mumbles. "Come on." They enter the main room of the apartment and Miz glances around at the beige couch and matching chairs reflecting off the mid-afternoon sun streaming through large, bay windows. Cherry wood tables and entertainment centers, along with some pictures on the walls, provide pretty much the only color in the room as the carpet is a soft off-white color also. The furniture is the exact opposite of what some would expect of a flashy man like Morrison, but considering none of them spend a _lot_ of time at their respective homes, Mike doesn't blame him.

"So what did you want?" he asks, settling down on one of the chairs as Morrison sits on the couch, unconsciously flexing his hand. "Is it about your..." Words failing him, he motions at the other man, knowing that his meaning will be understood.

"Yeah." The tense silence continues as John keeps fruitlessly trying to shake feeling back into his appendage. Finally he gives up with a sigh and looks up, a grimace on his face. "You said it yourself, it's gotten worse... so I called the doctor and made a follow up appointment. I had an MRI to determine the extent of the damage earlier." Miz feels himself pale at the word _damage_ but keeps quiet as Morrison swallows visibly, his eyes flickering away to focus on the far wall. "I need surgery."

It's funny how three words can change basically everything in a matter of seconds. Time starts ticking away slower, the bright sunshine suddenly looks faded, and he can hear his heart beating in his ears as he struggles to absorb this news. John Morrison, one of the most health conscience superstars, needing surgery. _Neck_ surgery, which hits a little close to home considering. "How bad is it?" he asks, not even recognizing his own voice as he peers distantly at his fingers.

"It could be a lot worse," John offers, trying obviously to look on the bright side of things. "It- it's not invasive, Dr. Maroon told me."

"You already met with the WWE doctor?" he mumbles, a bit dazed at how fast all of this is moving.

"Yeah. I called him on Tuesday. In case it ended up being something serious, I wanted him to handle it from jump." He sighs and shifts, running his right hand through his hair. "It, um, it's relatively straight forward by what he said, they just take away the bone fragments or whatever that's pressing on the nerves and that's that."

"How long's recovery?"

"A little over a month," John says softly. "You can't get rid of me for _that_ long." He smiles slightly but it's obvious it's forced and fades quickly. "I just wanted to let you know. I haven't even called corporate yet. I'm still... digesting all of this."

Mike nods, not even wanting to imagine how dumbstruck he'd feel if he was in Morrison's shoes right this moment. "If, uh... I mean, when is the surgery then?"

"We scheduled it for Monday morning." John looks up at the ceiling as Mike takes in this bit of information, frowning.

"Dammit," he mumbles. "I'll be in Tennessee. And then there's the Mexico tour..."

"Hey, it's ok. I understand," Morrison says, surprised and touched at Miz's visible struggle. "It's not like I'll be alone anyway. Melina will be with me."

Mike scrubs at his face, trying to hide his eyeroll from John. He and Melina had never exactly gotten along and the attack during the 2009 draft hadn't helped much. Despite his and John getting along better recently, she hadn't trusted it so the two of them had fallen back into the old dance of avoiding each other, which Morrison didn't seem to mind as long as they kept him out of the middle of their tension. "Ok, well... that's good," he mumbles, suddenly feeling awkward and out of place as he looks around the nearly spotless apartment. "Uh, yeah, I should go. I haven't even started packing for this upcoming week." He hesitates, eyeing Morrison. "In case we don't talk before Monday, good luck with the surgery." He stands up and takes a deep breath when his former tag partner echoes his movement, the two pausing as they wait for the other to make the next move.

However, when Mike finally takes a step forward, John stops him by pressing a hand to his shoulder, something in his palm digging uncomfortably through his shirt, into his skin. "Hang on a minute. I... want you to have this," he says, sounding as awkward as Mike feels.

_April 13, 2009_

_"What the hell was that?" he hears, pounding footsteps barreling towards him as he doggedly makes his way to the exit, bag gripped tightly in one hand and a pained grimace on his face. "Miz, dammit! Stop!" He only does so when a hand grabs him by the shoulder, roughly pulling him around to face an irate John Morrison. "What the hell, Mike?"_

_"What did it look like, John?" he spits, marveling at the shock, hurt and anger warring across the man's face. "I'm done with you, I'm done with this."_

_"Why? What did I ever do to you? Yeah, I said some crap the last few weeks that's probably been a little low... and we've kind of been on a downward spiral but-"_

_"What more do you need?" he yells, causing John to flinch. "Our partnership's ran its course. Now go back to losing on ECW while I start winning on Raw, and everything will be as it should be." Classing the last couple years as nothing more than a partnership leaves him feeling empty but he's so angry that he barely comprehends it, choosing instead to barrel on. "I don't_ need _you anymore. So get out of my face!"_

_The transformation at these words is astounding, as each emotion once crowding John's face fades away to be replaced by pure and utter loathing. "Fine, if that's what you want," he all but snarls, digging something out of the bag that up to this moment Mike hadn't noticed. "Then I don't need this anymore!"_

_Miz blinks as something cold and hard slaps off of his chest, landing harmlessly on the hard tile at his feet. As John slams back down the hallway, he leans over numbly and lifts the key to his house that he had given Morrison around a year into their partnership off of the floor, sadness finally cracking the mask he had formed when Morrison had refused to be ignored._

_As soon as he returns to the hotel room, he locates the key to Morrison's apartment and gives it to the hotel staff to pass along to him, unsure where exactly his former friend is staying tonight._

_Wonder where we'd be now if I hadn't made that choice upon being drafted..._ Miz blinks, shaking the depressing memory from his mind as he looks down at John's hand. "What?"

Smiling wanly, he pulls back and holds out a simple key, the same key that Mike had returned to him two years ago. "This way if I'm feeling lazy, I don't need to get up and let you in." He sobers after a moment and sighs, pulling back marginally when Mike doesn't even blink. "I know we still have issues, but the next few weeks are going to drag. I could use all the support I can get. It's yours if you want it."

He's about to put it down on a nearby table when Miz finally moves, plucking it out of John's hand. "Fine," he says slowly. "If you're sure."

"I wouldn't have offered it if I wasn't," he replies simply, looking a bit more at ease now.

"Alright." He pushes it into his jacket pocket before facing Morrison once more. "If, you know, you need anything, just lemme know." It's still awkward, the memories dredged up from the key still haunting him. _I may not have taken things as far as Truth did, but there were times I was so angry, I really wanted to. I could've just as easily been the cause of something like this..._

Despite his conflicted thoughts and feelings, John doesn't seem to notice anything off, nodding as he walks Miz to the door. "Sure. Thanks, man. Don't annoy Mexico too much."

"Oh please," he scoffs, a little of his egotistical fire returning. "It's not my fault if they can't handle my awesomeness."

Huffing a vague laugh, Morrison holds the door open as Mike walks out. "You know, it's gonna be fine, right?" he asks, watching as Mike hesitates in the hallway, looking uncertain.

He turns to face John and smirks, all cockiness and fake blaseness. "Of course it will be. You're too stubborn and annoying to be gone for very long, you said so yourself."

"That's not exactly how I put it," he replies, rolling his eyes once more.

Mike shrugs. "I like my version better." After a moment of silence, he looks back up, solemn and intense once more. "You know, I don't know what I'm gonna do when I see Truth on Monday."

"As much as I'd like seeing him get beat down, leave him to me." Morrison leans out of his doorway, raising his eyebrows as they stare at each other. "Trust me, give me a month to dwell on it and he'll regret every second of this. I'll make sure of it."

Despite not being fearful of a lot, Miz finds himself a little freaked out by the smoldering look in John's eyes. "I'm sure you will." He takes a few steps back and pats his pocket, checking on the key inside. "Ok, I really should go now. I'll see you around, John."

"See ya."

He waits until he's in his car and a few blocks away before he pulls over and rests his head on the steering wheel, careful not to set off the horn. "Dammit!" he mumbles, punching the console between the seats.

"So what are you going to do?" Alex asks mid-Monday afternoon, trying to tread lightly. He's not really talked with Miz much since the ordeal last week and he's sure this recent Morrison news has just added to Miz's anger.

"What would I like to do?" Miz responds almost mockingly. "I'd love to kick Truth's teeth down his throat. What am I going to do? Focus on something I can actually handle... like last week's mess." He looks up with a glower at his apprentice before glancing back down at his phone, as if staring at it long enough would make it ring.

Alex sighs and looks away, feeling sick. He hates when Miz is mad at him, and it seems to happen more often than not.

Finally the man's phone goes off almost half an hour later and he springs to life, grabbing for it.

**Text from: Melina**

Jomo wanted me to text you. Surgery went well.

He releases a deep breath, relieved.

**Text from: Miz**

Good. Thanks.

"Surgery went well," he relays to Alex, sliding the phone onto the bench as he leans over to lace his shoes.

His eyes light up slightly. "That's good."

**Email from:**

**To:**

_There's been rumblings around that Miz would like to get his hands on R Truth. Perhaps you should let the Raw GM know?_

Michael Cole frowns over the mysterious email, fiddling with his glasses. _The Raw GM hasn't been after Miz as heavily lately, maybe his issues with him have cooled down... If I mention it to him, maybe he'll make that match and Miz will get what he wants?_ He shrugs, smiling slightly. "Yeah! Miz will appreciate that," he nods, quickly typing up and sending an email off.

Later that night, when Cole reads off the email keeping R Truth out of the match that Miz is in, his jaw drops slightly. As things heat up in the ring, he sinks back in his chair, mumbling to himself. _Don't kill the messenger?_

"That jackass!" Miz all but yells, slamming into the locker room and glaring at the few guys scattered around until they leave, Alex trailing behind him as he kicks at the benches. "Did you hear him, bragging about- Ugh!" He slams someone's bag into the lockers and kicks another out of his way as he storms around the room. "I swear to God, what the hell is with that Anon GM? I was this close to getting my hands on Truth, no matter what I told Morrison, and then he puts frickin Rey Mysterio in the match. It was all I could do just to keep from laying into Truth out there... I just should've done it, he _might've_ been back by next month, then Morrison could've had his turn... dammit."

His rant is cut off when his phone starts to ring. He glares and pulls it out of one of the lockers, throwing it thoughtlessly at Alex. "Who is it?"

Alex fumbles for a second, gaping at it. "Oh." He quickly answers it before it goes to voicemail and passes it back over to Miz.

He glowers at the younger man briefly before putting the phone to his ear, not bothering to check the screen. "What?"

"Someone sounds pissy," Morrison's tired voice greets him.

"... Well, gee, I guess I am," he comments, some of the anger draining from his voice as he finally sits down.

"You looked _really_ pleased when Truth interrupted."

"Yeah well. I still don't know how you handled listening to him the whole time you traveled together. Two words and I want to stick my fingers in my ears."

John laughs, then hisses slightly into the phone.

Miz sobers, leaning forward. "How are you doing?"

"Not bad, considering. Just kinda sore. And craving juice boxes."

Miz pauses, eyebrow raised. "They have you on the good stuff, huh?"

This time when John laughs, he doesn't make any sounds of pain afterwards, which helps Miz relax a bit more. "Yeah, something like that. When I came out of surgery, I drank fourteen juice boxes in a row before they made me switch to water."

Mike rolls his eyes. "Good Lord, John."

"What can I say, they were good."

He smiles slightly. "Sure they were... I saw you on Tough Enough earlier. Just had to help the girl, didn't you?" he mocks slightly.

"Oh, please. Like you would've left Ivelisse up there while she was struggling so much."

"Actually, I would have. She'll have to learn sometimes all she has in this business is herself." He purposely keeps his gaze away from Alex as he says so, not wanting to see the look on his face.

"Nothing wrong with helping people out now and again, Mike. You know that as well as I do."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Raw's coming back on," Morrison says. "I should get off the phone."

"Ok. Hey, glad the surgery went alright."

"Me too, man. Bye."

"Bye."

Despite the phone call, Miz's mood still remains combustible, especially towards Alex. Finally it blows and he lectures Alex about the week before, and how close he had come to winning back his title, blaming the loss on his protege.

Already aggravated from the dropkick he had taken from _Ricardo Rodriguez_ of all people earlier in the evening, he storms off to prove himself to Miz and challenges Cena... just to lose to him right in front of Miz's face after two Attitude Adjustments and a STF. He can barely walk afterwards, needing two referees to ease him back to the trainers' room. The lack of Miz the whole time he gets checked out isn't a surprise but it is disappointing. As soon as the trainer has his back turned, he gets up and starts the long journey from the back of the arena to the gorilla position. _If I get a chance, I'm gonna take it,_ he decides grimly, heaving a deep breath as he awkwardly maneouvers his way next to the curtain so he can see out to the ring.

His opportunity comes not long after that and he begins the arduous trip to the ring, limping painfully on the leg that had been caught in the STF, making it to the ring just in time to be slammed off of the apron. Even so, it doesn't keep him from grabbing ADR and pulling him out, opening things up for Miz to grab the victory.

Surprise, surprise, Cena chooses that moment to announce what their match will be come Over the Limit: An I Quit match. Despite his celebration getting interrupted, Miz looks more confident than he has since the week prior, helping Alex limp up the ramp. "C'mon, A-Ri. Let's go take over Mexico."

Despite how each step hurts, Alex can't help but chuckle at this- the first thing Miz has said to him in a week that's not spoken in anger or annoyance. It feels good.


	45. Chapter 45

**Email from: [Unknown]**

**To:andiquote at wwe dot com  
**

Notify Miz that if he lays a hand on R Truth, he forfeits his title opportunity this Sunday.

After a long, tiresome Mexican tour, Miz is glad to be back in Texas, the promise of a small period of downtime lurking just out of his reach after the evening's Raw, to last until traveling to Over the Limit. He runs his fingers through his hair, grimacing as he ponders over the past few days. He knows he should be keeping his focus on regaining the title belt this coming Sunday but with everything going on, it's near impossible.

"Miz? You ok?" Alex asks after a few minutes of watching Miz staring blankly ahead.

"Huh?" his mentor mumbles, looking up. After blinking a few times, his eyes refocus as he shakes his head. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking."

"About?" he asks quietly though he's pretty sure he already knows.

"Everything," he replies after a strained moment. As he looks away, fiddling with his ring gear, Alex stares on sympathetically, unable to think of anything to do or say to make things easier.

Cena, of course, kicks off Raw, and Miz nor Alex can pass up the opportunity to interrupt and annoy him. How exactly it ends with the Anonymous GM cutting in just to give _Miz_ free reign with Cena's match _and_ opponent, neither are sure. "I don't like this," Miz mutters as they trudge back up to the gorilla position. "It's just too easy. Especially after what the GM decided about R Truth. Why do this now?"

Despite their own suspicions, Miz spends the next hour and a half going from wrestler to wrestler, talking to them about taking Cena out and why it would be to their advantage: mostly, the fact that Miz is a fighting champion, and Cena the thorn in most of their sides. He purposely avoids R Truth, desperation to lay the annoying man out warring with his equally desperate need to regain his title this Sunday- a feat thus impossible if he forfeits his opportunity by going against the GM's edict.

He manages fairly well until close to match time, his decision already made, when he's leaning against a wall watching the techs and various other wrestlers and divas wandering around, decompressing a bit, when he hears, "I could take Cena easily, and that's the truth."

Biting back a muffled curse, he takes a deep breath and turns to face Truth, digging deep to hold onto his poker face as anger and bloodlust wars within him as he thinks about Melina's blog about Morrison post surgery. "Oh?" He curses himself for even leaving himself open for this kind of crap when Truth joins him, a maddening kind of smirk on his lips.

"Of course. You saw what I did to Mysterio..." His smirk grows as Miz stares at him blandly.

_Don't you dare say-_

"Not to mention Morrison. Cena would be on the shelf for _months._ Especially since he already has a neck injury- easy target, know what I'm talkin' about?"

Ignoring the rest of Truth's babbling, Miz takes a few deep breaths as he tries not to slam his newly formed fist into that smug, ugly face leering down at him. _Relax, relax,_ he thinks desperately, his lips twisting as he pretends to listen to Truth arguing his happens to glance over in time to see the camera panned on them and shakes his head minisculely, wondering if Morrison is watching. Leaning closer, he keeps his voice low and face calm as he cuts off what Truth's saying, not wanting to garner the Anon GM's notice. "You listen to me. I wouldn't pick you if you were the last guy on the roster, ok? Hell, I'd pick _Hornswoggle_ before you."

"What's wrong with you, man?" Truth demands, his face twisting angrily as Miz looks over once more and notices the cameraman now walking away for something else to film for the show. "We're on the same-"

"If you say we're on the same side, I'm gonna do what I've been wanting to do for weeks now," Mike warns, his icy blue eyes flashing as Truth slowly backs away, mumbling randomly to himself. "Get out of here! Now!"

His mumbles growing more desperate and loud, the deranged man lunges down the hall, almost knocking Riley over as he blasts past him.

"What happened?" Alex wonders, frowning as he looks back and forth between Miz and the still retreating Truth, his rants to himself still echoing down to where they stand. "I saw you two talking on the monitor and thought I'd better try to defuse the situation... but you didn't touch him?"

"God, I wanted to," Miz mumbles, his eyes tracking Truth's path too. "So badly. But Morrison did tell me to leave Truth to him, and he would be pissed at me if I gave up Sunday for something he wants to do himself. Sucks, though."

Nodding, Alex looks up as Swagger joins them, an intense, angry look in his eyes due to what Cole said about him.

"You ready?" Miz asks, eyeing him too. They pretty much all know there's little chance Swagger might actually be able to take Cena but any damage is better than none this close to an I Quit match.

"Yes," Swagger says simply, his dark gaze turning towards a monitor showing the ring as Cena heads out for their match.

Miz nods and heads out, Alex at his side, to announce the match type- No Holds Barred- and his opponent, but before he can, Swagger rushes out and lays into Cena. He's stuck between being annoyed at the second interruption of the night and appreciating Swagger's gumption at bringing the fight with no warning.

Despite his obvious rage towards Cole fueling all the offense he does get off in the match, it isn't enough and Cena regains the advantage and defeats Swagger. Not willing for things to be done like that, Miz heads for the ring, vocalizing his thoughts about all the different ways to make Cena quit- his favorite coming to fruition as Alex digs under the ring and comes up with a steel pipe. The cool cylinder shaped weapon feels good in his hands, great even, but even after he slams Cena with it, it seems to barely do anything as the WWE champion lunges back to his feet only moments later and takes Riley out before Miz can even comprehend anything, using the pipe on the younger man as Miz rushes out of the ring before he too can be struck. _Son of a bitch...!_ Mike thinks, eyes wide as he retreats up the ramp. _What the hell needs to be done...?_

Cena leaves off as Miz makes it to the top of the ramp, his gaze tracking Mike's progress as they glare at each other from many feet away. When Alex rolls out of the ring, the former champion sighs in relief, rejoining his protege as he stumbles up to the ramp, obviously in pain from the attack. _Unlike some people,_ Miz thinks, glancing back over at an uneffected Cena once more before dragging Alex's arm over his shoulders. "Come on," he grunts, leading the limping man the rest of the way to the relative safety of the locker room areas. "Sit down," he orders, pushing him down onto the nearest folding chair. "How do you feel? Think you need to see a trainer?"

Alex takes a few deep breaths, his eyes closed tightly in pain as he slumps in the uncomfortable chair. "I don't know."

"What hurts? Maybe I should bring the trainer to you..." he frets, looking up briefly before Riley tugging on his sleeve turns his attention back.

"No, no, I think- just give me a minute," he whispers, releasing a loud breath through his nose. Shifting, he tenses up slightly as he presses around his abdomen where the pipe had struck him, carefully checking his ribs.

"What do you think?"

"Sore... but I don't think broken," he manages, moving his hands gingerly. He glances around tiredly, looking for Cena, before glancing back at Mike. "Let's just go. Alright? There's nothing the trainer could do for a broken rib anyway. I just... I just wanna leave."

It's hard to come to a decision but Alex sounds and looks so young in the moment, dependent on Mike to get him back to the hotel and away from the multitude of weapons laying around, the various enemies they both have gained over the months, that he nods and, supporting Alex with a hand under his arm, helps him up from the chair. He pauses for a moment, remembering helping Morrison in a similar fashion only a couple weeks previous. _And look how that turned out,_ he thinks before shaking himself mentally. "Let's just get our stuff and we're out of here," he says, relieved at the decision as well now that he's verbalized it.

"Thanks."

 _As if he needs to thank me,_ Miz can't help but think as he watches Alex support his probably bruised midsection as he walks down the hallway to the locker rooms. "Hey, you're not doing Smackdown this week, are you?" he asks slowly, uncertainly.

"I'm not sure. Why?" Riley wonders, relieved at the distraction as they continue walking.

"Come back to LA with me. We'll drop in and annoy Morrison before the PPV," he suggests with a smirk. "Then you can see me throw the first pitch at the Dodgers' game Wednesday." His smirk grows into chuckles as he catches the look on Alex's face at that suggestion.

"Shhh," Miz hisses as they lurk outside of the apartment doorway, raising his eyebrows as Alex looks around worriedly. "I swear to God, A-Ri..."

"Hey, I can't help that that squirrel chased me all the way to the stairs," he defends himself, making a face. "Ricardo Rodriguez wasn't kidding when he said California was full of squirrels... damn things." Turning his attention back to the door, he shrugs. "So what're we going to do? Knock?"

"John didn't answer his phone," Mike mumbles with a disgruntled glare at the large number plate mocking him from the wall next to the apartment. "But we don't have to knock." Riley had been busy having a stare off with the latest squirrel seemingly determined to annoy him so Miz had gone on ahead, wanting to keep the fact he had a key a secret a little longer. By the time Riley had made it to the complex, the main door had been open and Mike glared at him as he held it open, relieved to not have to ring the annoyingly loud buzzer to gain entrance, Morrison's apartment key working for both doors.

"What do you mean? ... Are you going to pick the lock?" he asks, eyes wide as Miz digs around in his jeans pocket.

"... Say it a little louder, why don't you, Alex? God," he mumbles, thankful that the hallway is devoid of wandering, suspicious neighbors as he pulls out the key and waves it in front of Alex's nose, making him go crosseyed as he attempts to focus on it. "Morrison gave this to me," he manages to explain before it could be suggested that he stole it or something equally ridiculous. "Figured I may as well put it to good use." He brushes past Alex, quickly unlocking the door as he feels uncomfortable lurking around this strange hallway. As he pushes it open, he notes out of the corner of his eye A-Ri gingerly rubbing his still tender midsection once more and he softens slightly, stepping to the side. "Go on."

Blinking in surprise, Alex enters first, taking in the soft lighting of Morrison's apartment reflecting off of scattered decorations and pictures. He turns uncertainly, obviously feeling out of his element. The difference between his attitude here and at Miz's own home is startling as he stands tensely, not wanting to take a step out of bounds.

Miz sighs and shakes his head at his NXT Rookie's still randomly occuring lack of confidence. "Go put those in the fridge," he urges, pointing to the bag in Alex's hand that had thankfully made it out of the latest squirrel-war untouched. "Kitchen is just to the right," he points. "I'm going to look for Morrison."

"Alright," Alex says, a little less tense now that he has a mission.

Miz watches for a moment before continuing on to the living room, amazed that after two years of only being in the apartment a time or two, he still knows the way to each room like second nature. Freezing in the doorway, he stifles a small chuckle before entering completely, his eyebrows raising as he takes in John sitting up on the couch, fast asleep with throw pillows supporting his back. He sobers when he realizes the awkward looking position more than likely is John's attempt at keeping some pressure off of his incision as he tries to grab some sleep, and walks quietly over to the couch, sitting down on the coffee table in front of him. He glances at the sleeping Morrison with a strained frown before staring down at his hands, trying not to disturb the man.

 _It's minor, the trainer tells them. Some rest, a few days_ not _spent in the wrestling ring or training and he should be perfectly fine. Morrison hates not being able to do his parkour thing while his sprained ankle regains its strength before the weekend events but the trainer and Miz both insists, Miz's feedback having more sway as they travel together and happen to live in the same city, so it's hard to avoid him no matter what Morrison does or where he goes._

_Miz is only pushy when it comes to injuries and abiding by the trainer's warnings because he had watched John's face go pale as his leg gave out beneath him during his attempt to leave the ring, remembers the worry in his eyes reflecting with the pain in his co-tag team champion's as he attempts to help him, so if he hovers a little afterwards... well, that's not his fault, John had honestly scared him and he's not used to feeling that way- especially because of someone else, in this business._

_Morrison blinks awake, a vaguely unsettled look on his face before his eyes focus on Miz. "What the hell, man?" he asks groggily. "You watching me sleep?"_

_"No!" Miz all but shouts, embarrassed. "Just thinking." If he had been staring while drowning in thoughts, well... who would know?_

_"Well, quit. You stare hard enough to wake the dead."_

He smiles slightly, careful _not_ to look at Morrison just in case history should repeat itself. He glances over as Alex all but tiptoes into the room, mindful of the sleeping man as he settles on the floor close to the table where Miz is sitting. "Find the fridge ok?"

A-Ri rolls his eyes before nodding. "Yeah, it's put away."

"Good." They sit in silence for a few more moments, John's soft, steady breathing the only noise in the room.

Alex fidgets, growing bored. "We staying long?" he finally whispers.

Miz bites down the temptation to facepalm, glancing over. "I want to talk to Morrison. If you wanna go to the car and brave the big bad squirrels all by yourself, feel free."

"Ah, no, I'm good here," the protege retracts quickly with a frenzied arm flap.

Before they can continue bickering, Morrison shifts and they hold their respective breaths as he releases a deep sigh, squinting through the sunlight streaming onto his face. "Am I having a nightmare?" he slurs sleepily, gazing at the two of them as they exchange glances.

"See what you did?" Miz hisses.

Alex's jaw drops. "What I did!'

"Yeah-"

"Oh, shut up," John groans, sitting up straighter as he swats the pillows out from behind him, grimacing uncomfortably as he settles gingerly back against the couch cushions. "What are you two doing in my apartment?"

Sobering, Miz turns to look at him, eyebrow raised. "We need to talk."

"I guessed," he comments, rubbing a hand slowly down his face. "You R Truth's new best friend now or something?"

The words dig into Mike in a way not much has in awhile, his face falling slightly before he catches himself. "Hell no!" _Damn that camera,_ he thinks, dwelling again on how it must've looked. Most of the other competitors had taken to avoiding Truth like the plague since his descent into madness following Morrison taking the #1 contendership from him, so his being shown talking to the man must have had the gossipers in the back going insane.

"It's ok, you can hang out with whoever you want," he says blandly, leaning forward to ease pressure off of his neck once more. "I don't need an explanation."

"Truth cornered me!" he yells, desperate to make John listen to him. When he glances up, Miz takes a deep breath to calm down. "I avoided him all evening," he continues after a moment. "You can ask Alex. I had already made my decision but Truth came out of nowhere and started lobbying for why it should be him facing Cena while I waited for the right time to go announce Cena's opponent and match. It was all I could do to not punch him but if I did, I'd lose my shot this Sunday."

Morrison's mouth clacks shut at this as his half-formed words die away. "Wait, what?"

"The Anon GM is back at it," Alex explains quietly as Miz pulls his phone out and quickly looks through his emails for the correct one. As soon as it's found, he thrusts the phone at Morrison and watches his eyes darken as he reads Cole's missive to Mike about the GM's decision.

"Damn cowards," he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I saw you talking to him and just assumed- it was stupid."

"Don't worry about it," Mike says, waving it off like an annoying fly. Morrison continues staring at the email, an intensity in his eyes that causes Miz to worry about the lifespan of his cell phone held tightly in John's grip. He quickly nudges Alex, who almost falls over.

"Oh," he stumbles, regaining his balance in time to scramble back to his feet. "Be right back."

John looks up at this and frowns suspiciously. "Where's he going?"

Miz smirks. "You'll see."

"That's not comforting at all."

"I know. Great, huh?" Mike laughs at the glare Morrison levels on him, both distracted as Alex returns, the shopping bag from before in hand. "Took you long enough."

Alex and John both roll their eyes at him before glancing at each other, startled. "Uhh, yeah," Morrison mumbles. "What do you have there?" he wonders, leaning forward slightly as Alex places the bag on the table next to Mike.

"Coconut milk," he explains with an awkward shrug. "We happened to walk by it at the store and it was on sale so I figured... why not."

His eyes brighten as he glances into the bag. "Ha, awesome." He pauses. "Don't say anything," he warns, cutting Miz off before he can open his mouth, not succeeding at killing the smirk covering his tanned face. " _Any_ way. Thanks, I was running a little low on this stuff." As Alex returns the items to the fridge, he looks at Mike, sobering slightly. "Saw Cena trash Riley yesterday. He doesn't look too bad off today, though."

"His ribs are a little sensitive," Miz hedges, shrugging. "Kid's getting good at just dealing, like all of us do."

"Yeah, as long as squirrels aren't chasing him, huh?"

"You heard that, huh?" Mike snorts, scrubbing at his face. "I've never seen anything like it. Good God..."

"How do you think Sunday will go?"

"Honestly? I don't know. When I hit a guy with a steel pipe and he somehow walks it off five seconds later, well..." He holds his hands together between his knees and shakes his head. "It doesn't look great." He looks up, spotting the barely hidden longing in Morrison's face. _It has to suck, wanting it to be him going after Truth this Sunday, not Mysterio, so bad, but unable to do anything about it._ Leaning forward, he nudges his knee softly. "How are _you_ going to do on Sunday?"

Morrison swallows thickly, his gaze bouncing around the room for a moment before returning to Miz. "Honestly, I don't know. I can't even remember the last time I missed a pay-per-view." His voice lowers. "I hate it."

"I know you do," he murmurs, sympathizing with the man before him even though he's never been kept off of a pay per view due to an injury- _knock on wood. "_ But you'll be back before you know it, Truth will be waiting for you- I'll make sure of it- and you'll put him on the injury list and all will be right with the world."

John chuckles, a bit of the forlornness fading from his gaze. "Thanks."

Nodding, Miz looks up, wondering where A-Ri's disappeared to. "Hey, Alex! Stop snooping. We're leaving." Not wanting to drag the visit out and tire Morrison out, or send it further into the sappy waters it was heading into, he stands up as Alex scrambles into the room, looking frazzled.

"I wasn't snooping! I was trying to find places in the fridge for all of the coconut milk so I could get rid of the bag-"

"You might want to keep it to scare the squirrels off," Morrison suggests, struggling to keep a straight face as Alex looks at him blankly.

"You think that would work?"

"Oh God," Miz mumbles, shooting a " _See what you did?_ " look at John as he gives in to his amusement. "See you around," he manages, carefully pushing a reluctant Alex towards the door.

"Bye," he says around his chuckles.

 _Well, at least we humored him,_ Mike thinks with an eyeroll as Alex looks carefully outside before rushing for the car.


	46. chapter 46

In life, there are numerous turning points in one's path that can change very little, or almost everything. Miz has gotten good at going along with the changes in his career- singles competition to tag teams, working on Smackdown to ECW, then on to Raw. Tag team to US champion, just to achieve the Money in the Bank win which propelled him into the WWE title. Yet, the personal ones are more complicated to just flow with- from John Morrison's tag partner and best friend to most hated rival, just to end up something in between thanks to the Raw GM.

But of all the changes he's gone through since the beginning of his career, he thinks perhaps this is the hardest one to accept as he stares up at the bright lights overhead, trying to blink awareness back into his battered body. He can't help but to wonder if this is a little how Morrison felt during the 2009 draft, alone and struggling to comprehend what entirely just happened, though it's obvious. He grimaces briefly as he struggles to sit up, his chest and side stinging as welts and bruises already forming from the I Quit match the night before darkens and spreads further. "Dammit," he hisses, pressing a hand to the worst of the discomfort.

"Miz, another match is starting soon, let me help you out of here," an insistent referee continues on, his drone barely reaching Miz.

"No," the stubborn former champion grumbles. "I got it." He slowly scoots to the ring apron and takes a moment, breathing harshly as his body protests the movement. Ignoring it, he grabs the bottom rope and eases himself out of the ring bit by bit until he's on the floor, struggling to maintain a standing position. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he stumbles forward a few steps and clings to the black barricade wall, his vision swimming slightly. When the irritating referee tries once more to aid him, he slaps his hands away and opens his eyes, relieved that things are mostly even once more. "Leave me alone," he grumbles, angrily taking one step and another up the ramp, trying to ignore how the steep incline makes his balance even more tenuous. He pauses at the top briefly and looks around, taking in the crowd's quiet murmurs, the empty space surrounding him. _I guess I deserve this..._

The walk to the back is the most humbling thing he's been through in awhile, his competitors' gaze following him all the way to the locker room. Alex is nowhere in sight, his things long gone. _I wonder where he's gonna stay,_ he can't help but think before giving himself a rough shake. _Not my problem anymore._ He kicks vaguely at the duffel bag housing his clothes and other travel necessities before sitting down on a bench, wincing further as he gets a good look at the darkening marks along his side and arms in the bright LED light overhead. He's poking pathetically at one of them when his phone goes off from its place in his bag. He looks up, eyes darkening as he glares over at the duffel. It rings four times, then stops, staying quiet only for a few moments before starting in again, its shrill noise sounding ten times worse in the empty locker room. Leaning over feels like fresh agony but he manages it anyway, slamming his fist into the bag and pulling the small cell phone out. "What?" he barks into the receiver, not even looking at who's calling.

"Nice to talk to you too," John Morrison says dryly, his voice softening when Miz doesn't respond immediately. "Are you ok?"

"Oh yeah, John, I'm perfect," he grumbles. "Couldn't you tell by what you saw on TV?" Settling back against the bench, he knuckles his forehead and swallows thickly.

"That was surprising," his former tag partner murmurs after a few moments. "I didn't think the kid had it in him."

"I did," Mike responds, not even caring about John's reaction as he looks down at the place where his various title belts used to take in his bag, now all gone. _All that I've gone through the past year, and I have nothing to show for it,_ he thinks with a tired muffled little sigh.

"-look, you sound like crap. I'll talk to you later, huh? Hang in there," Miz hears as he forces himself to focus once more on Morrison's voice.

"Of course. Bye," he says dully, hanging up before John can say anything else. _How pitiful, he's just had neck surgery and can't even sleep without pain and here he is worrying about me,_ he thinks with an eye roll. After quickly pulling on a grey t-shirt from his bag, he forces himself up and clutches the straps of his duffel, trudging out of the room. His hotel room sounds really good right now, quiet and dark with a bed just waiting for him. The show is still going on around him but he doesn't really care, halfway to the parking lot before he even consciously thinks about what he's doing.

Before getting in his car, he glances over his shoulder once more and glares up at the arena looming into the evening sky, his lips twisting in an angry grimace. Normally he'd be all for sticking around, seeing the show through to the end, but he's just too tired to even bother.

The drive to the hotel, thankfully, doesn't take long and neither does the elevator trip, his eyes purposely downcast as he counts the beeps made at each floor. After the fifth beep, he pulls himself away from the back wall, his fingers slipping from the polished bar as he drags his duffel bag out into the hallway. He pauses in the doorway, holding his breath as he slides the keycard into the lock, the light flashing green as he's allowed access. Pushing the door open quietly, he peers inside at the dark, lifeless room spread out before him, two empty beds visible immediately in the trailing light from the hallway. His shoulders slumping a bit, he enters and flicks the light switch, unsurprised at how vacant the rest of the hotel room is as well. He casts a suspicious gaze around and lowers his duffel down by the nearest bed, turning his back on the rest of the room as he drops onto the uncomfortable mattress, hissing as his body protests the movement.

It had to happen, he knows, but it doesn't make it any easier.

**Wednesday night**   
_An hour after the Dodger game, Miz and A-Ri return to his house, relieved to get out of the unceasing California heat. "So you have the recording?" Mike asks after a few minutes of their absorbing the gentle gusts of his AC._

_"Of course," the former NXT rookie smiles, pulling out his cell phone and pressing a few buttons. Within seconds, Cena's voice saying "I Quit" echoes through Mike's living room, the two men smirking at the near perfect quality of the sound byte. "Sounds good."_

_"Yeah. It should do_ , if _I need it." Miz looks thoughtfully at the opposite wall, deep in thought about his looming title match. Alex watches, taking in his dark gaze, the slight grimace of his lips as he works out different scenarios in his head about how Sunday could possibly go. He feels horrible about doing this now, but..._

_"Mike? Can we talk?"_

_The response is immediate, his gaze snapping to Alex's almost fretful face, unnerved by how solemn he sounds and looks. "Sure, what's up?"_

_Alex shifts anxiously on the couch, tilting his head as he gazes over at the chair Mike is settled in, examining the rich brown threads. "I... It's about, uh, after Over the Limit."_

_Mike frowns. "Ok." When Alex doesn't rush to say anything else, Miz's eyebrows raise almost to his hairline. "Uh, A-Ri, you're kinda worrying me here." The former WWE champion laughs awkwardly. "Spit it out." He grows solemn, a horrible thought coming to him. "You're not injured, are you?" It happens, sometimes in a blink of an eye- like with Morrison, who had been fine one minute and off for neck surgery the next only a couple of weeks ago._ But I would've noticed, right? _he thinks, trying to remember any time over the past week or two that Alex may have shown some sort of problem-_

_"No, Mike, nothing like that!" Alex interrupts his mental run down of recent matches, segments, the last few days spent at his place. "Sorry. I'm just... trying to think about how to put it." He sits forward, folding his hands between his knees as he stares at the shiny wooden floor. "I'm not- I'm not, ah crap..." He runs a shaky hand through his hair, glancing up at Mike. "I'm not abandoning you, Mike. Really, I'm not. I just... I've learned so much the last few months from you, and I think- I think it's time for me to try to make my own mark on the business, you know?"_

_Mike's face darkens slightly as he peers over at his protege, taking in his words, the stressed look on his face. "What are you saying?" He thinks he already knows but the kid needs to just come out and say it already, or they're not going to get anywhere fast._

_"After Over the Limit, I want to take my chances in singles' competition... over at Smackdown." Silence so thorough that the outside buzz of cars, birds and insects fading into nothingness falls over the house like a smothering blanket after this announcement, Mike staring down at his hands as Alex tries to breathe evenly, almost unable to believe the words have slipped from his lips at all._

_Despite knowing it had to come someday, it still leaves Mike feeling empty as he takes in the prospects. With Alex at Smackdown, Morrison injured, Cena the champion, and the Raw GM being... himself, he would be in a vulnerable position he hasn't been in for quite awhile. Completely, utterly alone, with little to no sway or political power to protect him from whatever the Raw GM could throw his way. He shakes his head, trying to force these morose thoughts from his mind._ It's fine, I'll win the title this Sunday and Alex can do whatever he wants... _He looks up at Alex and forces a thin smile. "After this Sunday, eh?"_

_"Of course. I won't leave you in the lurch," A-Ri quickly answers. "I'll be there if you need me."_

_Nodding, Miz takes a deep breath, unable to believe this is happening so quickly. "Alright. I'll let you out of the contract after Sunday, if it's still what you want."_

_Alex's grin is wide and all-encompassing. "Thanks, Mike. I knew you'd understand."  
_   
_Yeah, he understands alright. It doesn't make it much easier though._

_After Over the Limit, Alex screwing up yet again another attempt of Miz's regaining the title, dropping the phone so the referee can see it easily, the wheels start turning in Mike's head. "We need to do something," he tells Alex breathlessly after the I Quit match, his body still sensitive from each lash of the whip provided by Cena, leaning against the younger man as he tries to remind his legs how to work after the STF that led to him quitting. "The delightful Email GM might go after you or pull some stupid crap if I just release you from the contract, we need to cut all ties publicly."_

_"What are you suggesting?" Alex wonders, frowning as Mike takes a couple tentative steps into the locker room._

_He leans against the doorframe and looks up at his protege. "I'll call the GM out, demand a rematch... more likely than not, he'll refuse me, and I'll blame you and fire you right then and there." He pauses, biting his lip as he gazes up at Alex, not sure how the next part of his idea will go over._

_Sensing there's more, Alex spreads his arms out, shrugging curiously. "Then what?"_

_"You beat me down," Mike says bluntly, watching as Alex's jaw drops._

_"No! Hell no, Mike. I won't do that," he mumbles, scratching at his cheek awkwardly as his mentor looks at him piercingly._

_"Listen to me, it's the only way the GM will believe we're really through. And it's a good way for you to be taken seriously from here on out." He almost wants to compare it to him taking Morrison out at the 2009 draft but the situations are vastly different, not to mention uncomfortable, so he keeps his mouth shut. He softens slightly at the look of shocked denial on Alex's face and slaps him on the arm, distracting him. "It'll be fine, trust me."_

_The silence is just as horrible as it was at Miz's house but finally Alex nods, his eyes downcast. "Fine. I'll do it."_

_Not even twenty four hours later, Mike and Alex stand in front of the gorilla position for the last time together, both looking solemn as they listen for their cue. As Mike's theme starts to play, he turns to look over at Alex. "Make it look good." Alex nods wearily before they make their way to the ring._

_He does, in spades._

Mike breathes, slowly, evenly, his eyelashes beginning to flutter slightly as he dozes off. His cell phone, now mercifully muted, lights up, a text message flashing across the screen.  
 _  
I think I forgot to say this before- thank you for everything._


	47. chapter 47

It's been a long week for one Alex Riley. Phone call after phone call to Teddy Long, none of which are returned. He fumes as he stares at his phone, an unhappy grimace on his pale face. Sure, the one appearance he had made on Smackdown since being drafted wasn't that fabulous- he had been in the ring all of two seconds before wandering right into an RKO that had made his neck hurt all weekend. Even so, he had been drafted to Smackdown and with Miz "firing" him, he had no other obligations keeping him from the blue brand. Except, that is, the inability of Teddy to answer or respond to any of his attempts at communication. At least with the Raw GM, there _was_ no way to contact him so getting ignored wasn't that big of a surprise. After everything he had heard about Teddy- mostly fair unless pushed too far, friendly to most of his superstars, and generally an all around decent guy- the total silence was nothing short of infuriating.

Early Friday morning, the reason for his lack of answers becomes clear. He's fast asleep when his phone goes off, Miz's entrance echoing out of the small device. Jerking awake at the sound of his mentor's "AWESOME!", he almost falls out of bed in his attempt to shut it up, half hanging out of bed as he squints at the unknown number boring into his eyes. Still uncoordinated and half asleep, he fumbles for a bit before finally hitting the green "TALK" button. "Hello?" he mumbles, flopping back onto his bed unceremoniously.

"Is this Alex Riley?" an equally strange voice asks, breaking through his mind's fog briefly.

"Yeah?"

"I'm calling on account of the Anonymous Raw GM. He wants you to know that as of this moment, he has rehired you to the Raw brand. The terms of your contract will be discussed at a later date. Have a good day."

Before Alex can say one of the many things stuck on the tip of his tongue, like _But I'm on Smackdown!_ and _Is this why Teddy Long wouldn't answer my calls?_ the call clicks off, the slight static of background noise dying away to nothingness. He drops his cell phone uselessly against his chest and stares at the shadowy ceiling, the room mostly still dark as the sun struggles to rise at the unGodly time of (He groans upon checking the clock, knowing that sleep will be avoiding him for the rest of the day) 5:30 AM. "I'm in so much trouble."

He waits for a more decent time to make some calls, mindlessly wandering around the apartment he's moved in since selling his old place in Florida, doing bits of unpacking here and there as the clock ticks slowly behind him. Being on the road so often, he's not had a lot of time _to_ unpack but he finds focusing on even that simplistic task is difficult, his mind going in circles as he works over what the Raw GM could possibly want from him badly enough to make such a power play that he keeps him off of Smackdown. His feeling of sick dread only grows since he reluctantly can only think of one thing: to use him against Miz. _Maybe we acted it out a little_ too _well, last week,_ he thinks, elbow deep in boxes and different trinkets. "Dammit!" he cries, upending one of the boxes and not caring as his things scatter across the floor, each crash and scrape grating across his already taut nerves.

Finally around 8 AM, he tentatively collects his cell phone from where it's laid on his bed since the end of the earlier phone call, cradling it in his hand for a moment. He examines the silver case of the phone before sighing, his eyes lowering. It's muscle memory as his fingers go through the menus to reach his text screen.

**Text to: Mike**

Are you awake?

He sends it off after a bit of thought, hoping that if he _was_ asleep, he didn't have his ringtone on, freshly aware of how startling it can be to be woke up out of a sound sleep by one's ringtone. However, Mike's response comes too quickly for him to be asleep, or very busy, so as soon as Alex glances at the "Yeah, what's going on?" message lighting up his screen, he hits "TALK", immediately calling his mentor.

"Alex?" Mike answers on the first ring. "What's wrong?"

He takes a deep breath, his eyes closed. "I, uh, some associate of the Raw GM called me this morning." He braces himself for an explosion that never comes.

Miz pauses for a moment, the only proof he's still on the phone being his soft breathing on the other end. "Ok," he replies finally, abruptly sounding tired. "What'd he want?"

"He- he wanted me to know that I've been re-signed to Raw." He clings to the phone, paying it no mind as it creaks between his fingers, picturing Miz's face while he waits- how beneath the tan, he probably looks pale, his blue eyes wide and unseeing, frowning deeply as he stares ahead blankly. "Mike?" he asks after a few moments, pulling his phone away long enough to see if the connection has died. As the seconds continue ticking away on the screen, he returns the phone to his ear. "Miz? You ok?" The gusty sigh that follows almost blows Alex's ears out but he doesn't care, waiting for Mike to say something. _Anything._

 _"Dammit,"_ he mumbles finally. "Why is it he's always two steps ahead of me?"

"I guess I was a little _too_ convincing last week," Alex mumbles guiltily. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologize," Mike bites out furiously. "I should've seen this coming."

"What do we do now?"

"I'll think about it," the former champion says after a moment. "We'll figure something out, don't worry."

And in the end, Alex trusts Miz so he doesn't.

"You have got to be kidding me," he mumbles upon hearing the announcement that Cole is going to demand an apology from him later that evening. _Not exactly the first thing I was planning on hearing when I arrived here,_ he thinks, walking towards the locker room and ignoring all of the interested glances he receives on his way. Cena, of all people, had seemed to be attempting to be friendly to him- _How fake could one person be, it was only a week ago he would've rather sent me through the announcers' desk than say one word to me?-_ meaning that now everyone in the locker room against Miz was acting nicer to him, which does nothing but adds to his discomfort.

Later that evening, he's waiting by the titantron for his cue to go talk to Cole when his phone buzzes.

**Text from: Mike**

_Just go with it. Let's put on a show._

Considering how the last "show" they put on ended up, Alex is almost tempted to refuse, his discomfort growing the closer his _interview_ comes. _You better know what you're doing, Mike,_ he thinks, holding his head up high as he listens to his new theme music and swallows. Cole hasn't really changed, talking a lot and saying very little, so Alex tunes him out until he calls him a bastard. That seems as good a time as any to make his move so he lunges for Cole and proceeds to push him down, half-heartedly attacking him until the crowd reacts to something going on behind him. _Bingo._

Sure enough, it's Mike and they go at it for awhile, Mike keeping the upperhand shortly before Alex reclaims it, going through the motions automatically. He forces himself not to think as he slams Mike into the barricade and over the top of the announce desk. Mike skids over the uneven surface before landing hard on the mat below. Before Alex can reach him, he's off, lunging over the barricade wall and dashing through the audience to safety. Relieved that it's over, he looks out through the sea of audience members, an annoyed grimace on his face.

The walk back to the locker room is almost worse than earlier, even more eyes on him this go around as he makes his way through the hallway. He ignores them all, his gaze locked straight ahead as he walks purposely towards the door, wanting nothing more than to just grab his things and go before Cena or someone could stop him and congratulate him.

Despite the anxious, squirmy feeling that he just can't shake, the time it takes for him to collect his things, change clothes (He smiles mirthlessly at thinking how annoyed Mike must be by now that his custom tailored suits keep getting trashed in their confrontations) and make his way to the rental car waiting for him goes by quickly. He sighs quietly, sinking into the welcoming driver's seat. _I don't know how Morrison and he managed it when their tag team dissolved- and that_ wasn't _an act,_ he thinks in awe, wrapping his fingers around the steering wheel in an attempt to ground himself as he sucks in a deep breath. Finally he reaches down and plucks his cell phone out of his pants pocket. Before he can even decide whether to text or call, his phone goes off, causing him to jerk once more as "AWESOME!" blares through the small interior of the car. _Guess I have to change that before people get suspicious,_ he thinks, quickly answering. "Hello?"

"Hey." Mike sounds a bit breathless still, but all in all, ok.

Even so, "You alright?" he asks quietly, leaning his neck against the headrest.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

The silence that follows is awkward as Alex wonders where Miz is at that he feels safe enough to call but he can't bring himself to move, look around in case Mike's rental car is nearby. "How long will we have to do this?" he asks quietly, staring up at the beige interior of the car.

"I'm not sure," his former NXT pro murmurs. "Until the Raw GM loses interest, I guess."

"That could be awhile," Alex comments, thinking about the months Mike spent just trying to get the chance to cash in his briefcase.

"Yeah." Taking a deep breath, Mike continues more assuredly, "But I know you can handle it."

Caught in a sea of warring self-doubt and warmth at Miz's belief in him, Alex grimaces. "I hope so."

"I'm never wrong, you'll see."


	48. chapter 48

**Text from: Alex**  
You know this probably means the Anon GM will make us wrestle at the pay per view or something.

 **Text from: Mike**  
Obviously. We'll deal with that when the time comes. Just focus on tonight for now.

Distracted with texting with one hand and maneuvering his duffel bag through the crowded hallways with the other, Miz fails to notice as eyes track his progress, watching all the closer when he walks past Alex Riley, the two barely sparing glances for each other even as they remain glued to their individual cell phones.

Jittery from a week of waiting for the next shoe to drop between media events, Mike isn't really in the mood to wait around for something to happen so, after watching Truth in his stupid outfit angers him to the point that he wants to throw something, or break someone, he quickly makes his way to the ring, pleased to be able to interrupt the deranged man's ramblings (how exactly the usually quick tempered Austin went that whole period of time without shutting Truth up is something Miz will never understand). The anon GM's previous decree- that he couldn't touch Truth or lose his title opportunity- remains in the back of his mind as he all but demands another chance at the title, carefully choosing his words as he blames his losses against Cena on Alex, giving it his all in keeping the act up.

It's no surprise when Alex takes the hint and comes out, interrupting Mike intensely.

 _At least it means we don't have to hear Truth,_ Miz is thinking when Cena's music interrupts everything, his blue eyes trailing along all of the people in the ring from the top of the ramp. Mike closes his eyes, his fist clenching against his side as he watches the WWE champion near the ring, his title looking tarnished somehow from its unfortunate place on Cena's waist. _Wait, wait, I take it back, I'd rather hear Truth!_

It takes everything in him to not look over at Alex, uncertain where cameras are aiming or if the GM is watching, when Cena shows doubt about Alex's loyalties- _Really? Really?_ \- but Alex has learned from the best and he doesn't flinch, even when the Anon GM tries to interrupt them. At first relief spreads through Mike as Vince McMahon himself cuts the Raw GM off, but his decision is probably exactly what the email would've said anyway: a tag match with Mike and Truth vs Cena and Alex. As if that's not bad enough, Austin is thrown in as special guest referee.

After leaving the ring, Mike wanders the hallways for awhile, quickly growing tired of ignoring hateful or curious glances by people uncertain of what's going on with him and Alex. He sighs and walks purposely for the exit, needing some fresh air. He breathes in the heavy, warm air and sighs, enjoying it unlike most people in Virginia wishing for cooler temperatures. He'd grown a massive hatred for winter and anything even a little too close to cold since moving to California from Ohio, so he was enjoying the almost stifling blanket of warmth surrounding him.

He's only been out there a few minutes when his phone vibrates to announce a new text.

 **Text from: Alex**  
Can we talk?

 **Text from: Mike**  
Not at the arena, too risky. Can you text it?

 **Text from: Alex**  
Just- why do you think Cena is now all of a sudden suspicious? This whole thing's been believable, don't you think?

Mike dwells on this for a moment, grimacing as he presses against the mostly healed marks along his side from the original attack. Recalls pouring repeatedly over the footage the last few weeks, watching closely for any break in the act, however minuscule. There had been absolutely no visible sign that any of it was feigned; someone would have to be a mind reader to know that things were fine between the former mentor and protege. Or have some way to track the text and call logs on their phones- _but that's not possible... right?_ He glances down at his phone and rolls his eyes at himself. _Ok, now I'm just getting paranoid._

 **Text from: Mike**  
Of course we have been. Cena's just a drama queen. Do what you have to tonight, and I'll do the same. It'll work out.

When Alex doesn't respond, he sighs, tightening his grip on his phone as he leans against the building, looking moodily out at the steadily descending twilight. After months of Alex always being around, the quiet and solitude broken apart by his voice and presense, he's still getting used to being alone once more. Between his time with the Extreme Expose, then tag teaming with Morrison, Big Show, Chris Jericho, along with mentoring Daniel Bryan- _ha, what a joke that was_ \- and Alex himself, he hadn't really ever been on his own for very long in his career. With Morrison off in LA rehabbing his injury, his options are even more limited.

 _Morrison_ , he thinks, eyes lighting up slightly as an idea comes to him. Marching over to where his rental car sits in the middle of the parking lot, he holds his phone back up, pressing the fifth number on his speed dial. By the fourth ring, his hope is starting to fade and the generic voice mail message telling him to leave a message at the beep disgusts him further, his cell phone protesting as he presses the end button harshly. He's breathing heavily through his nose, trying to convince himself that throwing the device out of his car window into the gloom wouldn't be the wisest of ideas, when it vibrates right in his hand and he almost drops it anyway. _Crap_! he thinks, barely collecting himself in time to peer at the screen. He rolls his eyes at the name flashing there before answering it. "Where were you?"

"I was doing strength testing," Morrison's equally aggravated voice greets him.

His anger fading away a bit at the obvious unhappiness in John's voice, he takes a deep breath. "How's it going?"

"The same," his former tag team partner all but snaps, agitated.

"Oh." Unsure what to say now, Mike is about to think up some cheap excuse and hang up, thumping his forehead guiltily over the bad timing of it all, when John speaks over him.

"What did you want?"

"Nah, if this isn't a good time, I'll just hang up," he says awkwardly, not wanting to add onto Morrison's issues by dumping his own on him. "It's nothing important, I can handle it myself."

There's a pause, Morrison moving around and breathing softly against the phone all Miz can hear for a few seconds until finally he speaks again. "Just tell me what you called for, Mike."

Despite how relatively calmer he now sounds, Miz still hesitates, uncomfortable with the situation. _I should've found the time to explain to him what was going on before this, but things were moving so fast, and all the media crap this past week..._ He bites his lip, rolling his head against the headrest behind him. _But I guess I really just didn't want to tell him because he's stuck on the injured list, unable to do anything anyway. Why make it worse on him?_

Finally he sighs into the phone and mumbles, "Ok. Fine." Once more wording things carefully, he cranes his neck, watching thick clouds stained purple and red as the sunset reflects off of them drifting overhead while attempting to explain his dilemma. "I didn't go into details but when Alex first attacked me, it wasn't everything it appeared to be." Losing interest in nature, he peers around the parking lot, making sure no one's nearby just in case. "After the pay per view, he decided he wanted to try singles competition over on Smackdown..." Mike sighs slightly, going further into detail with the story, explaining how the Anon GM had ruined their carefully orchestrated plans.

"I swear, this crap can only happen to you," John says after a bit, sounding almost humored when Mike pauses to take a breath. "What happened next?"

"Well, are you watching Raw?"

"Kind of," he mumbles, a little of the bitterness returning to his tone.

Mike swallows, feeling bad once more to rub John's face in all of this when he's stuck on the sidelines, unable to do anything but watch. He remembers the few weeks he's missed here and there, and how hard it is to not be able to compete. Between the competition and the crowd reaction, adrenaline rushes they all get, it's almost an addiction of its own. To not be able to compete for any extended period of time is just an horrible sensation all around. "So now, because of what Cena said, Alex is worried that we've not been completely believable." There's a long pause and Miz shifts in the driver's seat, checking the clock. _Not even 9:45 yet, I should be fine out here for awhile yet... I think._

"Well," Morrison hedges, drawing out the word.

"Ok, now you're just being annoying," Mike huffs, rethinking his decision to ask John about this. His lips twitch slightly when John actually chuckles, sounding much lighter than he did at the start of the conversation.

"Look, seriously, man. I had no clue until you said something. I honestly thought Alex had had enough of your ridiculous ego," he teases. "There's only so much of that one guy can take, trust me-"

Rolling his eyes, Miz grumbles, "Are you done? I'm regretting calling you now."

Honestly laughing now, John returns to the original reason for the call. "Yeah, I think I'm done. But seriously man, Cena is probably just being paranoid. He doesn't have a good track record with former NXT rookies, _or_ tag partners, for that record, after all. Long as neither of you ruin this little act you've got going on, he shouldn't continue being suspicious."

Somewhat mollified, Mike leans back against the car seat, releasing a deep breath. "Thanks, that's what I wanted to hear."

"Sure. So you're tagging with Truth tonight, huh?" he asks blandly.

"Yeah. It's far from what I'd like to do though," he mumbles, picking some lint off of the steering wheel. "But I know," he continues before Morrison can say anything. "You want him first. Which is fine, better you take care of him than me. I'm too busy trying to keep ahead of the Anon GM anyway. Who knows what he'd do if he thought I was trying to sabotage his main event."

There's a brief pause before Morrison hums thoughtfully into the phone. "They just announced the Raw GM made you and Riley at the ppv official," he says, sounding as unsurprised as Miz feels. "Well, he wouldn't make the match if he thought it was a farce... right?"

"Unless he was testing us," Mike murmurs. "But yeah, we figured he would throw us in a match at the ppv. Anyway, I should get going. Who knows what fun I'm missing out on."

"Truth crashing the Presidential press conference about Capitol Punishment?"

Mike pauses, gazing ahead blankly. "Wait, what?"

"... I don't even know, man. He's going on about a boat. Yeah, uh, have fun tagging with him tonight."

"... I'm so screwed. Ugh. Bye."

"Talk to you later," John says, failing at keeping the laughter out of his voice.

Miz releases a grumbling kind of sigh, pulling himself out of the car and walking through the dusky darkness towards the building. _I don't_ want _to lose against Cena again but with a partner like Truth..._

After watching Cena and A-Ri argue a bit over where Alex's priorities lie, Miz decides to at least try to talk to R Truth, see where the man's head may be at so he's prepared to be in the ring with him. Despite their various tensions in the past, Truth seems to be listening to him as he lectures him about how to defeat Cena and A-Ri- _Who would've thought I'd ever be having this conversation?_ \- but for all he knows, the thoughtful, deeply concentrating look on Truth's face more has to do with listening to the Little Jimmys or whomever it is talking to him in his own head. Mid-way through his speech, he glances over in time to see a camera aimed on them, obviously filming them. _Good thing I kept my focus on the match. If I had been yelling at him over Morrison or anything else, that might not have been good,_ he thinks, acutely aware that the Anon GM is obviously keeping an eye out for any weaknesses, if the A-Ri thing is any indication.

Well, here we go, he thinks a little later when they're waiting for their individual cues into the ring. Considering all of the disasterous potential it has, the match doesn't go too horribly. Even when Truth freaks out and grabs a steel chair, disrupting the match further, Miz keeps calm, despite Austin making it clear that if they cheated at all, bad things would happen. His composure slips just a bit when Alex brings in, of all things, the briefcase that _he_ had given him. _Oh, I taught him well,_ he just manages to think before Alex slams the case into him. In the madness that ensues, he's not sure how it happens but Austin is suddenly in his face, hitting a bone rattling stunner. The next thing he knows is Cena's music is playing and he's lost- again.

Unsure where Truth's gone- and not entirely caring- he stumbles up the ramp, barely registering the sound of the Anon GM's alert echoing through the arena. He does, however, pause for a moment when the GM announces that since the referee was improperly involved, Cena and A-Ri are officially DQ'd and the match goes to him and Truth. The "win" is empty, especially considering how it came about, so he doesn't delay in leaving the ringside area. He does, however, pause briefly when the GM emails again to say that Austin will be temporary GM next week, his eyes widening slightly. _Free of the Anon GM's control? If only for a week... but who knows that Austin will be any better..._

A couple hours later, he's walking up to his hotel room, trying to ignore the fresh aches from the briefcase shot- not that he blames Alex; if he had the opportunity, he would've done the same thing. Besides, it makes their "feud" look all that more believable- when his phone rings. Knowing it could be only one of two people, he quickly unlocks the hotel room and enters, dropping his duffel and key card onto the floor while simultaneously dragging the phone out of his pocket. "Hello?"

"Hey."

He sinks into the dark beige couch across from his bed, lips twitching as he takes a deep breath, shaking his head with a slight smirk. _Alex_. "Where are you at?"

"In my hotel room. You?"

"The same. What's up?" He cringes at his choice of words, the term effectively ruined by his hopefully one-time-only tag partner from earlier that evening.

"What do you think about what the Anon GM did tonight? Why reverse the decision and give the win to you, after all of this? It's not making any sense," he wonders, sounding uncertain and a little worried.

Mike leans back, toeing off his shoes as he thinks it over. "Maybe he's just trying to motivate you before our ppv match. Who knows. If Truth hadn't brought that steel chair in, things wouldn't have gotten so ridiculous so quickly." He shakes his head. "What I did to get stuck with him as my tag partner, I don't even want to know..."

"I wonder who's more annoying, Cena or Truth?"

"Well, one won't shut up about Little Jimmys and conspiracies... the other won't stop with the Hustle Loyalty Respect and Cenation crap... Seriously, have you seen his tweets? I swear, he mentions both things at least once in each and every tweet he makes." He shudders. "Maybe it's even?"

"Yeah, think so." They fall quiet, Mike pondering what could happen with Austin as GM next week, when Alex chuckles slightly. "Do you think Truth lost it because he's just seen one too many Jimmy John commercials? The damn things are all over the place."

Miz's lips twitch upwards, relieved to be distracted however briefly from his serious thoughts. "You may be onto something there. Maybe his problem is he sees all of these commercials but never gets a sub."

"That is kinda sad when you think about it."

Mike does laugh now. "Yeah, it is."

The silence that follows this time seems more subdued, Alex's breathing the only sign that he's still on the other line. Finally he sighs and asks, "Do you think I'll ever get over to Smackdown?"

Mike grimaces, slumping a bit as he ponders the question. _All this time I've been worried about what the Raw GM would do next, or being careful about bothering Morrison. I hadn't really thought about Alex's being made to do this crap against his own will. Damn Raw GM..._ His eyes gleaming with steely determination even in the muted light of one small lamp off to the side of his room, he nods, "I'll make sure you do. Just don't worry about it. It'll work out. I promise." He feels like he's told Alex not to worry a lot since this whole nonsense began, but a promise is something he's never made lightly, if at all, so he hopes that it's enough to ease his protege's worries.


	49. chapter 49

"Most times I don't know what to think," Miz mumbles, staring out over the pale blue horizon. His gaze lowering, he takes in how the waves crest, causing the edge of the beach to glisten anew in the brilliant sunshine. "Don't say anything," he warns off the joke that would surely follow that comment. Regaining his thoughts, he sighs, digging his fingers in the soft, sun-dried sand surrounding them. "You'd think after all this time someone would figure out this Anon GM thing or the information would leak... something. But nope. Politicians and celebrities can't keep a secret if their lives depended on it but this guy... nothing."

John Morrison glances over at him, his eyebrows raising up close to his hairline. "Next thing you'll say even the Anon GM doesn't know _who_ he is," he smirks, shifting the ever present sunglasses over his face.

Rolling his eyes, Mike huffs. "Ha-ha-ha," he says exaggeratedly, flopping back against the warm beach towel as he crosses his arms over his chest in frustration. "I wonder what Austin will do on Monday. Didn't think much could be worse than the Anon GM but if anyone could manage it, it'd probably be him." Waiting for a response, he tilts his head to look over at John, who's staring blankly ahead at the people wandering across the beach, also enjoying this beautiful Thursday afternoon. "Earth to Morrison," he says loudly. When his former tag partner finally glances over, he rolls his eyes, lifting his own sunglasses up so he can see him clearer. "What are you thinking about?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing," he says quickly. His accompanying smile is sharp and bright; Mike doesn't buy it for a moment. "You don't have good luck with GMs."

Mike grumbles, playing along with the obvious attempt at distraction. "Yeah, no joke. I guess I intimidate them."

John's smile turns into another smirk, eye roll combo that they both end up using very often when around the other for extended periods of time. "Yeah, that must be it," he says, sarcasm dripping from his lips.

He smirks and closes his eyes, absorbing the sun rays quietly. _I wouldn't be surprised if people think we still hate each other, the way we act around each other sometimes._

Despite it all, when he had an afternoon off, he had gone to talk with Morrison, his uncertainties about both the Anon GM and Austin this upcoming week grating at him until he couldn't stand it, needed something else to focus on. The beach thing had been all John, who took one look at Mike standing at his apartment door before ducking out of the room just to return a few moments later, hastily zipping up a small duffel bag. Before he could verbalize any of the many questions bouncing around his skull, John was pushing him back down the hallway, looking more excited than he had in the few times Mike had seen him since his neck surgery. For this reason, and the uncertain status of his neck itself, Miz hadn't fought him. _All in all, the destination could've been worse,_ he thinks, curling his bare toes in the warm sand. Peeking his right eye open, he observes the far off look on John's face once more, frowning a bit. _What are you hiding...?_

Morrison's mysterious attitude on Thursday comes into clear clarity not long into WWE's All Star three hour special, Miz still steaming over the whole Piper's Pit thing. He's half listening as the commentary team freak out over R Truth mocking and attacking Hornswoggle when Austin interrupts, his whole body tensing in response to the temporary GM's mere voice. As Austin begins talking about a match for Truth, Mike looks up in time to see his former tag partner on the titantron, grinning into the camera. "No way," he mumbles, half out of the locker room before the next words could come out of Austin's mouth.

Sense overtakes anger just in time and he pauses outside of the temporary office set up for Austin, knowing better than to storm inside. _The Piper's Pit thing is annoying enough, who knows what else he'd do then._ He shuffles around outside of the door, glaring up at it now and again as he waits.

After what feels like an hour, the door finally opens and he turns to stare at an unsurprised Morrison as he saunters into the hallway, the very picture of calm and collected. "I had a feeling it wouldn't take you long to find me," he says simply, leaning against the door frame.

"You _idiot_." He shakes his head, taking a deep breath in an unhelpful attempt to calm his nerves. "What are you doing here?"

"Doctors cleared me last Wednesday," he comments, his lips twitching slightly as Miz glares at him anew.

"Why didn't you tell me before now? A match against Truth? Are you kidding me?" he spits, eyes flashing as he fights the instinct to grab Morrison's sunglasses and shatter them- not for the first time, or probably last.

"This is why I didn't," he responds after a tense moment. "I had enough people telling me it was too soon, I didn't want to hear it from you too."

"Maybe you should listen to them?" he suggests. "I mean, God, John. Neck injuries aren't something you screw with-"

"Don't you think I know that!" Morrison snaps, suddenly losing his calm veneer. Even though his tinted glasses, his dark gaze bores into Miz intensely. " _I'm_ the one who just went through surgery and weeks of rehab just to get to this point. I've been cleared by my rehab specialist and main doctor, along with WWE's. I'm going to make R Truth pay tonight, and there's nothing you or anyone else can do to stop me."

They glare at each other for a few minutes before Miz realizes they're still outside of Austin's office, this close to having a screaming match. "Fine," he hisses, ignoring the curious stares still locked on them from fellow wrestlers, divas and tech staff members alike. "When this backfires, don't come crying to me." He doesn't look back as he storms away, barely offering a glance to Alex as he passes him, easing some of his anger by slamming the locker room door shut behind him.

No one bugs him as he crashes his way through the room, dropping heavily on a bench as far away from the monitor as possible. _I refuse to watch_ , he thinks viciously, not wanting to label the other emotions mixed in with his red hot anger. He's not sure how long he sits there, ignoring everything around him. _He's so reckless and stupid,_ he dwells disparagingly, picking at some lint on his slacks. Finally, Morrison's music plays and Miz tries to focus on anything _but_. All pretenses fall, however, when the commentators make a big deal out of his not appearing- _Definitely an out of character move. He loves the slo-mo entrance as much as he does his frickin sunglasses...-_ -, and his music restarts. As the few other superstars in the locker room start whispering about why John hasn't appeared, Mike turns slowly on the bench, now facing the monitor. _I have a bad feeling,_ he thinks, the worried glint in his pale blue eyes growing as he watches Truth's reaction, _Ain't No Make Believe_ playing for the third time.

When Truth goes to find him, Miz's fists clench on his knees. He's unsurprised as Truth finds John down, his side pressed against a wall not that far from the locker room Mike's in currently as he clutches his neck. The fear in Morrison's gaze is palpable despite the camera angle as Truth leans down so they're eye to eye, mocking and belittling him. Mike is about to run out, Anon GM's decisions be damned, when Truth gets up, a cruel look on his maddened face as his eyes fall on a nearby trunk on wheels. _Oh hell no,_ he all but screams mentally as the demented man lunges for the blue plastic container and pushes it with all his strength at the unmoving man, the referees scattering in a too-slow attempt to stop him.

The moment blurs for Mike, his eyes locked on how Morrison disappears completely behind the large container. The murmurs and movement comes to a sudden stop in the locker room, all eyes on Miz as he hesitates on his feet, staring blankly at the TV screen.

"Hey, bro-" Zack Ryder speaks up, reaching out for him but missing as the former world champion pushes past him, grabbing desperately for the door.

It takes only moments but feels like hours until he arrives at the scene, Truth thankfully long gone and the trunk pushed off to the side as the referees and trainers attempt to move and examine Morrison, reminding him now and again not to move his neck even as he tries to get himself away from that damn wall. His hands are cupping his face and, _damn it_ , he's whimpering now and again, which proves more than anything just how bad it is.

Mike ignores the referees and tech staff who try to hold him back, pushing them away until finally he's close enough to touch Morrison, dropping to his knees next to him. Bolstered by the faint groan Morrison releases a second later, he rests a hand on his upper arm carefully, sliding it down to rest on his wrist. "Hey, Johnny."

John stiffens for a moment before relaxing, his voice shaky and muffled behind his hands as he asks, "Mike?"

"Yeah." He licks his lips anxiously before leaning closer. "Can you move your hands? This is getting kinda freaky, man." Reluctantly, slowly, he complies, Miz shifting back slightly so he has room to put both hands down on the cool tile floor. His eyes soften slightly as he takes in his former tag partner's sweaty, pained face. He finds himself missing the once hated sunglasses as he locks eyes with John, taking in the weary pain there. He lightly squeezes Morrison's wrist, half-heartedly smiling as John takes in a deep, shuddery breath. "It's gonna be ok."

John swallows visibly, his hand twitching against the floor. He doesn't speak again until they're ready to transport him, neck held in place by a brace and hands strapped to his chest to keep him immobile as they prepare to push yet another stretcher through the halls.

Miz rests a hand on John's shoulder carefully, ducking his head down a bit so John can hear him over the many voices and sounds surrounding them. "Listen, I have to handle this whole Piper's Pit nonsense ... I'll check in on you as soon as I can, yeah?"

John stares at him for a moment before licking his lips. "Alright," he murmurs, sounding as wiped out as he looks, his eyes already fluttering closed as they take him away.

Mike stands there for a few moments, watching for a moment before he turns, coming face to face with Alex. Despite being unsurprised at his appearance, he raises an eyebrow at the younger man as he hovers there uncomfortably. They've not hung out in public for obvious reason since his "firing", so he goes forward carefully. Snaps, "What do you want?", balancing anger and weariness just so that it looks believable. Hopefully, anyhow.

"He going to be alright?"

Keeping up the charade, Mike scoffs. "Oh, now you care about John. In case you missed it, he had a trunk rammed into him just weeks after neck surgery. So, no, I'd say he's _not_ going to be 'alright'," he rants, stabbing viciously at nothing as he makes air quotes. He storms closer, getting up in Alex's space, more aware of the eyes on them than he has been since the beginning of the night. He speaks quietly so only Alex can hear him, keeping the pissed look on his face. "We argued earlier about him returning too soon," he hisses softly. "I stormed off. If that hadn't happened- if I had stuck around, kept on him, maybe-"

Alex's expression doesn't change, instead leaning closer so they're almost nose to nose, making it look like another one of their "heated confrontations". "It's not your fault," he whispers just as quietly, carefully. "Who knew Truth would pull this crap?"

Miz shakes his head, his lips twisting into an angry snarl as he dismisses Alex's attempts at making him feel better. "I should've. I've tagged with Truth, recently. I pretty much know better than anyone just how far off the rails the freak is, but I let my anger get the better of me and now look..." They stare at each other for a moment longer, Alex struggling to think of something, anything to say to possibly calm his former mentor down, before Mike turns and walks away, right towards the offending trunk.

Alex watches quietly as he pauses half-way past it, his whole stance tensing up before he half-spins and kicks it hard, denting the thin plastic, instantly carrying on to the ring for Piper's Pit without any physical sign of what he just did, despite how his foot must be aching. _This isn't going to end well_ , he thinks, walking slowly after him to wait for his own cue.

After Piper's Pit degenerates into... that ridiculous sham of a match that saw Miz screwed out of $5000 and some more credibility/respect/what have you, he returns to the locker room reluctantly. He doesn't blame Alex for doing what he did, the kid sometimes surprises him with what he'll do to make the Anon GM- and everyone else- believe that they hate each other, and even though it rankles, the money doesn't bother him that much. It's just another drop in the flood of suckiness that's been his week... month... year?

Shrugging these thoughts away as best as he can, he goes straight for his duffel, anxious to get out of the arena and check on Morrison. He's barely stuck a hand in when he hears andfeels it- the telltale creaking noise of plastic, which makes no sense as there _was_ no plastic in his bag. Uncertain if it's some locker room prank, he carefully fishes the cool plastic out of his clothes. As soon as he unearths it, his breath stutters.

Morrison's sunglasses, amazingly undamaged after that attack from R Truth, sits in his palm, the rhinestone crosses sparkling in the faint light overhead. He frowns, looking around at the few people still scattered around and focuses on Primo. _I'm still not used to being in the main locker room,_ he thinks, missing the private locker room that had been his during the duration of his title reign. "Hey, did you see anyone around my bag?"

The Puerto Rican wrestler pauses for a moment in thought before nodding, returning to his own business. "Alex Riley was in here when I came in but I didn't see what he was doing."

Miz pauses, chuckles. _Of course..._


	50. chapter 50

"So how is he?"

Mike toys with the charger cord for his cell phone as he leans against the foot of the bed, listening to the quiet, undisturbed breathing above him. "He's asleep," he mumbles. "ER doctor said it looked like he got lucky, but wants him to check in with his rehab specialist ASAP."

"Well, that's good, right? At least he didn't get reinjured."

Snorting, the former world champion bangs the back of his head against the mattress, immediately freezing as the springs creak in protest. When nothing else happens, he relaxes slightly and shrugs. "So it seems. But he's so stupid, this could've gone south so easily." He rubs a hand over his mouth and grimaces, trying not to let his imagination run wild.

On the other end of the phone, Alex takes a deep breath. "Yeah, but it didn't. Focus on that."

Making a non-committal noise, Mike grumbles. "I swear, if he tries making an appearance this Monday- or, God knows, the pay per view- I'll knock him out myself."

But it ends up Mike has nothing to worry about: They take the same flight back to LA, Morrison for once having the sense to not say anything about how it's obviously Mike's way of making sure he contacts the rehab specialist once he arrives back home. Tired after spending part of the night at the ER after the event and the rest talking with Alex or staring at the ceiling, a million thoughts echoing through his mind as he listens to the various nighttime noises, he falls asleep midway through the flight just to find, upon reawakening a couple hours later, John thumbing disinterestedly through a book. He doesn't say anything until he notices how tightly he's gripping it, his knuckles white around the crinkled paper. "Book's that bad, huh?" he croaks, uncoordinatedly reaching for his abandoned bottle of water to wash away the sleep-dry feeling that he hates so much.

John rolls his eyes, finally looking over at him. He looks close to exploding with anger, his eyes flashing darkly in the overhead light, but before Mike can ask, he thrusts his cell phone into his line of sight, apparently having been waiting for this since the moment he received the email on the screen. "Did you do this?"

Mike blinks groggily, his vision clearing enough for him to read the small words on the bright screen.

**Email from:**

This is to notify you you've been assigned an overseas media tour to Singapore, China and Indonesia beginning on June 23rd. Travel arrangements and lodging have already been set up for you. Further details- such as times, dates and places- will be sent shortly.

Just barely smothering the smile that's attempting to break out on his face, he glances up at John. "You think I honestly have the pull to make something like this happen? I'm good but I'm not _that_ good, John." Turning, he looks down the aisle, his face reflecting his relief, as his former tag partner huffs and puts his phone away before glaring out the airplane window stiffly. _Must admit, that was good timing. Maybe the Anon GM does have some sense, and wants to keep him from getting injured further too? But that might be giving him- whoever it is- too much credit... Either way, it's one less thing for me to worry about._

That Sunday, Miz rolls his eyes as the President impersonator wanders by, his arms crossed as he leans against the wall not far from the gorilla position. His match against Alex Riley is next and, despite not hearing from the other man since after Raw days earlier, he feels confident that they can continue pulling this off successfully. On top of that, he's certain of his own future victory- nothing against Alex's abilities, but he has learned all he knows from Mike so really there can be no question who will ultimately be walking out with his arm raised tonight... right?

His thoughts are derailed as silence falls across the titantron area, everyone from refs to technicians holding their breath as Alex walks into the area, the two opponents' gazes locking as he walks past Mike's position, neither of their masks cracking as they continue putting on this show for their colleagues. Neither had contacted the other leading up to this match- both had perfected their roles in the last few weeks, growing used to what was expected of them to keep the Anon GM from getting suspicious. To talk it to death would have been overkill, made it easy to overdo or underdo it. The less planned it is the more truthful things would seem.

It's not until halfway through the match that Mike second guesses this for the first time, blinking sweat out of his eyes as he stares at Alex's arm, swatting uncoordinatedly just a few inches from his face as he locks in a rear naked choke, trying to wear his former protege out. Even at this close range with the bright overhead lights shining in his eyes, he can see bruising and swelling forming along his upper arm. When they finally separate, Mike raises his eyebrows at Alex and shakes his head slightly as Alex, understanding with a quick glance to his arm, waves it off, immediately going on the offense to deflect attention from his obviously hurting arm. The fight spills out of the ring, Alex taking out both Mike and Cole when the announcer tries to get in A-Ri's face.

Not longer after, the match comes to an end with Alex's hand being lifted in victory. Miz stares, dazed, at the ceiling as Alex's music echoes through the arena. As proud as he is of his protege's accomplishments, it'd take a really short sighted competitor to be glad of a loss so he can't help the look of disappointment on his face when he falls out of the ring and leans against the apron, ignoring the camera aimed right at him as he stares up the entrance ramp. _I always hated that saying, the student has become the teacher... now I hate it more._

His bitter thoughts fade as he stands up, frowning. _Wait, that's... unusual? Why did Alex leave so qui-... Oh crap, his arm. I forgot._ Paling slightly, he marches up the ramp as quickly as he dares, struggling to remain as stoic as possible as the camera tracks him up to the top. He's not sure if it's filming or just getting into position for the next entrance and he doesn't really care, his hands clenching and unclenching as he pushes past the curtain into the back. He scans the immediate area, frowning when he doesn't see Alex anywhere. _Damn, just what I love to do after a match- do a whole building search just to find someone._

It's not as bad as he thinks, however, as he stumbles across Alex almost the instance he turns the next corner away from the gorilla position, nearly running into the younger man. "Alex!" he starts, his teeth clicking together as he slams his mouth shut, eyebrows furrowing as he takes in how the other man's leaning heavily against the wall, his fingers wrapped around his arm. Sweat is trickling down his back, gleaming in the LED lights. "Are you ok?" It's a stupid question but he can't think of anything else to say as he carefully drops a hand on the younger man's shoulder, feeling the tremors rocking through his fingers.

"It's my arm, Mike," he breathes, eyes closed as he swallows thickly. "I... it hurts." The _bad_ goes unsaid but Mike doesn't need to hear it to know, turning Alex just enough for him to see the offending appendage. He hisses as he glances at the still bruising skin, the swelling looking much worse than it had even ten minutes ago.

"When did you notice it?" he whispers, staring wide eyed at the injury.

"During the match. I worked through it but it hit me all at once when I got back here." He shakes his head, closing his eyes as Mike looks piercingly up at him.

"Ok, you need to go to the trainer's office. Get checked out." He hesitates, looking around the mostly empty hallway and inches closer, whispering, "I'd go with you but..."

"I know," Alex nods, visibly steeling himself physically and emotionally as he pushes away from the wall, holding his arm tightly to his side. "I'll be ok."

"Text me when you have some word," Mike urges, unable to do anything but watch as the younger man nods and walks away from him, the trainer's office thankfully only a short ways down the hallway. In a failed attempt to clear his mind, he wanders down one hallway to the next, waiting for his phone to go off as the pay per view carries on just feet away, cheers giving way to jeers mixed in with pyro and various entrances.

He's somehow made it all the way to the parking lot when his phone finally goes off in his hand, almost vibrating right out of his grip as it startles him.

**Text from: Alex**

Trainer wants to schedule some tests; worst case scenario, maybe a tendon tear. When I know, you'll know.

He stares at the text for a few moments before walking the rest of the way to his rental, collapsing against the trunk. _Dammit._ His head spins as he angrily presses the "end" button, making the text disappear from his screen. _I was so focused on John, I never even thought I might need to worry about Alex._ Kicking his heel against the tire, he stares up at the blank, dark sky blandly as he tries to work through future possibilities in case Alex's injury is as bad as it sounds.

The next day, he wanders into the arena, his eyes distant and troubled. _Morrison is at home preparing for his overseas tour. Now to keep Alex out of trouble today too,_ he muses, shaking his head. _To think a year ago I wouldn't have bothered with any of this BS..._

Despite his focus being on keeping Alex away from the ring, not everyone has the same consideration in mind, so his breath stutters in his throat, almost causing him to choke on thin air on national television, when Teddy Long interrupts his argument with Christian and R Truth over who got screwed over more the night before. General Managers messing up his plans are by now common place so he almost knows what Teddy's going to say before he even opens his mouth, his lips twisting into an angry sneer. The only difference with this one is that he has someone to actually glare at, instead of aiming his disdain at a laptop stand.

Once the six man tag match is announced and Christian and Truth glance from each other to him and back, he leaves the ring, not wanting to spend more time arguing nonsensically with them. It's thankfully not hard to find Alex, the kid standing outside of the trainer's office as he carefully stretches his arm out. "You cannot tell me they cleared you for this match?" Mike demands quietly, glancing at Alex's arm. The swelling and bruising is still visible over twenty four hours later, somehow looking worse than it did the night before.

"Of course they did. I'm able to wrestle with it, as long as I'm careful... the tests are scheduled for when I get home to Florida tomorrow."

"As long as you're careful," Mike scoffs, anger flaring anew within him. "You do realize Morrison said something similar last week? Where did that get him? And don't you dare say Singapore, because you know what I mean."

Alex sighs, glancing around at the people wandering around. "We can't do this here," he hisses, motioning with his head at some of the referees and fellow wrestlers lingering around.

"They're not paying attention. Just keep your voice down and look pissed," Mike mumbles. He raises his eyebrows, lips twitching slightly as Alex rolls his eyes. "Probably won't be that hard for either of us, considering this conversation."

"Look, my tag partners are Randy Orton and John Cena. How much ring time do you think I'll _honestly_ get?"

Even though he has a point, Miz still isn't thrilled. They spend a few moments staring at each other before Mike raises his arms in surrender. "Fine. Do what you want. I'll feel better about crap like this when I can do this..." He quickly presses a finger to Alex's upper arm, unsurprised but sympathetic when Alex flinches back, looking scandalized even at that small amount of pressure. "... without you reacting like that." The look on Alex's face burnt into his memory, he turns and walks away, each step measured and balanced as he works at not losing his cool. _I need to think._

Alex is correct with his speculation, only ends up in the match for a few minutes at the most later that night. It's just enough time for things to start breaking down amongst the six and Mike to get himself inside and gain the upperhand, hitting Skull Crushing Finale- carefully manipulating Alex's arms to position him for the move to put less pressure _on_ his injury- as quickly as he can before A-Ri can even think about responding to the tag. As his former NXT rookie rolls out of the ring, effectively eliminated, Miz can't help but sigh in relief. He doesn't last very much longer in the match either but, unlike the night before, it's with a clear mind that he makes his way back to the locker rooms, his main goal completed.

Alex is nowhere to be found, either in one of the other locker rooms or with the trainer, and Mike's ok with that. He needs some space too, recollect his thoughts and find something _else_ to think about other than the fact that, should Alex's injury be as bad as the trainer suggested, he'll be all alone on Raw trying to stay out of the Anon GM's line of fire. He closes his eyes, tearing off wrist tape viciously.


	51. chapter 51

Busy with various media responsibilities the week following Capitol Punishment, Mike finds himself distancing himself slightly from both Alex and Morrison. After months- almost a full year- of walking a thin tightrope, focusing on Money in the Bank and the various hoops the Anon GM threw up for him to jump through to even _become_ world champion, just to lose the belt to _Cena_ and all of the injuries and various other bad luck that followed that loss, it feels nice just to do focus on other things for a bit.

After a long day spent on a golf course, _for charity_ , he's glad to collapse into bed and just take a minute to breathe in the cool, brisk air coming from the hotel's vent over his head. Eyes fluttering warningly, he rolls onto his stomach and mindlessly gropes for his phone. After pressing a few buttons carelessly, he squints at the bright screen.

_5 missed calls; 1 unread message_

A little more awake, he sighs and goes through the missed calls first. Between two calls probably from a newspaper attempting to confirm the date and time of their next interview, Alex's name flashes at him. He frowns at it before returning to the other missed attempts at contact; more media responsibility details await his response. He's about to call Alex back when he remembers the unread text message.

**From: Morrison**

In Singapore now. So many Lil Jimmys here- Truth would be having a conniption. Again. Speaking of, heard you had the 'privilege' of teaming with him again this week. Lucky you.

Miz rolls his eyes, pressing his face against the pillow briefly before turning his attention back to his phone.

**To: Morrison**

Yeah, well, I get the feeling the precious Anon GM is doing it mainly to annoy me but you should be pleased- at this rate, Truth will stay in good shape until your return.

Once the text is sent, he hits number 3 on his speed dials and waits as it rings in. _It's not like I don't have enough of my own drama to contend with,_ he thinks with a grimace, tapping his fingers against the stiff pillow case.

Finally on the third ring, the phone clicks in. "Hello?"

"Hey," Mike responds, rolling onto his side so he can lay comfortably and not muffle his speech in the bedding. "Phone was off while I played golf so I missed your call. What's up?"

To Alex's credit, he doesn't even snicker quietly at the _golf_ mention, used to the random things Mike tends to do for media coverage. "Oh, I went to the doctor earlier and he re-examined me. The swelling is going down and the bruise is starting to fade. He says I have to be careful for awhile but all in all, should be ok, with enough time."

Tilting the phone away from his face, Mike releases a relieved sigh, his eyes slipping closed as he listens to Alex breathe softly on the other end, waiting for a verbal response. "That's great, man. Has he...?"

"Yeah, he sent in his report to WWE; the Anon GM should be aware by now. I don't think the _being careful_ thing should be too difficult, since he seems determined to use me against you... he probably wouldn't want to risk his advantage," he comments blandly.

Mike rolls his eyes, adjusting the pillow so it's positioned more evenly under his head. "This is true." They fall silent for a bit, Mike drifting slightly before Alex clears his throat. "Huh?"

Chuckling, his former protege hmms quietly. "You sound wiped. Guess golf took a lot out of you."

_Oh,_ now _the teasing begins,_ he thinks. "Guess so," he says sarcastically.

"Don't get grumpy," Alex laughs. "I'll talk to you later."

"Sure. See you Monday." Ending the call before Alex can respond, Mike slips into a deep sleep almost immediately, barely having a second to rethink his last words before falling completely into darkness. His phone barely makes a noise as it slips from limp fingers and hits the mattress next to him.

That Monday, Miz is unsurprised to hear that he's been put in another match against Alex- this time with Rey Mysterio and Jack Swagger as their tag partners, though at the moment it's open to change by the Roulette Wheel.

**Text from: Alex**

Did you hear they're announcing who's going to be in the Raw Money in the Bank a little later?

**Text from: Miz**

Yeah. No question who one of the competitors will be.

**Text from: Alex**

Thanks, that means a lot.

**Text from: Miz**

... I meant me.

**Text from: Alex**

... I knew that.

**Text from: Miz**

Sure you did. How's your arm?

**Text from: Alex**

Fine. Seriously, it looks a lot better. You'll see!

And see he does, his eyes immediately focusing on the younger man's upper arm, what of it is visible beneath his elbow pad. It looks mostly normal, the angry inflammation of the past week fading away to more normal shades of flesh. Despite its appearance, he knows injuries can be invisible and still very painful so the tag match now being a tornado match doesn't sit well with him. For this reason, he spends over half of the match working at keeping Swagger away, leaving him to deal with Rey while he takes care of Alex. Mindful of the Anon GM always watching, he makes sure not to pull any punches, even going so far as to throw Alex out of the ring and pacing around nearby, working at keeping him down.

_"Mike!"_ Alex hisses, eye on the titantron as he makes sure the camera isn't aimed on either of them when the former world champion turns sharply and moves like he's about to kick him to keep him down a little longer as his tag partner is manhandled by the much larger Jack Swagger in the ring. "I'm _fine._ Stop trying to protect me."

"You sure?" he mumbles out of the corner of his mouth as he makes a show out of furthering the abuse, the audience in the front row jeering just over their heads as they stand up to see over the black barricade wall.

Alex nods, brushing some sweat out of his eyes as he lunges up and takes control, taking Miz down until he can get back into the ring to help Rey- not that he really cares about the Mexican, but he has to continue the act and spending the rest of the match down on the floor wouldn't do any of them any good. The match continues on, both teams alternating on who's in control until Alex and Mike's fight spills outside once more. Adrenaline and the pure competition that usually bleeds through each wrestler every time they walk into that ring fuels both men as their punches grow a little more rougher, movements a little more fluid and agile. In the end, Alex is the last man standing as he slams Mike into the barricade wall, taking him out of the equation long enough to run in and help Rey finish Swagger.

Once he begins walking back up the ramp, a celebrating Mysterio by his side and cheering fans echoing around him, he hesitates only briefly, a shadow crossing his face. _Did I take it too far?_ Mike had only been looking out for him most of the match and his reward was being thrown into a wall viciously. Yes, their fights had been taken to that level in the past but it still doesn't stop him from feeling like crap afterwards.

After not seeing Mike for nearly half an hour, it seems the perfect time to approach him when the whole locker room is abuzz about Punk's shocking promo to end off the show, his back pressed against the cool tiles of the wall next to where Mike's sitting, digging around in his bag as the drama unfolds before them. "You ok?" he asks quietly, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches their fellow competitors alternating between gossiping, some with surprised looks remaining on their faces as they listen for any further news from those brave enough to venture out of the locker room.

"Course," Mike mumbles, not glancing up from his clothes. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just making sure, you hit kinda hard."

He pauses momentarily, glancing around at the crowd surrounding them before shaking his head. "I've had worse," he shrugs it off. "Don't worry about it. Just consider it practice for Money in the Bank..."

"Ok." Alex turns his attention back to the gossiping group before them and smirks mirthlessly. "That was some rant from Punk, huh?"

"Yeah, well, he was just saying what some of us think, I'm sure." He looks up briefly, his eyes glinting. "What would you say if I said I was going to do what Punk did for MitB? Two years in a row?"

Alex laughs, shrugs. "I guess you'd have to get through me first."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah."

Mike snorts slightly, replacing the things in his bag and straightens up. _He's been around me for too long._ "Whatever you say, then. Good luck with that, Alex." Determination to not lose against Alex again wars with respect for the competitor his former NXT rookie has grown into, will continue to become with some care.

His thoughts are derailed as a strained, abrupt hush takes over the locker room, all eyes on the outside hallway as CM Punk, finally freed from the meeting he had been forced into following the abrupt ending to Raw, storms past people and equipment alike, uncaring as he's all but escorted from the building, security not even able to touch him.

It isn't long before the news breaks that he's been suspended, a fresh wave of gossip and shocked whispers filling up the backstage area even as people prepare to leave for the next event. Alex glances over at Mike, an amused look in his eyes. "I love this business."

Chuckling, Miz nods. "Me too."


	52. chapter 52

After the tense way that Raw ended the week prior with CM Punk's rant and subsequent suspension, Miz is alternatively curious and anxious to see what the locker room is like. During one of these anxious moments, he stays in his rental car for a few extra moments, peering up at the arena as if he can grade the prevailing emotion from this distance, is still in this position when his phone goes off. He grimaces, absentmindedly pulling it out of his pocket.

**Text from: Alex**

You going in or just going to sit and stare at the building all night? ... Things alright?

Flushing slightly at being caught, he looks around, finds his former protege across the way and a few lanes down, leaning against the trunk of his own car and peering towards Miz's direction.

**Text from: Mike**

Yeah, sure. Just thinking. Go inside. Things are fine.

He leans over, taking his time collecting a couple of things scattered around his car, and is relieved that Alex is almost at the building when he straightens up. _Like us walking into the arena close together isn't suspicious enough,_ he thinks with a mirthless smile as he finally drags himself out of the car and reluctantly into the humid Nevada air. _Time to get this show on the road._

Alex, for whatever reason, is still lurking around the hallway, near a board that is used for match announcements and other notes for the show. When Mike nears it, he looks up and motions discreetly, a strange look in his eyes. Mike continues walking calmly, glancing over at the notations made in bright red marker. He barely resists reacting as he takes in _Miz vs Riley_ scrawled towards the top, closing his eyes only long enough to roll his eyes. _Of course._

As he finally walks into the locker room and takes in the wary silence and uncomfortable glances of his fellow competitors, he tosses his bag over to the nearest empty bench before joining it. For a day meant to be about freedom and independence, he doesn't feel either of those things at this moment.

He's wrestled Alex one-on-one before, of course, a few weeks ago, but despite there not being much time between the two bouts, this one feels different. For one, he's tasted defeat at Alex's hands before- in tag matches and of course, more importantly, the pay per view match- and he doesn't want to go through that again, no matter how he wants to keep the Anon GM off of their backs by keeping this act going. Losing for any reason doesn't sit well with him, makes him want to be better, change things... or sometimes on really low days, leaves him wondering if it's really that worth it, if he's good enough to even bother continuing.

So when he loses to Alex _this_ time, he snaps, his earlier words- which were just originally exaggerated ramblings designed to keep the Anon GM and anyone else from being suspicious- running through his head, everything from the past few weeks- the various attacks by Alex sending him into barricade walls and steels steps, across announcer tables and through the audience just to get away from the onslaught- reminding himself just how far _Alex_ has gone to prove to the Anon GM that this was not pretend... He stops even being aware of what he's doing, small flashes of reality breaking through the anger as he attacks Alex after the match, slamming him into the same weapons. Walls, tables, steps, it doesn't matter, his earlier speech echoing over and over in his mind as he repeatedly reminds Alex _"I made you!"_ each repetition growing louder and fiercer until finally he throws him over the announcer's table, into the office chairs on the other side.

His vision clearing abruptly, he flexes his fists and stares down at Alex, realizing just what he's done, how far he's taken it. "Oh God," he mumbles, not caring for the moment if the camera's on him or not as he peers between the table and chairs, watching as his former rookie struggles to move, trainers and referees pushing the frozen commentary team out of the way so they can assist him. Leaving Alex behind like that is one of the hardest things he's done in his career, close up there with handing over the WWE title upon losing it and having to make a decision between remaining friends with Morrison or making an impact after getting drafted to Raw in 2009, but like he's done for everything before and whatever may come after, he holds his head up high as he walks up the ramp and leaves without a backwards glance.

He doesn't wait around, changing his clothes and stuffing his wrestling gear into his bag before returning to his rental car. He only makes it a few blocks from the arena before realizing just how badly he's shaking, enough to rattle the steering wheel from side to side beneath his palms. Unsure how he's made it this far without getting pulled over for reckless driving due to his lack of focus, he pulls over to the side of the street and pulls the keys out, distantly registering when the engine clicks to a stop and silence prevails. Slamming the back of his head against the headrest, he looks out at the houses lining the street he's on and takes deep, shaky breaths. _What_ happened _back there?_

In order for the event to be telecast at its normal time around the nation- holiday or not, fireworks or not, networks still had timeslots to be filled- the show had started here, in Nevada, at 6 PM so it's still light by the time Miz regains control of himself enough to return to the hotel. Not wanting to be holed up in his room with his disgusted, conflicted thoughts, he heads for the roof. _Who knows,_ he thinks, settling down on the uneven surface, _maybe I'll get lucky and see some fireworks._

The sun is almost completely gone, dusk settling in firmly, when the roof door slides open behind Mike and he stiffens, unhappy at his peace getting disrupted. He refuses to turn around enough to see who, in case some fan should jump him, begging for an autograph, or a fellow wrestler start giving him grief, keeps his eyes straight ahead on the faint orange horizon as whoever it is approaches him. _Oh great._

"Can anyone join this party or is it just for former WWE champions?"

It takes a minute for his brain to catch up but when he does, he spins around and looks up, jaw sagging. "Alex?" he sputters, finally regaining control of his vocal cords. "What are you doing here?"

The younger man smiles slightly, settling down close to Mike with a shrug. "I tried texting you... then I tried calling you. When I got out of the trainer's office, you weren't in the locker room and your car was gone from the parking lot. I came here and saw your car, but I didn't want to risk everything by going to your room... so I thought maybe I'd try to see some fireworks. Go figure that you'd be here already."

"Great minds think alike," he mumbles, distracted. Mike can only see Alex's sillouette, his eyes reflecting the glow of nearby businesses and street lamps, so he can't tell what the damage is exactly. "Alex," he mumbles, his gaze falling to his hands. "I-"

"No, Mike. Don't- really, I'm fine. Some bruises and may be sore for a few days, but it's nothing serious. It's nothing that we haven't already done to each other the past few weeks, right?"

"I, I guess," he sighs. "I just... I dunno what happened. I was fine and then I just fell into this angry haze and it felt like I was doing things instinctively without any real thought behind them. When I could think again, you were down on the ground and I had no idea what all I just did."

Alex's smile falters a bit, dims completely as Mike looks over at him, searching for an answer even in the near-darkness. "I thought it felt a little different- more intense this go around, but..."

"All I could think about was how much I've lost since Cena took my title," he manages to spit out, his gaze turning distant, inward. "How much is beyond my control, thanks to the Anon GM. To the point where I look forward to _golf_ just to have a break from thinking about it all. I guess since you were nearby, I took some of it out on you. I'm sorry."

A-Ri's teeth gleam as he grins, shaking his head thoughtfully. "No need to apologize- some of the beatdowns I provided you with over the past few weeks was stress relief for me too. If this, today, kept you from completely exploding or whatever, then I'll give you a pass this go-around. Just don't make it a regular occurrence, ok?"

Mike smirks, nudging Alex slightly. _Well, I had 50/50 luck with my NXT rookies... but yeah, this was totally worth taking a chance on signing up for it again after that horrible season one._ They're still sitting in comfortable silence a few minutes later when the first loud _bang_ of fireworks echo up through the streets, bright gold and red blasts of light, followed by green and blue, spreading through out the night's sky, calling everyone's attention to that spot.

As the last of the fireworks rampage across the dark sky, the finale drifting away into almost eerie silence, Mike's thoughts turn to Morrison, across the sea in China and unable to celebrate their nation's birthday in a way he's accustomed to. It's the price one pays as a WWE superstar, trips at inopportune times, they've all done it time and time again- but he still feels a bit bad for the man.

Alex seems in no hurry to move, content to stay on the roof next to him as the residential houses around them light off more fireworks- probably completely illegal, but using the one night of the year that police will more likely than not turn a blind eye to the shenanigans as long as it doesn't get too out of hand to their advantages. "So when is Morrison returning to LA?" he breaks the easy silence a few minutes later, not even blinking an eye when Mike jerks and looks over at him, eyes wide in surprise as he wonders if Alex _has_ mastered the ability to read his mind.

"Tomorrow, at some point. Why?"

"I think I have an idea," he says with a smile.

After the flight from China back to LA, John Morrison is exhausted and only really wants to drop his bag somewhere and sleep for a week. But these plans are wiped from his mind almost the instance he heads towards the taxi zone, skidding to a stop as he almost runs into a man waiting patiently against the sign near the exit, smirking gleefully as their eyes lock. "You have got to be friggin kidding me," he mumbles, wondering if his jetlag has caused hallucinations.

"Hello to you too, John," Mike says sarcastically, straightening up from the sign. "How was your flight?"

"Long."

For a moment, Miz looks empathetic but it passes as he shrugs, taking John's bag from him. "Follow me."

"What the hell? Where are we going?" he asks, turning back towards the airport. "Melina-"

"Don't worry about her, a taxi's waiting already to take her to the apartment," he comments, pushing John away from the line of yellow cars. "You've been attached at the hip for the past couple weeks, I'm sure you wouldn't mind a skittles break."

John rolls his eyes, wondering when exactly he's forgotten Miz's more impulsive moments and plans- like this one. "Will you at least give me a hint what we're doing?"

He shrugs, his lips curving slightly. "Fine, I don't see the harm in that, I suppose. What's the date?"

"July 5th... I think. Right?" Morrison looks over at an American flag fluttering from outside the airport, cluing in to what Mike might have planned. "Oh." He leans against the side of Mike's car as he drops John's bag into the trunk, his red rimmed eyes tracking his every move. "I'm exhausted, man. I won't be good company- I'll probably fall asleep on you before we even get out of the parking lot."

"Please, we've all been there," he says dismissively, pulling his car door open and waiting for Morrison to follow suit on the other side. "Get in. It's a bit of a drive anyway, I'll wake you up when we get there." He still hesitates, grip slack against the handle as Mike watches him. "Get _in,_ " he repeats a little more forcibly.

"Pushy," he mumbles before slumping into the seat. The soft drone of the engine along with the faint whisper of the radio eases across him as he marvels at not being in an airplane any longer, the vast differences of LA from China. His earlier warning is proved true as his thoughts drift, mesh together and fade away completely, the man falling fast asleep before they're even half of the way out of the parking lot.

He's not sure how much time has passed, groggy and disoriented as something shakes him awake. Squinting against the bright sunlight, he sits up and peers out of the car window, confused. "What...?"

"'Morning, sleepy head," Mike greets him with an amused smile as his head whips around.

"It's morning?" he asks groggily, slumping back against the seat.

"No, it's barely 8 PM. Remember, I picked you up from the airport?" he prompts, watching as awareness returns, flickers across John's face.

"Oh, yeah." He scrubs at his face before returning to peering out the car window. "Where are we?"

"The beach. Well, a cove."

"And what are we doing here?"

Mike's grin turns boastful, almost childish with giddiness as he gets out of the car and leans over to peer in at a reluctant, confused John. "Get out and let's see."

Despite the gorgeous weather, the beach is all but abandoned, their footsteps the only out of the way sound distracting from the waves cresting against the soft sand at their feet. "Oh," Mike says, coming to a stop. "I almost forgot." He thrusts a plastic bag at John and smirks as his former tag partner just barely grabs it with both hands in time to stop it from dropping to the ground. "There you go. Come join us when you're done."

John watches on in surprise as Mike brushes past him with no further explanation. "What the-... Mike!" He rolls his eyes when he's ignored, running a hand through his hair as he drops the bag on the ground, exasperated. "I'm too tired for this crap." He plops onto the warm sand, breathing in the ocean and warmth until his curiosity overwhelms him. Sighing, he pulls the bag closer and digs into it. "You have got to be kidding me," he mumbles.

A few minutes later, he watches as Mike nudges Alex, the younger man turning from the portable grill to peer at him briefly. He rolls his eyes, dropping his bag of airport wear at their feet before tapping a toe against them, eyebrow raised as he takes their gazes full of amused pride in. "And how long have you two been planning this?"

"Uh, what, Alex? Twenty four hours?"

"Something like that," Riley nods, poking at the meat sizzling over the flickering flame with a large pronged fork.

"You have got to be kidding me," John repeats while rolling his eyes, kicking the bag of clothes over to some chairs set up a few feet away. Picking at the loose shirt now covering his upper body, he struggles not to smile too as the slowly cooling air brushes against his bare skin, the shorts and sandals also a nice change after the hours he's just spent in the same clothes holed up on that airplane.

"And that's not all, either," Miz comments after a few moments. "Show him, A-Ri."

Abandoning the food briefly, he obediently drags a box out from behind the chairs and plops it down at Morrison's feet, scattering sand along his toes as if to prove just how heavy the cargo inside is. He looks almost giddy as he tears the flaps open, revealing many different kinds of fireworks- all of which, for the most part, are illegal in the state of California.

"Where the hell did you get those?" John mumbles, half-impressed, half-dreading prison.

"I know people," Alex and Mike say at the same time.

"Now I know how people felt when we did that," he comments, rolling his eyes. "But aren't these completely illegal?"

"What, did you think we were going to just stop at fountains and sparklers? I thought you knew me better than that, John," Mike says with a sneering kind of grin. "Besides, no one's around, no one's going to _be_ around, and I figure since you didn't get to see any fireworks yesterday, this can kind of make up for that."

All of John's protests die away as he absorbs this moment, the hopeful look on both Mike and Alex's faces, the warmth of the sun on his shoulders and the sand under his toes, the smell of meat permeating the air and the promise of the explosives at his feet. "Oh, fine," he sighs. "What do we do first?"

"Eat!" Alex exclaims, turning his attention back to the steaks and corn on the cob just in time.

"Just think of it as partially a welcome back to America party," Mike suggests as he digs around in the cooler for potato salad and dip for the potato chips that John can see on a small table not far away. "And perhaps since we're all so busy, it'll count as a celebration for your return to the ring too... it can't be long now, right?"

Swallowing heavily, John forces himself to nod at this. "Yeah, can't be long now." He flexes the fingers of his right hand slightly and hides the tremble that follows the motion as he takes a beer with his other hand.


	53. chapter 53

Hours after the impromptu fireworks at the cove, Mike, Alex and John return to Mike's house, all three too exhausted to go much further. With mumbled good nights, the three men split up- Mike to his room, and John and Alex to the individual guest rooms. Sleepily relieved that he has a house large enough for extra bedrooms, he sinks down into his own sheets with a content sigh. Though he smells like sea, smoke and cloying sulfur from the fireworks, he's too weighed down by exhaustion to even consider heading for the shower. With a shrug, he buries himself further into the comforting warmth of his bed where he hovers for awhile on the edge of sleep, listening distantly to his house settling and cars driving past outside. Now and again, off in the distance, neighbors set off leftover fireworks and he smirks tiredly, remembering how it looked with the fireworks sparkling off of the ocean, Alex and John watching on in as much awe as him.

His mind is quieting, sounds fading around him, his body's need for sleep overwhelming him when awareness returns like a slap to the face. He jerks up briefly, gazing around his room wildly before he accepts that nothing is off within. Confused as to why he awoke in such a manner, he lays back down and focuses, listening for anything out of the ordinary. It takes a few moments but finally he hears it- muffled footsteps in the hallway, heading away from his room.

Unable to sleep now, he's out of his room within seconds, tracking the shadowy form to the living room. As the person settles in on the chair in front of the TV, slumping forward with a tired, strained sigh, Mike hovers in the doorway, uncertain what to do next. Annoyed by his own indecisiveness, he takes a hesitant step forward. "John?"

His former tag partner jerks, the look on his face almost comical even in the faint, green glow coming from the clock under the TV. "Mike?"

"What are you doing out here? I thought with your jetlag and all, you'd be out till next week," he half-jokes, finally walking the rest of the way into the room and settling down on a chair close to Morrison. For some reason he feels like he's dealing with a caged animal as John glances around the room, his eyes finally settling on his hands as they twist in his lap- an unusual nervous showing from the generally calm and collected man.

He ignores the question, licks his lips slightly. "Did I wake you up? I stumbled into a door on my way out here..."

Waving it off, Mike dismisses it with a shake of his head. "No big deal. But, seriously. Can't sleep?" Unwilling to let John off the hook so easily, he watches as he shifts, takes a deep breath and looks away. Despite still growing reaccustomed to Morrison's body language after so long of distancing himself from the man, it'd take a blind person with no social skills at all to realize something is off, had been off since... since Miz had mentioned him returning to the ring during the BBQ. A sick kind of foreboding leaving him near breathless with dread, he leans forward. "Talk to me, John."

"I didn't want to tell you while we were at the cove," he all but whispers, the house so quiet in the late hour and Miz's focus so tuned onto John that he still catches every word. "Ruin what... what you tried to do there. But..." He looks back over at Mike, his dark eyes gleaming. He holds his hand out and it takes Mike a minute to realize what, exactly, he's doing.

_"Strength tests, huh? What are their purpose?"_

_"What does it sound like? It tests the strength in my hand post-surgery."_

_Mike doesn't even need to look at John's face to know he's rolling his eyes, flushing slightly. "Oh, shut up. I meant does this mean if you get good results, will you be cleared to return?" He's not sure how he feels about this- with Truth circling the rails more and more each week, Morrison's return could lead to another, even worse confrontation between the two, and if Morrison should return too soon..._

_"Maybe," he comments, ignoring the edge to Mike's words. He smirks, lifting a hand towards Mike. "Go on," he says blandly when the other man pauses uncertainly. Shrugging, Miz takes it, applying only slight pressure as John doesn't even move from his sitting position, still managing to twist his arm just enough to send fiery pain shooting up into his shoulder._

_"Damn!" he grumbles, releasing him quickly. "Fine, fine, you're recovered. Geez."_

His mouth suddenly dry, he reaches forward and, mimicking the memory movement by movement, clasps John's hand, watching closely as he tries and fails at repeating what he had done only a month prior, the only obvious sensation creeping up Mike's skin being how hard John's right arm starts shaking at the attempt. "Stop," he whispers, recoiling like he's been burnt. "God, John. What happened?"

"When Truth attacked me..." he breathes, "threw that trunk into me, I... My hand and arm was kind of numb that night and the next day, and I went to my rehab specialist before the Singapore tour." He barrels on as Mike gapes, speechless that it's been going on that long without him knowing. He looks up, steeling his jaw against the numerous emotions scratching at the surface as he peers at the former world champion. "They examined everything- my neck, the incision, my arm, everything and anything that could be the cause. It doesn't require further surgery- that's the good thing."

"And the bad?" Mike croaks, not even recognizing his own voice around the furious buzzing in his ears.

"More rehab, more time off," he explains. "Two months, or more."

"Why the _hell_ didn't you tell me?" he hisses, his eyes flashing angrily as he leans forward. John flinches slightly as Mike slams his fists heavily against the arms of his chair, boxing him in effectively. "Dammit, John, you stubborn, selfish _idiot,_ I _told_ you returning that night was a bad idea, but no, you snuck around then and you're still sneaking around now. What, were you not going to tell me and just think I'd forget about it for TWO PLUS MONTHS?"

"I was going to tell you-" he mumbles, eyes downcast as Mike stands up.

"Somehow, I don't believe that," he retorts in a quieter fashion, remembering with a guilty jolt that Alex is also in the house, attempting to sleep. "Dammit." Too pissed to remain in the same room as John, he marches off into the kitchen and leans against the table for a moment, trying to calm down.

Only a few minutes pass- not nearly enough time for his raging temper to abate- when Morrison pads quietly into the room. "Tell me where you put my bags and I'll be out of here."

The chuckle that bursts from his lips is shaky and a little hysterical as he slaps a hand against the hard wood surface of the chair nearest, not even caring as it echoes through the room like a gunshot. "Oh yeah? Back to the apartment? How are you going to get there, walk? At 2 AM? In LA? You're stupider than I thought."

"I'll call a taxi," he says stiffly, wisely keeping his distance from Mike. "Where are my bags?"

"They're where they are staying until morning," he bites out furiously. "Now that you've unloaded on me finally, I'm sure you can make your way back to the guest room and sleep peacefully." His voice fades, anger slipping from between his fingers as he glares over at John, taking in his worn out, jet lagged appearance.

"Mike-"

"John, dammit, just go get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning... or something..." He huffs vaguely before pushing past John and heading resolutely up the hallway to his own room, certain that sleep will elude him but knowing that if he stays in the same room as Morrison for much longer, he might do something even more damaging than what Truth had done up to this point.

The next morning, Mike wakes up to find John and Alex still out, his house quiet and stifling with heat as early July presses down on California. He takes it in for a moment, remembering Ohio and how cold it used to be, even mid-summer warmth not enough to touch the chill remaining within him from the winter months. _Of course now that I do live in LA, I choose a career that takes me through all the northern states during the coldest parts of the year anyway,_ he thinks with a mirthless smirk as he heads over to the AC controls, not wanting to leave his house guests uncomfortable as they sleep on. He pauses after turning the temperature down a bit, listening to the machine clicking on in response, and reflects on what John had told him the night before, how badly he had reacted. "Crap," he mumbles, sinking down into the same chair he had been sitting in the night before.

During the start of their first run as a tag team, Morrison had not been overly forthcoming, only admitting things when they needed to be told, private to the point of rigidity. To some it had seemed like aloofness, but, as much as it annoyed him sometimes, a part of Mike had understood the motivation behind keeping things close to the vest like that- with the cutthroat business they're in, it's almost a survival technique. Over time he had relaxed around Mike, just for his slow-grown trust and familiarity to be thrown back into his face with the results of the 2009 draft. He slinks forward, scrubbing at his still grit-tired eyes, huffing in aggravation. _It always goes back to that damn draft..._ He had betrayed Morrison in a moment of self-preservation and, despite not regretting where exactly they've ended up, he can't help but wonder how things would have been if he had just handled that one split second even a tiny bit differently.

His thoughts derailed by footsteps, he looks up to find John padding through the hallway connecting the kitchen to the living room, looking sleep dazed and a little off-balanced as he settles in at the kitchen table, cringing against the sound of the chair legs scraping against the tile as it slides back with his weight.

"Smooth," Mike comments quietly, taking a deep breath as John mumbles tiredly, his words fading into nothingness before he can comprehend them. Taking a deep breath, he stands and joins Morrison at the table, trailing circles in the surface of the wood with a fingertip, not yet brave enough to look into John's eyes. "Sleep alright?"

"Uh huh," he sighs, his eyes still open only slits. They sit in awkward silence for a few moments as Morrison rubs the matter out of his eyes, blinking every so often while the warm blanket of sleep fades away, leaving him more and more aware with each passing second. "You mad at me?"

Mike doesn't respond for a long moment, his eyes remaining locked on the invisible path he's marking with his finger along the rich cherry wood between them. Even so, he can't help but notice out of the corner of his eye as John looks away, slumping slightly at the lack of an answer. "Not really," he finally muses, lips twitching as John glances at him, surprised. "Last night, I was pissed, yeah... but..." He sits back against the high back of the chairs, shaking his head at himself for doing this- for giving John an out. "Me knowing wouldn't have done any good while you were in Singapore, I suppose. Just... don't do anything else stupid to hinder your recovery. Next time, you might not be lucky enough to avoid surgery."

John nods, lips twitching. "Yessir, Miz, sir," he says, and despite the sarcasm, his eyes reflect sincerity so Miz lets it go.

"I had the weirdest dream," Alex mumbles awhile later as he joins the two men, his hair doing the opposite of Miz's without hair gel and sticking up even more than usual. "We were in Australia on tour and... hmph," he sighs, slumping down in a chair next to Mike's. "It felt so real," he proceeds, pillowing his head with his arms as he struggles and fails to wake up, his body slumping against the edge of the table as he dozes back off.

"Are there squirrels in Australia?" John and Mike exchange amused glances, both relieved that the awkward tension is gone.

That Monday, Miz picks at his wrist tape as he waits for a moment to come out and tell the audience his agenda for MitB- though by now, it has to be obvious, even to these Bostonian people. Money in the Bank had snuck up on him, smacking him upside the head as he reflects where he had been a year ago- alone, with only the US title to cling to as a sign of his accomplishments.

Admittedly, the Anon GM had been a pain for the last year, but without him and his meddling, Morrison and he wouldn't have even come close to ironing out their issues and he might not have felt the need to go into NXT season 2 to get paired up with Alex. _Even the biggest waste of spaces can have_ some _purposes,_ he thinks as he finally makes his way to the ring, barely finishing a sentence when, starting with Jack Swagger, his opponents this Sunday comes trickling out one by one, interrupting each other in a ridiculous chain that somehow only happens in WWE.

Of course, a six man tag match follows, the Anon GM's sounder making Miz's twitch. _This is what I get for thinking almost fondly of him, huh?_ he thinks, struggling to concentrate on the tag match playing out before him even though he knows Sunday should be his focus and an injury now would be a very bad thing. Once A-Ri beats Swagger, _serves him right for interrupting me,_ Mike sees another split second opportunity.

 _It's not the same, It's an act, he knows this,_ he thinks repetitively as he rushes in and hits a quick Skull Crushing Finale on his former protege just to get a brief glance of Kofi Kingston lunging for him before he goes flying over the top rope and out of the ring, crashing teeth-rattling hard. It only dazes him, however, for a moment so he's aware when Alberto Del Rio runs down and starts using a ladder to take them all out. He has no problems staying where he's at on the outside, watching as various wrestlers get taken out by the intense Mexican... until he witnesses Alex get slammed out of the ring, too.

It's instinct as he lunges up, remembering how it felt watching Morrison trying and failing to even squeeze his hand the week prior, the flash of fear he felt those couple of weeks when words like _tendon tears_ were thrown around and nobody seemed to know what was going to happen. He thinks later that his brain ceases to function for awhile as he takes one shot with the ladder before it's thrown at him like a dart, ramming into his midsection with an intensity that lays him down on the ramp. He clutches his arm close to his ribs as pain throbs through his mid-section, each breath shallow and agonizing.

The six men all end up hanging around the trainer's office later, Truth going on and on about some conspiracy crap and asking if there were spiders in the room as the trainer struggles to examine him. Mike leans against the wall, still holding tightly to his ribs as he tries to ignore the yammering man across the room. He doesn't even need to open his eyes to know when Alex ends up close to him, automatically turning his head towards him with no prompting.

"You ok?" he asks after checking to make sure that everyone else is distracted by Truth's loud ranting.

"Nothing I haven't had before," he mumbles, squinting one eye open enough to look around. "I'll be fine."

After almost a half an hour- most of which is spent with Truth freaking out until finally the trainer, relieved beyond words, declares him fine and urges him out of the room- only Evan remains as Mike is released with orders to take it easy and go to the ER if things get worse, a couple tender ribs and bruising on his arm the most of his problems. Despite it all, even taking a step hurts and he huffs as he returns to the locker room to find Alex waiting for him. He can hear Punk's voice vaguely even from here with the door shut so he can imagine everyone crowded around different monitors in the hallways, stuck on his every word and Vince McMahon's response. _If I didn't hurt so much, I'd be out there too_ , he thinks bitterly, his soreness overriding his curiosity.

Alex watches his stiff, awkward movements, his balance off as he struggles to brace his ribs with his good arm, sorting through his clothes for a few moments before leaning forward. "Need some help?" he offers quietly, reaching out for Mike's bag once he's done. He waits patiently as the proud man struggles with his limitations, finally nodding wearily. Alex snags the bag and stands, smiling slightly. "I'll take it out to the parking lot, everyone's distracted so no one will care but just in case..."

"Ok. I'll be out in a couple minutes." Mike watches, his eyes downcast, as Alex shuffles out of the room, Mike's stuff in one hand and his own in the other. He winces as he moves wrong, struggling to pull on some clothes so he can just go to to the hotel already and get some sleep. It seems to take forever, each movement aggravating his ribs further, the marks the ladder had left on his skin still visible despite nearly an hour having passed, but finally he succeeds, releasing a relieved breath.

After taking a few moments to catch his breath, he struggles to his feet. _Good thing I don't have to carry my bag,_ he thinks as he carefully makes his way through the hallway, amazed at the silence following Punk's latest rampage. _Guess I'll look that up on Youtube later or something,_ he thinks as he pushes his way through the exit doors.

When he arrives at his rental car, Alex holds a hand out, eyes glinting stubbornly as Mike looks up at him uncertainly. "Keys."

"Wait, what? I can drive myself, Alex."

"Sure you can, seeing how you've not moved your hand from around your waist in the last hour. Now come on, keys."

"But-"

"No buts, if you're worried about someone seeing us, well... I guess you can ride in the trunk."

"What about your rental? WWE management won't like it if you just leave it here," he grumbles faintly, rolling his eyes at _that_ thought.

"I came here with Evan, I'm sure even he can handle getting himself to the hotel safely. Now, come on, Mike. Stop stalling."

"You're worse than Morrison sometimes," he mumbles, handing over the keys reluctantly.

"That hurts, man."


	54. Policy of Truth

_I hadn't been General Manager of Raw for very long when the July 2010 pay per view, Money In the Bank, happened. As I watched Mike "The Miz" Mizanin win the briefcase and celebrate, my disdain for the man grew until I couldn't sleep, eat or even breathe without reflecting on that moment. The embarrassment of having him as a contender for the title- not to mention champion, when he finally cashed in that briefcase- weighed down on me from moment one, and despite my best manipulations, he somehow outplayed me. But I'm far from done, even though he's not champion any longer. He'll regret ever crossing me._

After losing the title, it's hard for Mike to even think about where to go from there. He's held it for months, even retained it at Wrestlemania, just to lose it against Cena not even a week after surviving the draft. As he enters the arena, he glowers down at his empty hands and tries to ignore how alone he is. He hasn't seen Alex Riley since the supplemental draft, since his being drafted to Smackdown. It just adds to his bad mood.

He pauses outside of the WWE champion's locker room and narrows his eyes, glaring at the name plaque. Instead of reading _The Miz,_ it clearly screams out _John Cena_ , the mocking gold letters gleaming in the overhead lights. It takes all of his inner strength and stubbornness to keep his chin up and continue walking on to the regular locker room where non-champions congregrate to handle pre-match and post-match business. He comes to a sudden stop as the first thing he sees is John Morrison staring at him, something like sympathy in his dark gaze. Annoyance and shame washing over him like waves, he slams the rest of the way into the room and drops his bag unceremoniously as far away from John as he can get in the small room.

John Morrison had sacrificed more than anyone- even, perhaps, Miz himself- to help him to win the title, going above and beyond what the Anon GM had deemed neccessary for Miz to win the title. There was a chance that, had Morrison not gone through with the GM's orders, he would've been fired anyway, but none the less he had stayed with Miz, despite their turbulent history and the ever present tension between them, pulled strings and fought with all he had just to win and keep the tag titles so that Miz could cash in the briefcase and win the WWE title. So tonight, to walk into the locker room and face him without the title where it belonged, felt like a belittlement of all that they both had gone through just to secure the WWE title, not to mention the road to something resembling forgiveness they had both ended up taking thanks to the GM's order ten months ago.

Miz is quietly untangling his wrestling boots' laces when he hears footsteps coming his way. He ignores it as their owner comes to a stop next to him, a huffy sigh released before he drops down on the bench, not minding at all as Miz looks over at him with a glower, rolling his eyes.

"Nice to see you too, Mike," John says with a bemused smile before sobering. "You alright?"

"I'm frickin fantastic, can't you tell?" he mumbles, trying to ignore his other opponent from the night before. But Morrison isn't just stubborn in the ring; he remains nonplussed by Miz's temper, settling back against the lockers with a soft sigh as he stretches his arms over his head.

"Where's A-Ri at?"

"Good question," he grouses, finally succeeding at getting his laces loose. "Haven't seen him since the supplemental draft last week."

"Aren't the Smackdown guys here for Rock's birthday? That's kind of weird," Morrison hmms, staring thoughtfully ahead.

"What are you getting at?" As Morrison shrugs, Miz rolls his eyes. "Then don't start with the conspiracy theory cra-"

"Excuse me," one of the random tech people that neither of them had ever talked to, barely had seen around in the backstage, breaks into their conversation, a sheepish look on his face as he stands before them. "Miz?"

"What?" the former WWE champion snaps, already dreading whatever's about to be said.

"I was instructed to give this to you," he says, handing over an envelope with Miz's name typed on it in large letters. With a quick glance over at Morrison, the tech quickly leaves to go back to work.

"Gee, I wonder who this could be from," he says dryly, holding the envelope up to the lighting. Unable to see much of its contents, he sighs and, digging underneath the weak glue, pries it open with his thumb. Morrison watches quietly as he pulls the paper out and reads it. Almost immediately his skin goes sickly pale, the letter drifting out of slack fingers.

"Mike? What's wrong?" John quickly grabs the offending page when his former tag partner doesn't answer right away, his jaw slack and eyes unfocused.

_Mr. Mizanin,_

_This correspondence is to notify you that I have been retained by the Raw General Manager, who wishes to remain anonymous. After reading through Alex Riley's personal contract, it has been declared null and void due to the fact that a new contract has been drawn up declaring him a Smackdown superstar. He thus cannot be on both Raw and Smackdown full time as the WWE's contract does not allow for-_

Uninterested in the rest of the jargon, Morrison too drops the paper and turns to Miz. "Mike-"

"That- damn- GM," he chokes out, slamming his fist on the bench. "Dammit!"

"It's ok, Mike," John tries to calm him down. "We'll figure this out. You'll see."

For some reason, Mike finds he believes him.

 _I had a plan from the start- nearly the moment Miz won Money in the Bank. He couldn't be world champion, it just wouldn't be good for business. I could see ratings fall, revenue drop, everything. Armageddon for WWE and WWE alone. So I set some of the most ridiculous challenges before him- setting it up so he was forced to tag team with one of the men he'd hated the most for well over a year, something that at the time I thought for sure would spell the end of his title aspirations, be it by his own hand or Morrison's. Unfortunately, I overestimated Morrison's hatred. The idiot toughed it out, actually_ helped _Miz win the tag belts- not once but_ twice- _and opened the doorway for him to defeat Randy Orton for the WWE title. I hate being wrong about people._

But it isn't the end of it for that night. Far from it. Truth, who's had problems with Morrison since he beat him and took his #1 contendership from him, attacks him viciously that night before their match and leaves John writhing in pain at the top of the ramp, already complaining about numbness and barely able to stand, the pain so bad.

Miz watches on from a monitor, anger boiling within him as he wonders what else could go wrong this night, when the Anon GM sounder goes off before the referees can even get John up to his feet completely. Dread swirls within the former WWE champion as he bites his lip, his fingernails biting crescents into his palm as he waits for Michael Cole to read the damn email already.

"... And I quote, the Raw General Manager says that..." Cole sucks in a deep breath of surprise and Miz closes his eyes, somehow sensing what's to come. "... Due to John Morrison becoming a liability to the company, he is FIRED!"

He doesn't remember the walk from the monitor to the gorilla position, doesn't remember all the gossiping, shocked people he passes on his way, or what he was thinking about, but he does remember turning the corner and seeing security already on scene, probably notified ahead of time, trying to unceremoniously escort a struggling, snarling Morrison to the exit. "HEY!" he yells, acting on impulsive instinct as he lunges forward, grabbing a nearby steel chair and going after the nearest guards. "Let him go, he's hurt, can't you jackasses _see_ that?"

It works, the four men releasing Morrison and scattering, unhappy looks on their faces as they all reach for their radios to call for more security to back them up. "Mike," John says breathlessly, still trying to rub the unrelentless pain from his neck and shoulder. "Don't- last thing we need is _you_ fired too."

As a security guard, still angry at being rushed with a weapon, grabs out for him again, Miz steps between them, his lips twisted into a viscious snarl. "STEP BACK!" he spits in the man's face, his eyes dark and stormy with angry intensity.

"Mike, please!" John finally yells, as more security arrive on scene. He forces through the pain and drops a hand on Miz's shoulder, wincing as he does so.

"What, John?" he demands, outnumbered eight to one. Even with the steel chair, those are horrible odds.

"They're doing their jobs, ok? Just... I'm going to go. Ok?"

Mike turns slightly so he can keep an eye on the security guards and Morrison both. "John-"

"We have no other alternative. The Anon GM has all the power; I have to go." Miz's face falls and John sighs painfully, both emotionally and physically. "Listen. Don't do anything stupid, alright? We can't fix anything if we're all gone," he whispers, staring intensely at his former tag partner. Mike nods slightly, his eyes fixed and watery as Morrison looks over at the security. "Fine, I'm going. At ease," he says mockingly, turning slowly towards the exit.

The original four immediately move to flock him but Mike grabs one of the nearest, dropping the chair to show he's not moving in to attack as everyone in the area tenses up. "You listen to me. I wasn't kidding, he's hurt. So don't you go and make it worse. Understand me?" The two men stare at each other for a moment before the security guard nods begrudgingly, nudging away one of his fellow guards to stand by Morrison's right side, careful not to touch him as they follow him to the exit to make sure he leaves.

Miz doesn't follow, his mind moving at a snail's pace as he tries desperately to rectify what all has happened this evening, the night before, everything. He presses his fist to his forehead and groans softly, trying and failing to keep his composure as life slowly returns to the hallway around him, the drama done as the last angry security guard drifts away to return to his job.

He's all alone, and titleless, on Raw, where the General Manager is too cowardly to show his face, hiding behind _Michael Cole_ of all people, and hates him on top of that.

_The Miz is beyond my understanding. I like to think of myself as an intelligent person but why, exactly, people like John Morrison and Alex Riley gravitate around him, helping him with almost all aspects of his career, evades me. Especially Morrison, who shows moments of intense promise. Even so, one doesn't need understanding to thoroughly isolate someone and completely crush their spirit. It just takes cunning and a bit of timing, maybe some luck._

**Three weeks later**

Things have moved at a dizzying pace after Morrison's firing- sometimes torturously slow, other times roller coaster fast. Trying to keep his composure grows harder, especially after Miz hears from John that he ends up needing neck surgery to correct a pinched nerve, which seems unbelievably cruel timing.

Despite his attempts to keep his head down, the Anon GM doesn't let up- the first week, he puts Miz in a match against Khali, who doesn't even come close to taking it easy on him, seeming to almost relish swatting away each of his attempts at offense like they're pathetic little flies before KOing him with one massive slam. The week after that, he's put in a match against Kane, who is well known for liking boiler rooms and demolishing opponents inch by painful inch. Still feeling the week before, he has no chance against the Big Red Machine, falling like a sack of potatoes after a round of carefully aimed punches and the dreaded chokeslam.

It's the week after that everything hits the fan, his body still hurting and mind not quite with it. The Anon GM puts him in a match with the ruthless Alberto Del Rio. He shakes his head, eyes dull and hopeless as Ricardo Rodriguez says something to ADR in Spanish, a mocking smirk on both of their faces. He tries to get the upper hand, hitting a few punches and clotheslines, but Alberto is on top of his game and quickly gains the advantage by moving away before Miz can do his running clothesline against the turnbuckle, his shoulder slamming into the post as he overshoots just a little. "Dammit," he wheezes, pain stabbing through his arm to join the rest of his aches.

Alberto, tired of waiting, drags him out of the corner and immediately locks in the arm submission that he's become well known for, wrenching back hard on the appendage and ignoring as Miz taps even as the referee tries desperately to pull him off, screaming in his face that the match is over, he's won, to let go already. Mike barely registers the loud, desperate sounds of pain he's making, unable to focus on anything but the intense pain he's in... until a flash of brown and blue just noticeable through his sweat-blurred, pain-faded vision breaks through, the pressure immediately disappearing from his arm. He collapses to the mat, panting through the throbbing ache, his body stiffening automatically as Alberto's boots come uncomfortably close to his face, the man stumbling away uncoordinatedly. He blinks and they're gone, ADR now glaring up at something standing over him as he hovers outside of the ring, Ricardo talking agitatedly to him, almost seeming to orbit the taller man while they both gesture excitedly into the ring.

He's about to piece together his remaining energy and turn over to look when a warm, calming hand rests on his shoulder, keeps him down. "Don't move," the familiar voice of John Morrison murmurs in his ear, just barely audible over the loud buzz of the confused crowd.

"John?" he croaks, still struggling to breathe normally, eyelashes fluttering wearily as he works to keep his eyes open. "What are you-?"

"Don't talk," Morrison rebukes him, squeezing his shoulder slightly. "Just catch your breath." They both freeze when the Anon GM's email sounder goes off, John immediately cursing so angrily that Miz chuckles slightly, his breath ghosting across the mat as they wait.

"If I may have your attention please," Cole says in his usual smug way. "I have received an email from the Anonymous General Manager." To a growing chorus of boos, he continues, "And I quote... John Morrison, I thought taking your job would stop you from disrespecting me and this fine business... but I see I was wrong. So you leave me with no choice." Cole pauses, his eyes flashing in the overhead light. "ARREST HIM."

The audience's buzz grows as police and security alike pour from the backstage area, marching down the ramp towards the ring. John moves away from Miz and stands, his face void of all emotions as his eyes flick back and forth from Mike to the group of men nearing them.

"John-" he says, blue eyes almost impossibly wide as he watches Morrison move away. Ignoring the pain still stabbing through his arm, he forces himself to roll over, managing a half sitting position by leaning on his good side.

"It's ok," he mutters, not budging as the police and security enter the ring, Miz pushing himself closer to the ring ropes to regain his footing. "I expected something like this."

"What? Well, I didn't!" the former world champion yells, his face twisting angrily as John barely blinks. "Dammit, John, what's going on?"

He turns to look over at Mike, his eyes soft and almost sympathetic as he takes in how carefully Miz is holding his right arm while he pushes himself away from the ring ropes. "I've been fired, Mike. Just standing in these ring ropes is trespassing. Laying a hand on ADR while not contracted to WWE, he could press charges for assault. Who knows what else the Anon GM will think of."

Mike pales, his eyes turning icy as he looks into John's much too calm face. "You bastard, you knew this could happen and still did it? What the hell, John? I thought you were smarter than this. Fresh off of surgery too! God, John!"

Before Morrison can say anything to defend or explain himself, the police and security surround them. "John Morrison, you're under arrest for trespass and assault," one of the policemen say, holding up a set of handcuffs. "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."

He's moving to pin his arms behind his back to handcuff him when John winces in pain, the incision from his recent neck surgery protesting the uncomfortable position. Miz immediately intercedes, forcing himself to stand straight despite his own discomfort as he nears the police officer and his former tag partner. "Hey, are those really needed?" he demands, eyes still icy and dangerous. "He just had neck surgery recently. You don't want to re-injure him, do you?"

The officer pauses, thinking hard as he looks over at the other man, taking in the look of pain on his pale face. His lips thin as he reluctantly drop John's wrists, moving instead to stand in front of him. "This is unorthodox but this one time..." he mumbles, waiting for Morrison to shake some feeling back into his arms before proceeding with reading him his rights, carefully handcuffing his hands in front of him instead.

Before they can fully leave, the Anon GM's sounder goes off _again_ , Miz pausing mid-way out of the ring as Cole calls out his name, almost sounding apologetic. His eyes track the police as they march Morrison out of the arena, his teeth worrying his bottom lip as the email's read out to him. "One last thing, Miz. If I find out you've attempted at all to help Morrison get out of prison, I'll take great pleasure in indefinitely suspending you. Now I don't think that's what Morrison would want, do you?"

He closes his eyes, hissing out angrily as yet another weight is piled onto his shoulders.

_The easy thing, at this point, maybe would've been to just get rid of Miz but after months of having to deal with him as champion, the so-called face of my brand, I was having much too much fun making his life a living hell week in and week out. Besides, it means so much paperwork._

Alex, frozen on the edge of his uncomfortable hotel bed, watches numbly as Morrison's arrest and the horrified look on Miz's face are shown or talked about time and time again on Raw, as if they can't get enough of the two men's humiliation. He wonders briefly if the Anon GM ordered them to talk so incessantly about the arrest before combing his fingers through his short hair, making it stick up even more than usual. "Dammit, I have to do something," he mumbles, unable to get the images out of his mind.

He all but dives for the hotel phone, dialing quickly for the front desk.

"How may I-?"

"Yeah, this is room 293. I need to know what room Ted DiBiase Jr. is in," he says, ignoring the guilt he feels at interrupting the woman at the front desk mid-sentence.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm not allowed to give that information out-"

He pinches his nose in anger before taking a deep breath. "Listen, we're co-workers. Another guy we work with is in trouble, Ted is the only one who can help." When she doesn't say anything for a long moment, he tries again. "Ted would want to know. He'd probably give a generous tip if you would just do this one thing." It's a long shot, but the promise of money tends to win almost anyone over- he'd learnt that from his months with Miz, so he has to try it.

She hesitates for a moment longer and he thinks he's lost her but finally she huffs a deep breath and says lowly, "Give me a minute."

"Thank you," he sighs in relief.

Ten minutes later, after finally getting the number, reiterating the _generous tip_ offer (which he's feeling so relieved that the information is actually his that he's almost willing to give the girl his whole paycheck in case Ted doesn't go along with his plan), and thinking out a game plan just in case Ted needs convincing, he grabs his own hotel key card and heads for the elevator. Once on floor six, he takes a right and a left before another right. _Why is it the more expensive these hotels are the more maze-like they become?_ he wonders in exasperation, finally coming to a stop in front of room 629.

Abruptly uncertain, he leans closer to the door and listens, trying to decide if knocking would make sense- or if he'd be about to interrupt something, should he go ahead. Hearing absolutely nothing decipherable from the other rooms nearby, he shakes his head and quickly pounds on the door. _It's to help Mike,_ he reminds himself when the uncertainty returns to him and his hand drops back to his side.

It only takes a few moments- but somehow manages to feel like hours- before the door is finally wrenched open, Ted DiBiase standing before Alex with an unhappy glower twisting his lips. "What do you want?"

Alex swallows, holding his head high as he stares back at Ted. "I need your help." It's laughable to look back on, starting off the conversation this way with Ted, when he's a newbie to Smackdown- hell, still a newbie to the business- but there's no turning back now, even when Ted rolls his eyes and leans against the doorframe, his arms crossing over his chest. His mere stance screams derision. "More like, John Morrison needs your help. And Mike."

"Why the hell would _I_ help _them_?" he scoffs, eyebrows raising as he takes in the former NXT rookie.

He's already turning, about to slam the door shut in Alex's face, when he slaps a hand against the door, keeping it open just long enough for him to spit out, "It's a way to get back at the Raw GM too!" This causes Ted to pause and Alex sucks in a deep breath, grasping his chance with both hands. "Don't you want to get back at him for overlooking you while you were on Raw?"

"You act as though Teddy Long is any better," he mumbles, staring warningly at Alex as he waits for the kid to explain himself.

"I can't help you with that, but if you want some revenge against the Raw GM, I think I have an idea," he manages, overcoming his tongue tied state long enough to explain his idea to the second generation wrestler.

_I hate Miz for how egotistical he is. How he thinks he's above everyone around him. Some may say I'm being hypocritical, that the power's gone to my head, and they might even be a little correct at times, but I just want to show this scourge to the company that he is merely a small part of the whole. It's been my main goal since I first took this job over a year ago, something I've been steadily working on for almost as long as I can remember._

He would ordinarily fly home after the long Mexican tour and events in Texas that had culminated in Morrison's arrest but the thought of being stuck in a plane, surrounded by a bunch of staring people, right now makes his skin crawl so he scraps his original plans to turn in the rental car on his way to airport, choosing instead of to risk the monstrous gas prices and drive back to LA, not minding the time it would take or long stretches of empty highway before him. His life is generally so busy, traveling from one place to the other, he doesn't usually have a lot of time to just think, which is normally ok but here- now- with Morrison in jail, Alex forced over onto the other brand, and Mike unable to do anything about either thing... Quiet time to just think and stew over it all, though usually not his cup of tea, is a welcomed change.

 _It's only been a few weeks after Alex and Miz first met on NXT, their mentor/protege relationship still tenuous at times, when Mike decides that the best way to break some of the remaining awkwardness is to travel together from California to an event in New Mexico. Strictly by car. Even with switching off on driving shifts, it's a lengthy, tiresome adventure and when Miz pulls off at a rest stop area in Arizona, Alex almost collapses with relief against the building. "Is this how it is all the time?" he wonders, lips twitching a little as he revels in being able to move his legs again._ And to think we're barely half way there, _he thinks, shaking his head in wonder._

_"Yeah, sometimes we get sick of planes so we drive. Either way, it's a bitch but you get more used to it with time," Mike responds, poking at the snack machine waiting patiently for him to make a decision. "Crap, all of the good stuff's been taken. Oh well." Turning his attention to the soda machine, he barely notices as Alex goes around looking at the various tourist-enticing fliers and maps around the walls._

_"Do you come here often?" he asks, sounding humored as he peers at the map curiously._

_Flushing, Mike shrugs._ Busted. _"Why do you ask?" he wonders, keeping his voice level as he picks at the label on his diet coke._

_Alex laughs slightly, pressing a finger to the corner of the map. "Unless I'm seeing things, this is your name right here."_

_Shuffling slowly across the tile, Mike joins him, peering at the awkwardly printed_ Miz _in faded blue ink, his somewhat childish signature with the tongue sticking out beneath it. "Yeah," he drawls, trying to seem unaffected by it being found so easily. "So? This thing will be priceless some day."_

_"Why here though?"_

_Rocking back on his heels, Mike looks around at the quiet, lifeless building. "This was the first rest stop I stopped at the first time I traveled by car to a WWE event, years back. It just felt right, I guess. So when I can, I stop by here just to reflect on where I've been and where I'm at, where I hope to go." Feeling disgustedly sappy, he steps away from the map and slaps Alex on the shoulder before turning to the exit. "Ready to go now?"_

_"Sure, man."_

Despite the months that's passed, the building remains the same- same aged exterior, empty interior. Even so, he breathes a sigh of relief when he enters, immediately wandering over to the map to press a finger on his old signature. _Some things change, while others remain the same,_ he thinks dully, almost wanting to pull the sheet of paper out and tear it into shreds. Destroy any of evidence of his presence from this rest area. Shaking his head at his morose thoughts, he drops his hand to his side and turns to look at the snack and soda machines. _One last twix bar,_ he thinks, a bit surprised. _Guess it'll do._

Candy bar in one hand and root beer in the other, he returns to the map and remembers dragging Alex here last year- a very transparent attempt at getting to know his rookie a little more, not wanting the same issues with Daniel Bryan to repeat themselves with Alex-, remembers stopping here briefly with Morrison years ago too. _Well, now we're both all but abandoned,_ he thinks, pressing his knuckles against the smooth wall next to the map. _I wish I could think of what the hell to do to fix things... but the Anon GM has me cornered..._ He barely reacts as a car door slams outside of the rest area, his lips thinning as his unhappy peace is broken, but he doesn't move even as the people enter the building.

He's still standing there when footsteps come up behind him and he shifts to the side, thinking whoever it is wants to look at the map, but they don't move again- until a hand rests carefully on his shoulder. His defenses automatically kicking in, he spins around, fist ready to impact with whoever it is when he registers the insistent _"Mike!_ " being yelled out from his side.

He immediately looks over, fist only inches away from the other man's face, focusing instead on a wide-eyed Alex Riley, his own face freezing as he stares blankly at him. "Alex?"

"Dammit, Mike, could you _try_ not to punch him after everything I've done just to get him here?" the former NXT rookie says in exasperation, hesitantly taking a step forward.

Remembering the reason he instinctively took a swing in the first place, he forces his gaze away from Alex and gapes instead at the man standing before him, his dark eyes somewhere between wariness and amusement even as he winces away from the fist still hovering inches away from his bearded face. "Holy sh... John?"

"Yeah, as fascinating as your knuckles are, mind getting them out of my face?" he cracks, gingerly resting a hand on Miz's, slowly lowering it.

"Good Lord, I'm sorry. I didn't know what to think," he mumbles, quickly dropping his hand to his side. "But, I mean... you... how?"

"Eloquent as always, Mike." After a mirthless smile, Morrison motions to Alex. "Thank your apprentice here. He figured out how to pay my bail without it being linked to you or himself."

At Miz's clueless glance, Alex smirks, spreading his arms out in a shrug. "Let's just say Ted DiBiase hates the Raw GM as much as we do, _and_ has plenty of spare money to play with."

Mike chuckles, rubbing his face tiredly. "Who would've guessed." He glances over at John, his gaze softening. "I'm glad you're out. Good work, Alex. But, seriously, how did you find me?"

"We've both been here with you," John points out after a moment. "We figured when we checked with the airlines and you hadn't taken a flight out that you were driving. Your rental's not hard to spot so... here we are."

"And this is how stalkers are born," Mike mumbles, smirking as Alex flushes.

" _Anyway._ I've been trying to think about what we can do about everything else," A-Ri hedges after a moment, reluctant to break the almost light mood but knowing that it needs to be said.

"About that." Morrison looks from man to man, his piercing gaze lit with determination. "I think I have an idea."

John's comment teases Miz and Alex as they decide first to leave the rest area and find a hotel, all three of them looking exhausted due to the unfortunate mix of driving and drama. It starts to feel more like a delicate spy mission instead of three wrestlers just getting a room as, to avoid any spying eyes- _who knows what that Raw GM is doing to keep an eye on us?-_ Mike goes first, booking the room in his name. Once he's in, he texts the room number to Alex, who relays the information to Morrison. "Five minutes," the former Vice President urges John before leaving the car and slipping in through the back exit, careful to avoid the front desk as he walks to the stairs casually.

John gives them three before boring of waiting in the stifling Arizona air. _Eh, that's good enough,_ he decides with a shrug, entering the building. He gets the elevator, smiling slightly at the frazzled looking mother and two children who move out of his way as he presses the button for floor 5. They exit first at floor three so he relaxes briefly against the back wall, his entire body anticipating the chance to relax in something _other_ than a car or jail cell. When the doors finally open, he sighs and walks down the hallway, watching for room 539. _Of course it's at the very end of the hall,_ he thinks with a grumble, knocking on the door once he finally reaches it.

Alex answers, glancing behind him quickly. "That wasn't five minutes," he teases slightly before moving aside.

"Yeah, well, I'm impatient," John responds, walking slowly into the room.

"You ok?" Mike asks, watching his careful movements from the couch, which is facing the door with the TV on the half-wall next to the doorframe.

"Yeah, just tired," he mumbles, not even wanting to walk all the way over to the beds. Collapsing next to Mike, he stretches out, his whole body releasing tension bit by bit as he rests his legs on the table in front of them. "What's all this?" he wonders, pointing at the papers scattered along Mike's lap, couch and table.

"Media event listings and other crap like that," he explains, lips twisting unhappily. "The Anon GM has really piled it on me lately. Usually I like these things but the timing is a bit curious, to say the least..." He leans forward, dumping the pile of papers on the table, before turning to face John. "So your big idea..."

The smile that transforms Morrison's tired gaze into a intensely mischevious stare is so startling that even Miz almost feels sorry for the GM. _He has no idea what he's gotten himself into._

Once finished explaining his brainstorm, the energy seems to drain out of him like water through a funnel and he falls quiet, staring blankly ahead at the TV screen. Alex hops onto one of the beds in front of them, flipping through TV channels in an attempt to find something to watch. Miz takes advantage of the quiet to look through more of his papers, shaking his head at the Anon GM's attempts at keeping him busy. _Unable to think of a way out of this mess..._

Alex gets up after awhile and heads for the door. "Gonna get a soda, you guys need anything?"

Mike thinks for a second before shaking his head. "I'm ok." Morrison blinks tiredly before shaking his head also. Dragging his gaze away from the exhausted looking man next to him, he returns his attention to the papers in his lap. He's barely focused on them for two minutes, however, when he's distracted by John, fast asleep, slowly slipping to the side. He watches, somehow captivated by the real-life slow motion movements as gravity finally brings him to a stop leaning completely against Mike, his head pressed against his shoulder. "No freakin' way!" Mike mouths, eyes wide as John sleeps blissfully on, not bothered by the change of position or his new pillow's annoyance.

His only option, of course, is one of the most difficult things possible as he inches his left hand into his jeans' right pocket, careful not to jostle the sleeping man- _Though he probably couldn't feel it anyway?-_ as he tugs his cell phone out and sighs in relief as he accesses his text message menu.

**Text to: Alex**

Get back here. Now. And be quiet.

He has to hand it to his protege in both speed and discretion, almost unaware that Alex has returned until the door clicks quietly behind him barely a minute later, his eyes widening as he takes in Mike and John's positions. His lips twitch, even as Mike shakes his head warningly at him, blue eyes boring into him threateningly. "What do you want me to do?" he whispers uncertainly as John sleeps on, oblivious to everything around him.

Mike's eyes flicker over, softening slightly as he thinks over the options. "Just... support him for a minute so I can stand up without startling him awake or something. Ok?" Alex nods, resting a hand on the side of John's neck, his upper arm pressing against the other man's shoulder as he braces him as well as he can. Seeing that Alex is as ready as is possible, he stands quickly, paying no mind as the papers scatter around the floor.

Holding his breath, Alex eases John down against the couch cushions while Mike lifts his legs so he's stretched out as comfortably as possible, considering. They both step back and exchange glances, amused and glad to see that he's slept all through their manouvers. "I would've been back sooner," Alex whispers as they step away from the couch so they can talk without worrying about waking him up, "but I found an arcade game room close to the soda machine so..."

Unsurprised, his mentor rolls his eyes goodnaturedly at Alex before his attention returns to the sleeping man. "I guess he's really out," Mike murmurs, some of his humor fading away as he thinks about what John's been through the past month.

Alex senses that he's far from ready for sleep just yet so he nudges his mentor. "Come on, let's find something to watch for a bit. He doesn't mind if we keep the volume up, does he?"

"Nah, he can pretty much sleep through anything," Mike comments, dropping onto the bed nearest the TV as Alex searches out the remote.

Once he finds it where it's fallen off to rest against the dresser between the two beds, Alex settles on the other bed and turns it on, flicking through the channels until stopping on one that looks like the only half way interesting thing on, some weak overly dramatic cop show. The scene depicted on the television doesn't raise any red flags with Alex until he hears a strangled, faint groan from his right. Looking over, he finds Mike staring at the screen, his eyes wide and frozen in horror. Muttering a quick curse, he realizes what the problem is and almost dives headfirst off of the bed in his haste to grab the remote, to take away the visuals that are taunting his former mentor. "Hey, hey, Mike, look at me," he orders as soon as the colors on the TV have faded into bleak darkness.

Mike's fists clench as he looks away, an almost imperceptible shudder rocking through his slumped shoulders.

" _Mike,_ " Alex tries again, softer this time. "John's fine. You know he's fine... Look, he's just a few feet away." Mike does glance over Alex's shoulder at the still sleeping man but the silence remains, increasing A-Ri's anxiety. "Please, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. Just say something? Yell at me, if you want," he attempts, unnverved by the unnatural silence coming from his usually abrasive friend. He too looks over at Morrison, shuddering slightly as he recounts the scene they had unknowningly stumbled upon- a man in jail getting shanked for who-knows-what reason. _I should've shut it off as soon as the scene changed to that jail,_ he thinks, hating himself briefly in that moment.

"It's fine," Mike finally speaks, his voice weak and uncharacteristically faint. After a moment, he tries again, his hands twisting around each other as he dreads the answer. "Did... he act odd when you got him? Anything seem off...?" His eyes bore into Alex, wide and a bit fearful as they both think of what jail can bring- what the Anon GM could've brought down on their fellow wrestler.

"No," Alex shakes his head quickly. "He seemed fine- a little tired, as you can tell, but he was making the usual kind of stupid jokes that made very little sense about two minutes into the drive out of there, so I'm pretty sure he's fine. I don't know him as well as you do, but everything seemed normal. He seemed ok while you've been with him... right?"

"Yeah," Mike nods, relieved at being able to respond that way. "Now, John's not the only one who needs sleep." He raises an eyebrow knowingly. "You look wiped out."

"You'll-"

"I'll be fine," Miz says in a tone brooking no argument. "Go. Sleep."

"Alright." Alex reluctantly toes out of his shoes and lays down, almost out sooner than Morrison had been. Mike sighs, looking back and forth between the two men, wondering how exactly he'll be able to keep them safe from their invisible enemy when he's not sure where the next attack will come from, or if their earlier plannings would even come close to being effective.

_There have been times when my plans, thoughts, determination to see Miz ruined have kept me awake for days. I've never been a fan of the path WWE has taken in the last few years- slowly, steadily ignoring pure athletes to rain praise and promise on "entertainers". Guys like him, who will do anything for attention. It makes me sick. Watching him slowly self-destruct is easing the disgust I've felt since the unfortunate turn the company has taken._

Barely an hour after dropping into bed, Mike is wide awake once more, his weary gaze locked on the ceiling overhead. He shifts a little, mindful of how the cheap hotel bed creaks in protest with each movement, not wanting to bother the two sleeping men. All three of them didn't need to be wide awake and miserable, after all.

Moving slowly, he pushes himself up (the bed only makes a couple vague noises before he successfully escapes it) and slips between his and Alex's bed, pausing briefly to peer down at the sleeping Smackdown competitor. Lips twitching after he finishes taking in how Alex's buried under the sheets, one hand gripping the edge of the bed like he's afraid he may float away, he quietly makes his way past the bed and over to the couch, where Morrison is stretched out.

His sleep is far from as peaceful as Alex's, his eyes fluttering every so often, his lips downturned even in rest. Miz wonders (not for the first time) if sleeping on the couch was a bad idea for him, so soon after the neck surgery. But there had been no helping it at the time, John being completely out when he and Alex worked together to stretch him out across its ugly, plaid surface, careful not to wake him with each movement. Shaking his head, Mike watches him for a few more minutes before dropping onto the floor, his back pressed against the edge of the couch, his head cushioned by the slight padding of the armrest.

He's not sure when it happens but somewhere between listening to the soft breathing, one directly behind him and the other off to the left, he dozes off himself, still propped up against the couch.

_It's laughable, the reports of Miz keeping his head down and going through event after event, trying not to get noticed. Like a break from his abrasive voice will keep me from attacking him. Ha. Even with Morrison gone and Riley on Smackdown, there's so many things I can do to break him._

He wakes up sluggishly, each sense slowly returning to him one at a time. Hearing is first, the faint sounds of a bustling city and people walking outside his door dragging him towards awareness no matter how hard he fights it. Taste is next, the faint cloying aftertaste of coconut water and vegetable lasagna that A-Ri had brought back for him the night before as he licks his lips, trying to relieve how dry they are, exasperated by the deep, hard sleep he's still fighting his way back from. Touch comes then as he realizes his arm has fallen over the side of the couch, resting against something bristly and _almost_ familiar. Experimentally he brushes his fingers through it, not knowing what exactly it is. He yawns slightly, accidentally shifting his fingers and freezing as whatever he's touching slowly moves beneath his fingers.

"What the hell?" Mike slurs sleepily, looking around in confusion. "What'm I doin'..." He stutters to a stop, registering the fingers in his hair and sits up straight, knocking Morrison's hand away. "John?"

Squinting against the faded sunlight brushing against his face as his eyes shoot open, he stares down at Mike, startled. "What are you doing down there?"

"Good question," he groans, shifting stiffly. "Were you playing with my hair?"

"I don't know, I was asleep," he defends weakly, frowning when Mike looks at him suspiciously. "What, I was, until you started talking!"

"Whatever." Mike shrugs, standing up slowly. He glances at the clock and, disbelieving what he's reading, checks his cell phone clock just to find the same answer awaiting him there too. "Well, damn. It's after 9 AM. We better get this show on the road."

Waking Alex is never easy, the younger man a heavy sleeper, a fact that makes Mike glad that he usually wakes up last between the two of them. Until mornings like this one, when they have things to do and not a lot of time. Miz ignores John's amused gaze as he crawls from the couch over to the bed, his hands up to protect his face as he peers over the edge. "SQUIRREL ARMAGEDDON!"

"WHAT?" Alex yells, sitting up immediately and throwing the pillow his arm had been wrapped around just moments earlier. In his half sleep state, he misses completely and Morrison ends up grabbing the incoming weapon before it smacks him in the face.

"Ok, he's lucky that was a false alarm because his aim _sucks,_ " he declares, dropping the pillow and resting his head on it.

Once Alex stops glaring at Mike and apologizing to John, they go over the next part of their plan. "I'll check out, you guys go out after me..." He glances from Alex to John curiously. "I guess we're all heading to LA?"

Alex nods. "Yeah, I think it'll be easier to make plans initially if we're all in the same place, other than us being on opposite sides of the country."

"Since it's the least suspicious option, he's going to be staying with me for a little bit," Morrison explains. "If the Anon GM or someone gets curious, we'll just say he had some questions about being on Smackdown full time and since I was on there not that long ago, and am friendly with Teddy Long, he came to me. It may not completely erase suspicions but most times, the easiest answer is the best."

Mike nods, seeing the wisdom behind this. "Alright. Time to go check out. I'll see you two in LA." He pauses at the door and looks back at his only two real friends in the business, both taken away from him by different means. _It won't last,_ he thinks determinedly. _It can't. I won't let it._ "Good luck."

"You too." John and Alex exchange a glance as the former world champion quietly leaves, shutting the door securely behind him.

_But as they say, everything comes to an end..._

_"We're going to have to be really careful with this, obviously. Who's the Raw GM screwed over the most?"_

He leans against the locker room door frame, thoughtfully gazing out at his passing collegues. Jack Swagger passes by after awhile and Mike hesitates just a second, about to stop him, when his nerve fails him. _Dammit,_ he thinks as the Oklahomian brushes past him into the locker room. Not a lot makes him nervous but this plan depends not only on the big picture but also on the minute details. One small thing goes wrong and they'll lose their chance.

Thankfully, Big Show goes by next and Miz relaxes, the presence of his former tag partner a welcoming thing. He clears his throat loudly, effectively stopping Big Show before he can get away. "Got a minute, Show?" They've only talked a time or two since the dissolution of "ShowMiz" but after the initial tension faded, Mike hadn't been scared to approach him for this or that over the last few months, including wrestling against Cena before his title defense.

The large man looks like he's about to refuse but takes one glance at Miz's grave face, lined with exhaustion, and shrugs. "Sure, what's going on?"

To his credit, he follows him all the way to the parking lot and listens to Miz's whole plan without interrupting once, his dark eyes glinting in the flickering street lights as he weighs everything the former world champion is laying out.

"So," Mike says, running out of things to explain. "What do you think?"

"I think you guys are crazy," he says with a grin. "But," he hastens to add when Mike starts to look pissed, "if anything can keep the Anon GM in line, it'd possibly be this."

"So you're in?"

"Yeah, I'm in."

Mike sags in relief, shaking his head. "Thank God. This makes things a _lot_ easier."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. People actually like _you_ , so they'll listen to you."

Show chuckles and claps Mike on the shoulder, almost knocking him over. "Heh. Yeah, let's get this show of yours on the road."

"No pun intended?"

"Don't make me change my mind."

_Nothing is meant to last forever..._

That Friday, Alex is still riding on a high from Mike's reported success when he arrives at his new, hopefully temporary, home on the blue brand. Changes weren't obvious yet but when they become so, the business won't be the same ever again. It's a frightening, exciting prospect and he can't believe that he's not even been in the business close to a year and already a part of this radical thing.

The good luck continues when he spots his target the minute he arrives at the arena, Ted DiBiase and Cody Rhodes both in the process of unloading their things from their rental car- well, Ted unloading, while Cody stands off to the side, arms crossed in disgust. "Where are those idiots at?" he's grumbling as Alex parks nearby and gets out of his car.

"Hey," he greets them uncertainly, a bit unnerved by Cody's piercing gaze that quickly drops down to the side, like it hurts his eyes to gaze at Alex's face for too long. He wonders if he should be offended before Ted turns to him, raising an eyebrow.

"What do you want now? More bail money?"

Alex coughs as Cody's eyes sharpen with intrigue, glancing from man to man. "Uh, no. I do want to talk to you...both... about something though."

"Make it quick. There are hideous faces to cover up," Cody orders. "That is, if those damn bagger idiots get here in time..." He gazes at Alex curiously, his lips twisting beneath the plastic mask supposedly designed to protect his features. "You could handle it, I suppose."

Alex sputters a moment before shaking his head. "I already have a match tonight."

The youngest Rhodes hmphs musingly. "Of course you do..."

"Anyway, I, uh, wanted to talk to you about Raw..."

_And there's always pride before the fall._

Miz tries not to look too pleased with himself when he arrives at Raw to find the place a tense, confused madhouse. "What's going on?" he asks calmly, glancing over at the costume designer as she struggles to maintain her professionalism and get some last minute sewing done as the noise escalates around them.

She jerks and looks up at him in surprise, her mouth gaping a bit. "It's insane," she whispers. "It's all rumors of course but there are reports that a bunch of guys put in their resignation over the last week. No warning or anything."

Mike stamps down the giddiness welling up inside, struggling to look merely curious. "Even though they're on contract? No kidding?"

Her wide eyes flickering back and forth, she nods, her messy blonde hair going all over with the movement. "Word is there may be more too. It's insane."

"That's one word for it," he nods solemnly, leaving then. As soon as he's out of her sight and no one else is around to witness it, his lips twitch up into a proud smirk. _I love when a plan comes together._ He takes to amusing himself by going from locker room to locker room and taking note of who's missing. Big Show is an obvious one, Jack Swagger the other. Drew McIntyre and Curt Hawkins are also gone... none of which surprise him, each of them being on his list of "possibilities" because it's no secret that they've all felt overlooked or screwed over by the Anon GM at one point or another. He is, however, surprised when he finds that New Nexus is also missing, the former NXT and FCW guys more than likely taking their leader's cue and leaving. The locker room is silent, pensive. Dolph Ziggler and Vickie Guerrero are the only ones talking, gazing furtively around as their intense discussion continues on.

His grin grows as he settles down to get ready for the event. _I bet the GM is having a fit,_ he thinks joyfully. The plan had been set up delicately- Miz couldn't quit or make it known that he, Morrison and A-Ri were the ones behind this. He'd have to be careful for the next few weeks until this thing hit a conclusion so as not to raise any further suspicion, take whatever the Anon GM would do in response and just go with it, but not too eagerly. He slaps his hands together, the smirk fading from his lips. _Bring it on._

The following week, word spreads and more people realize just _why_ their colleagues are gone, slowly following suit. This time, R Truth, Zack Ryder and Primo both, along with Dolph Ziggler are missing. Word trickles down that despite the Anon GM's best attempts at getting Smackdown guys to temporarily travel over to fill up the empty spaces on his roster, very few had taken the opportunity when only a few weeks ago, the same guys would've been chomping at the bit to be on the so-called "A" show.

It's impossible to keep the pleasure off of his tanned face as he makes his way down the hallways, taking in how empty, _quiet_ the arena seems with almost half of the Raw superstars gone. Those who remain keep their eyes downcast, their thoughts to themselves. No one has cued in to the cause yet, Big Show has kept his promise and his mouth shut.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing, Miz?"

He comes to an abrupt stop, his good mood failing as quickly as it came. "What do you mean, Cena?" he all but hisses, taking in the calm appearance of his arch-enemy. The man who stole his title weeks back.

"I know you're the cause of everyone leaving," he comments quietly, unfazed by Mike's anger. "It's no big mystery; your best friends get fired, arrested and moved to Smackdown, and not even two months later, people start going on their own? That's too much of a coincidence even for me. I am, however, surprised that the Anon GM hasn't done anything about you yet... if I could figure it out, he probably has too."

"He's probably a little too busy with the freaking out board of directors," Mike shrugs, not bothering to deny his involvement. _It's not like I'm ashamed of it,_ he thinks with a little thrill of pride. "You know, Cena, if you loved this business as much as you say you do, you'd stand up for what you believe in for once and not let guys like Nexus and the Anon GM railroad you into things that would ordinarily make you uncomfortable. Would your precious fans rather watch a patsy week in and week out doing what he's been told, or would they prefer a man who at least _fights_ for what he knows is right, no matter what it may mean for his career in the long run?" He smirks as Cena stares at him, indecision blatant in his piercing gaze. "You think about that, and who knows- maybe you'll actually figure out what exactly in the hell I think I'm doing one of these days." Riding on his own high, he turns and walks away without waiting for a response.

_But this is just a set back._

It doesn't even take a week. That next Monday, Mike arrives at the week's arena to find tension at an all time high, no one willing to answer his questions as they bustle around and struggle to keep the show together. It doesn't take long for him to realize that Cena is gone, obviously took his words to heart, and decided to stand up and do his part to facilliate a change.

His teeth bared into a triumphant grin, he attacks his phone, too joyful to be careful with the keys.

**Text to: Alex, Morrison**

I think we've done it. Cena left.

As much as it should bug him that the final straw that broke the camel's back was his most hated competition, he's too thrilled right now to even care. Later that night, he's sitting in the darkness of his hotel room, too keyed up to sleep and using the Wifi on his laptop, when he's alerted to a new email.

**Email from: [unknown]**

This email is to alert all WWE competitors and staff that, in hindsight, things have not been handled well lately. I, the General Manager of Raw, offer my sincere apologies and encourage you all- including John Morrison and Alex Riley- to return to Raw this upcoming Monday.

Hope to see you then.

Mike clicks out of the browser, his lips twitching as he tries not to burst out laughing at 3:35 AM and get yelled at by his sleeping neighbors. "Oh screw it," he murmurs, letting loose. "This is awesome...!"

_I'm far from finished._

The following week, Mike leans against the wall facing the entrance to the arena, pretending to focus on his phone as he waits patiently. The arena has returned to its normal buzz of bustle and conversation, all prior competitors returning. Most who left still have honest gripes about their careers- and Mike wonders if their idea will lead into something bigger, an honest change that goes beyond his own agenda, deeper than just returning his two closest friends to Raw- but with the fretful board of directors more than likely keeping a close eye on the GM after the past few weeks, that and the honest love they have for the business appears to be enough to bring them back.

He glances up as the door slips open once more, his phone instantly unimportant as he mindlessly drops it into his suit pocket. "Took you long enough," he says amiably as he slaps an approaching Alex on the arm. "Did you get lost?"

"Nah, just needed a minute." His face lights up as he looks around at the Raw personal. "God, I've missed this place. Don't get me wrong, Smackdown was ok... but this is home, you know?"

Understanding completely, Mike nods. "I gotcha."

"Heard from Morrison?" Alex asks after a minute, glancing around as if the dark haired superstar is about to jump out at them or something.

"No," Mike shakes his head. "I know he got the email, we talked briefly the next day. I'm not sure what's going on."

"Oh. Well, show starts in an hour," he points out, frowning.

"Yeah. Well, I can't do anything about it if he doesn't accept the Anon GM's oh so gracious invitation... Truth be told, I wouldn't blame him if he stayed away- he was fired _and_ arrested within two weeks. Anyone would be hesitant to return..." His voice dies away as he looks up, takes in Alex's distant gaze. "Seriously? Am I that bori-...?" Following his protege's focus, he makes a strangled sort of noise, his breath sticking in his throat.

Morrison is standing in the arena's doorway, watching them with a large grin, the usual dark sunglasses hiding his eyes from them. Obviously amused by their attention, he joins them, his facial features never changing throughout the slow, sauntering walk, even as he removes his sunglasses. "Talking about me, Mike?"

"Damn you, Morrison," he says, half exasperated, half laughing as they stare at each other, each man's blatant relief reflecting in the other's gaze.

Afterwards it's impossible for Alex to decide who makes the first move- both appearing to step forward at the same time- but he blinks and the former tag partners are hugging, John's tight grip echoed by Mike's. Before they can separate, he hovers nearby and clears his throat, feeling left out. "Can anyone get in on this or...?"

They glance over at him, then at each other, before John shrugs. "Whatever." They split momentarily to allow Alex in, the group hug only lasting briefly as they each have responsibilities to get to before the event begins but it's enough for the former NXT rookie.


	55. chapter 55

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Clings for a little longer, the plastic protesting beneath his weakening, sweaty fingers. _Not yet, not yet,_ he begs mentally.

All match types have different results that can bring about pain almost unimaginable- regular matches, too, of course- but the various weapon-based matches- ladder matches, table matches, extreme matches, on and on- are worse, because one walks in _almost_ knowing what to expect but not entirely. You consider falling into the table straight just to hit at an angle, unable to prepare yourself for the agony that follows no matter how many times you've wrestled in similar match types. Figure in what it would do to your strategy to hit a ladder head first or falling off at a certain height just to be suplexed into one in the middle of the match and not want to move for the next five minutes, though you know you _have_ to.

So this, here, now, hanging precariously from the ladder high over the ring, his slackening grip on the much desired briefcase the only thing keeping him from splatting against the mat below, is the last thing he'd expected. Far from something he had planned for. His heart in his throat, he knows there's no point in delaying the inevitable; hopes that the ladder isn't in his path as he releases his hold. The fall seems to last seconds and hours all at once, a swirl of colors just barely made out before he closes his eyes tightly, waiting for the impact.

When it finally ends, the world returns with a horrible, painful rush, leaving him yelling and thrashing as his knee cracks the edge of the ladder- every other ache and pain from the fall not noticeable, his knee overcoming everything else. He can feel it swelling beneath the brace, throbbing against the oppressive fabric with each beat of his heart.

Even the refs touching him hurts, his flight or fight instincts kicking into high gear as he tries to fight them off, relieve the agony in his leg, anything. They're insistent, although also professional and careful with him, gets him out of the ring as smoothly as possible, away from the maddening action going on around and above them.

He pounds his hand on the ground as they move the brace down, horror quickly replacing his pain as he gets a good look at the damage done to his knee. _Dammit,_ he thinks, leaning back hopelessly as the mat shakes overhead, an indescribable anger towards the competitors still capable of going on without him adding to his physical and mental agony.

It's humiliating, getting walked out of the arena by the shorter referees and trainer supporting him on each side, but he can't do it on his own, each jar and shift causing his breath to catch in his throat as it is right now.

He keeps his eyes on the ground, ignoring each superstar they pass on their way to the back. He does glance up at one point, just to catch sight of Daniel Bryan watching his progress with a solemn look even as he holds onto the blue briefcase reverently. He glowers at him a moment before stubbornly returning his gaze to the ground, hating all of this.

He's not the only one injured from tonight, Big Show is being taken to the hospital for scans on his obviously broken ankle, and Sin Cara is still holed up in the trainer's office, getting looked over as they try to decide what to do with the man. _It could've been worse,_ he thinks as he tries to get comfortable on the couch the referees settle him on. _At least_ he _doesn't talk..._

The trainer examines his knee closer, each touch and adjustment sending pain crawling up his thigh. Trying not to react as harshly as he had outside of the ring earlier, he leans back against the cool leather cushions and breathes steadily in through his nose, out through his mouth. Closes his eyes and thinks about the match proceeding without him, the competitors left in that ring... how wrong Daniel Bryan looked with a briefcase.

"I want you to ice this," the trainer says. "Take it easy and go to the ER, just to make sure. I don't think anything's broken or torn but better safe than sorry."

He nods grimly, squinting an eye open as the trainer moves away to get the ice and a couple things. As soon as the man's back is turned, he pulls himself up from the couch and turns, catching sight of Sin Cara looking his way. Due to the mask, he can't tell if he's actually watching him but there's no time to think about such trivial things... not if he's going to return to the ring before the match ends and stand any chance of showing Daniel Bryan how a Money in the Bank winner _should_ look. Blown knee and all.

Hobbling to the ring takes a damn life time, even when he attempts to half run, and he fully expects the trainer to grab him at any moment and scold him before dragging him back by his ear or something as ridiculous as that. Even so, no one stops him, his trip to the ring unimpeded and, other than what the torture each step is, smooth.

He honestly thinks briefly that he has it, pushing the teeth grinding pain to the back of his mind as he hops one-legged up the ladder, only fingertips away when that stupid Rey Mysterio grabs him, slams his useless leg into the relentless steel of the ladder and causes him to crumple, easy picking for a slam onto the mat. Paralyzed by fresh pain, he has no chance, no choice but to watch as the match rolls to its conclusion, Alberto Del Rio standing proud and cocky with the briefcase in hand. _Son of a bitch..._

The returning trip to the trainer's office is even worse this time, his failure adding onto his anger. He ignores the referees attempting to help him as he stubbornly hobbles back the way he came, his eyes once more locked on the floor before him. After a few minutes, he sinks again onto the leather couch, his eyes slipping closed as footsteps and murmurs carry on around him.

The other Raw Money in the Bank competitors trickle in to get checked out, the noise in the room rising and falling with each entrance or exit. Sin Cara, he notes the one time he looks around, is gone, everyone else avoiding 'his' couch as the trainer looks them over, finds nothing seriously wrong with them and sends them on their way. Which is good, because the less he has to listen to Alberto's boastful faulty English, the better.

Only one hasn't arrived yet, Mike listening carefully to the varied voices around him, and noticing that Alex's hasn't been among the group yet. He's pondering this when the door slowly eases open and, instead of walking past him, the person sits down comfortably next to him, releasing a quiet sigh.

Glancing over, Mike rolls his eyes at Alex. "What are you doing?" he hisses, aware that the trainer is still somewhere behind them.

"Sitting. Gotta problem with that, Mike?" He looks calm but there's curiosity and a bit of worry in his eyes as he glances down at Mike's uneven brace still resting uncomfortably beneath his swollen knee.

"The trainer-"

"Minds his own business, and doesn't like the Anon GM either," he mumbles out of the corner of his mouth. "Give me a little more credit, Mike. You think I'd risk all of this after all this time?"

"No."

"Exactly. So... what's the verdict?"

"Trainer says it's probably nothing serious but he hasn't looked at it since I ran back out there- I think he's ignoring me."

"You're in trouble now," A-Ri says with a small smile, which grows when Mike glares at him. They usually don't get to just _be_ in an actual WWE arena but Christian vs Orton is going on now- King, Booker and Cole's rambling commentary and arguments distinctly noticeable even though the monitor is a good ways down the hallway from the trainer's office- and no one else is in the room at the moment, so they don't worry as they remain where they're at until the trainer slowly makes his way around, an exasperated look on his face at he looks at Mike.

"I know, I know, I'm an idiot, I could've made it worse and what would I have done if I'd torn it clean off the bone?" he repeats the lecture similar to what almost all of them have heard at one time or another from the fussy man still glowering at him.

Alex coughs to keep from laughing out loud, looking on innocently as the trainer peers over at him suspiciously. _No way am I annoying him when he'll be looking me over soon too!_

After a rushed trip to the ER, which confirms what the trainer mentioned and compounds on the ice suggestion, Miz turns right back around, gets in his rental car and begins the long ride to Green Bay, Wisconsin. He could start the trip a little later, get some sleep, but his mind is racing- just hours prior, CM Punk won the title, Cena may be fired, and a WWE without the title AND Cena seems odd to him. Cena gone makes him want to party till next year but the loss of the title... _There's no way that's going to hold,_ he thinks, checking a nearby mile marker as he hits the Wisconsin border. _It's just not possible. Vince_ has _to do something... right?_

So he makes sure he's at the arena nice and early, despite how tired and ragged he feels. No matter how pain stabs up his leg with each step, on top of the all-around soreness he feels that is only compounded by being in his car for so long. The closer Raw comes, the slower time slips past until finally, _finally,_ it's 8 PM and Vince is making his way to the ring.

Rumors had been abounding since before he walked through the arena's doors, from tournaments to Vince just naming a new champion. Someone (he suspects he knows who) had even started spreading around that Zack Ryder's Internet title would be observed as the top belt in the brand.

The hallways go from 10 to 0 as everyone present hushes, crowding around the various monitors and gorilla position to watch on as Vince finally starts to talk. What he says is no surprise- there will be a tournament, and there's been no concrete decision on Cena's status with the company yet, he'll announce it later on in the show.

Miz is unsurprised to see his name in the tournament listing but he can't help looking over at where he had last seen Alex, catching the younger man's eye as their match- next- is announced. He nods briefly, his expression dark and unreadable as Mike watches him. _No uncertainty, no text messages, nothing... I guess he's finally getting the hang of this. By now it should be obvious that I'll go along with whatever he feels he has to do to get the point across, as he has to do with me._

Even so, the intensity Alex brings to the match almost catches Miz off guard, his target blatantly on Mike's thoroughly wrapped and braced knee the whole time. Hard as it is to keep his balance, he manages to grab the advantage when Alex is trying to dodge the almost equally as clumsy referee, only just hitting the Skull Crushing Finale. His energy flagging, he gasps for air for a moment, the pain from even that minor impact- in comparison to yesterday's fall from the ladder, anyway- excruiciating. He finally composes himself and rolls over, getting the three count.

The second match against Kofi almost an hour later is basically a foregone conclusion, the man barely even looking twice at Mike's knee as he goes about his usual wrestling style. It's this lack of ruthlessness for the most part that causes Mike to cinch up another victory, his attention immediately turning to the final match of the tournament. His knee is close to giving out, he can tell it with each careful step he takes up the ramp, and the only real hope he has bases on the fact that, depending on which one ends up being his opponent, Rey Mysterio's knees are just as screwed up on a near nightly basis, or that R Truth will be too far gone mentally to even mount a good offense against the former champion.

Unsurprised to find Alex in the trainer's office, bugging him about something, he settles down to wait on a couch similar to the one left behind in Chicago not even twenty four hours, feeling his former protege's weighty stare on the back of his head. Upon finishing with the trainer, he settles in a chair not far from the couch. "You going to be ok for one more match?"

"Kinda have to be, don't I?" he asks, glancing up and over briefly before returning to scratching at his gummy wrist tape. "Besides the WWE title will be waiting for me at the end of it..." He hums slightly, finally loosening up the tape enough that blood starts to return to his hand and fingers. "Do you think..." Despite Alex's comments from the night before, he turns to look at the trainer and takes in his obvious disinterest in their conversation as he looks through his supplies on the other side of the room.

"What?"

"That the title will be the same? Or will they make a new one?" He moves on to picking at the tape on his other hand, movements so nervous and jerky that Alex almost wants to reach over and handle it himself.

Alex sighs and settles back, watching him as he clasps his hands in his lap to refrain from trying to help his prideful mentor. "I think if you wanted to bring back the M belt, you could. I mean, you'd be champion, right?"

Considering this, Mike finally frees his hand and looks up, some of the stress off of his face. "Right. Of course, I'd be champ, I could have whatever I wanted." Some of the spark returns to his eyes as he smirks, Alex wondering briefly what he's inspired.

The trainer has just finished looking Miz's knee over when Rey's theme song echoes once more through the arena, all the details Miz needs to know who's remaining in his way on the path back to being champion. He's looking around for more wrist tape when Vince's music interrupts Mysterio's, that creepy hush from earlier returning with a vengeance. Vince announces that this match is postponed until next week, to Mysterio's displeasure, but Mike all but melts with relief as he sits back down. _Another week for my knee to recover... If I can handle two matches with a screwed up knee in one night, then one match against_ him _on a slightly better knee will be like taking candy from a baby... or, well, a title from a very short Mexican,_ he thinks with a gleeful smirk.

As if his night couldn't get any better, Vince goes on to talk about firing Cena. The man himself comes out and seems to be giving Vince an ultimatum, find an opponent for the Rock before Wrestlemania or else- eight months without Cena still sounds close to Heaven for Miz- but Vince doesn't seem all that bothered by the prospect, appears to be working towards saying what Miz has wanted to hear since almost the moment his time on Raw began.

That is, until HHH's theme music cuts into the tension, Mike's eyes widening, his lips twisting in annoyance as H enters the ring, delaying the inevitable. _A lot of that seems to be going on tonight,_ he thinks, half-tuning HHH out until he starts going on about the board of directors and... _Oh hell no._

Cena celebrates on the outside, clapping audience members' hands as HHH announces that Vince can't fire him... and is thus being relieved of his duties. Miz's jaw drops further as HHH announces himself the board of director's choice to take over. _Oh, great. We're so screwed._

"What does this mean?" Alex whispers, glancing from Mike to the monitor. "Will the Anon GM just... stop mattering, if HHH remains in charge? Or..."

Clueless and floundering at this, Miz shakes his head. "I don't know," he mumbles.


	56. chapter 56

"So what does this mean, do you think...?"

Mike sighs, pressing his knee carefully against the ice pack waiting for him, grimacing against the phone pressed to his cheek as he tries to manage his pain while caring on the conversation. "Think what?"

"That the anon GM is gone? If HHH is in control now?"

He takes a deep, steady breath, freezing numbness overcoming his discomfort slightly. "I guess. But who's to say HHH is going to be any better?" He stretches his leg out, resting his heel against the table across from him and sighs, glad to be back in LA for a brief period before the next media event.

"That's optimistic."

"Yeah, well, you know me, John. Regular bucket of sunshine here," he cracks with a mirthless smirk. "Besides, I have other things to focus on more important than the unending ownership drama over on Raw."

"Mm, the world title match," Morrison says after a moment. "You gonna keep it warm for me until I return?"

Rolling his eyes, Mike shifts once more into a slightly more comfortable position. "Oh please, as if you'd even get close to it with R-Truth around to babble about conspiracies. Your return will probably make that even worse, actually." He shudders.

"I'll show him a conspiracy," he mutters, the lightheartedness in his tone replaced by a sudden darkness that Miz is both surprised by and empathetic of. If he had been taken out of competition- _twice,_ no less- he would've felt the same way towards those responsible.

"Bet you can't wait for October then," he says quietly, leaning against the couch as the warm LA breeze slips in through his open window, tickling across his arms and face.

"Yeah, something like that."

Once more, Miz arrives early to the event that next Monday, nerves and hope circling around within him, leaving him a little nauseous and jumpy, which does little to help his still sensitive knee.

He sucks in a deep breath as he pulls himself out of his car, turning to look at the arena. It's the usual kind of building for a Monday Night Raw, tall and patiently waiting for the fans to come fill its smooth walls in the hours ahead. He remembers feeling dwarfed by arenas like these way in his early career. He's come a long way, obviously, since then but right now, here, he feels little different from that rookie years back.

He's still standing near his car, looking up thoughtfully, when a throat is cleared behind him. He jerks, his knee automatically protesting the rough movement against the uneven pavement of the parking lot. "What?" he snaps, turning around with a glower just to find himself staring at Alex Riley. "Gah, Alex," he mutters, looking around quickly to find they're completely alone. "What is it?"

"We need to talk about this HHH thing," he explains, stuffing his hands in his slacks' pockets. "If he's in control, that means the Anon GM loses his power, right?"

"That's a possibility," Mike concedes with a jerky nod. "Won't really know until HHH actually says something, though."

"So do we keep the act up?"

He shuffles slightly, thinking quickly. "For now, I say yes. We don't know if the Anon GM is permanently gone, or what exactly HHH will do... For all we know, he's going to leave the decisions to the Anon GM like Vince has for the past year plus. Better safe than sorry."

"Ok. I should go then. Uh, really quick. How's the knee?" He glances down briefly, as if Miz's stance would tell him how he feels.

"It hasn't fallen off yet," he grumbles. Softening slightly at the exasperated worry in Alex's gaze, he shrugs. "Doctor said a bone bruise, some swelling. I have to be careful for awhile and it'll hurt like hell but it's nothing serious enough to keep me out of action."

Nodding, Alex starts to head for the arena. He's barely made it five steps, Mike already turning back to grab his bag, when he stops and faces his former mentor once more. "Good luck tonight."

Watching as he disappears into the building, Miz's lips twitch slightly. "Thanks," he finally mumbles before tugging his bag free.

Injuries are weird things, especially minor ones. The pain comes and goes and, even though you know better after awhile, you still fall into false senses of security- thinking at the first sign of normality that it's gone forever, from here on in you'll be fine and won't have to grit your teeth at the simplest movement. Then you trip, take too hard a step, twist just the wrong way and it flairs back up, making you want to scream and yell, pitch a fit until your body feels like your own again.

This is how it is for Mike, the first few minutes of his match against Rey Mysterio going fine. Despite the heavy bracing still holding his knee together, he feels like himself once more, dominates the shorter man for awhile until... until... one wrong move and he falls knee first into the turnbuckle, his hope and fluid movements immediately crumpling like sand between his fingers as pain takes over, blocks everything else out.

He still fights, yes he does- even comes close a time or two to getting that elusive three count- but it all goes downhill after that hard hit, his offense scattered and almost weak as even taking a step on the bad knee once more sends agony from his foot to thigh. _How do people like Mysterio and Morrison deal with this, wrestle through it day after day?_ he thinks helplessly, unable to do much as Rey trips him up. He knows he's in position for a 619 now, his ears ringing with the crowd's reaction but he's so worn out and in pain that he can't even get his body to twitch, much less move out of the way of impact.

The three count is unsurprising but still disappointing and it all comes flooding back briefly after Rey rolls off of him, moving sluggishly as he limps back once more up the ramp. The loss of the title belt _again_ hurts almost as bad as his body. Not wanting to get railroaded by the trainer, he ducks into the first locker room and grimaces at the monitor that's still on, showing Rey's win once more.

He's still in there, catching his breath and _almost_ wallowing when he hears the celebration for Mysterio's first time at winning the WWE title. His eyes betray him by peering up at the TV, watching as various superstars drench the Mexican with champagne. He coughs, breath seizing in his throat as he watches Alex in the camera's focus, doing most of the champagne slinging with a large grin on his face. Despite his knowing that it's a part of the show they've been putting on for weeks, it still feels like a betrayal. He grounds his fists into his forehead, leaning over so he can't see the screen.

He's still sitting like this when the monitor shuts off, the room flashing with light briefly before dimming. The only glow now comes from a thin lamp across from Mike and he shakes his head, not wanting to talk to anyone right now. _It's probably the trainer, coming to yell at me for not going right to him,_ he thinks drearily.

Quiet footsteps, now obvious in the silence following the monitor's being turned off, stop in front of Mike but he still ignores the person hovering over him, steepling his fingers before his eyes so that his vision is obscured further. After a few moments, there's an impatient huff and something drops onto the table before him with a flutter of crinkling paper.

Despite himself, he peers at it, slowly growing bored of the inactivity and silence. _John Morrison_ , scrawled across the top of the page leaps out to him and he subconsciously leans forward, the words easier to see the closer he gets. He reads through the letter, his lips moving as he mouths the words, rereads again and again, uncomprehending. "No way," he finally mutters, twisting around fast enough to give himself whiplash as he looks up.

John Morrison stands before him in jeans and a rich brown shirt, his trademark sunglasses and fancy ringwear missing as they stare at each other, disbelief meeting intensity. "I'm back. For good this time," he adds when Mike just gapes.

"But- three weeks ago, you said-" he mumbles, still not wrapping his brain around this.

"I got a second... third... fourth opinion," he explains calmly. "The first doctor I saw was overly cautious. You see, WWE's doctor- the one who did the surgery- looked me over. After R Truth's second attack on me and when I was in China, I didn't get rehab like I should've. It hindered my recovery more than I realized... so he worked with me personally for awhile and it helped- a _lot."_

"That return package last week-" Mike mumbles, barely remembering seeing it through his haze of post-Money in the Bank agony and thinking it odd they'd air something like that when he still had a reported two or so months of recovery time ahead of him.

"Yeah, WWE was notified I was doing well with my recovery again, so they went ahead with airing it. I don't think anyone realized it'd be _this_ week, though. I was just cleared on Friday."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Miz stands, his knee twitching slightly as he takes a slow step towards John. Without a word, he holds a hand out, his eyes gleaming with an unspoken challenge.

Rolling his eyes, John reaches out and clasps Mike's hand, waiting for a nod from the other man to tighten his hold and test his strength against him once more. Whereas three weeks before when he had barely managed to move him, he doesn't even take five seconds in overcoming Miz and leaving him gasping for breath as his wrist is manipulated in a way no extremities should be.

Released from John's steel grip at the first sign of pain, Mike drops back a couple steps, his knee throbbing with each jostle. John quickly steadies him, a guilty look in his eyes as they gaze once more at each other. "How bad is it?"

He takes a deep breath, shaking his wrist out quickly to ease the soreness left behind. "I'll survive," he grumbles, dropping back onto the bench.

John hums slightly before joining him, absorbing the familiar buzz of the arena just barely noticeable beyond the locker room door that he's missed so badly since his surgery. "Sucks about the match tonight," he says after awhile.

"Yeah." He has nothing more to say about it, wants to hear about it even less, so when John falls silent, he's relieved. After awhile, his former tag partner flips the monitor back on and they see that HHH's "state of the WWE" address is next.

"We talked briefly," he comments, pulling himself to a standing position. "He's going to announce my return during this... speech. So I should go wait for my cue." Something- fury, more than likely- flashes across his face as he catches sight of the monitor once more and witnesses R Truth babbling to HHH.

Miz leans forward and shakes his head. "Tagging with him now and again the last few weeks was really... annoying."

John glances over at him with a nod, many emotions still swirling around in his dark gaze. "I know how that is quite well." Without another word spoken, he turns and leaves the room.

Mike stretches his knee out and waits patiently. It's worth it as R Truth is in the right place at the right time upon HHH's announcement, Morrison coming out behind him and laying into him, not giving him a second to breathe before hitting Starship pain across his midsection. It's not all that the demented man deserves but it's definitely a start.

Even so, his night ends sourly as Cena wrestles Rey in the second WWE title match of the night and- surprise surprise- wins. Once more, Miz's most hated rival is champion. He's glowering at the TV viciously when Cena's horrible theme is interrupted, the "new" WWE champion looking more confused than normal until CM Punk comes out, his own WWE title held in an unwavering grip as he marches out to the ring. The stand off that follows leaves Mike disgusted and rolling his eyes. _Some things change, and just as many stay the same,_ he thinks angrily, scowling at the TV as the two men face off in the middle of the ring, each holding what should've never stopped being _his_ belt.


	57. chapter 57

"The hell, man? You're on the event list, then you're off, what's going on?" Mike asks, half teasingly as he packs for the latest tour of house shows- smaller events that are only shown for people _in_ the arenas- spanning Illinois for the next few days before skipping states to Indianapolis for Raw on Monday.

There's a long pause before Morrison finally answers, something in his tone of voice that makes Mike's eyebrows raise curiously. "HHH requested my presence at Smackdown on Friday."

"So he 're-signs' you _and_ personally invites you to Smackdown in the same week?" Mike asks, pausing in his packing long enough to air quote- not that anyone else is present to see it, but still. "You two BFFs now or something?"

"Jealous, Mike?" The tension from before breaks a bit with that as Mike rolls his eyes. "He said something about shaking things up over at Smackdown a bit this week, that's all."

"Hmm," he murmurs, disgruntled.

That Friday, Mike wanders around in the hallways of the Peoria, Illinois, arena, a grimace on his face. He's about to turn away from the gorilla position, disinterested in the Chris Masters vs Jack Swagger match that's happening in the ring, when he spots R Truth pacing not far away, his head whipping this way and that as he mutters seemingly to thin air.

_It's not like I have anything else to do tonight,_ he thinks blandly, leaning against the wall across from Truth and just watching for a bit.

His whole demeanor, however, changes as the bell rings, revealing Masters as the winner. Miz pushes forward as Truth's whole body stiffens, the invisible people he converses with becoming a distant memory as he turns to look back out into the ring.

It happens after an angry, stumbling Jack Swagger storms past them, tearing his wrist tape off with vicious, jerky movements- Mike blinks and Truth has disappeared, leaving the curtain fluttering behind him. He's about to venture forward and see what the demented man is doing when someone pushes past him with an exclamation of " _Are you serious, bro?_ "

His fists clench. _So not the week to screw with me,_ he thinks angrily, closing his eyes briefly at what he's about to do, _who_ he's about to assist. The double team against Zack Ryder is quick and ends almost as soon as it begins, as Alex Riley runs out and the four men- Masters disappearing into the back with some help from the referees- fight around the ringside area, everything going by in a blur until finally Ryder and Alex are left in the ring, Alex motioning for a microphone.

The challenge that follows is unsurprising; even though Ryder takes most of the match, neither Miz or Truth allowing the tag, it eventually ends with Miz hitting the Skull Crushing Finale on Alex (after Truth takes Ryder out before he can attempt to assist, the sound of his body flying over the top rope and hitting the floor making the audience _ooh_ loudly) and achieving the three count.

_I jinxed myself,_ he thinks grimly, as he walks up the ramp with Truth by his side, already returning to mumbling at thin air. _I say last week it's so annoying to team with him, and look what happens. Knowing my luck, I'll be teaming with him the rest of the weekend, too, or something._ _At least we won._

He's still hovering in the back, picking at his wrist tape outside of the locker room, uninterested in listening to more of Truth's weird diatribes when Alex and Zack wander back, both looking beat and sweaty.

"...see that girl by the ramp? She was _totally_ reaching for me, Bro!"

Riley looks somewhere between amused and annoyed, shaking his head. "Well, she touched me."

"You got in the way!"

"Whatever, Zack," he can't help but laugh, sobering as he catches sight of Mike. Zack pauses too, glancing over at their opponent, but Alex slaps him on the chest, nodding towards the locker room. "Go ahead, I can deal with him."

"Ok," Ryder says reluctantly, peering back and forth between the two men as he walks past Miz to enter the locker room.

"You stealing Ryder's fangirls, Alex?" Mike asks with a bland smirk, raising an eyebrow as his former protege brushes sweat out of his eyes.

"Not purposely," he shrugs. "Morrison not around tonight?"

"Our new COO invited him over to Smackdown for the week." Despite Mike keeping an emotionless look on his face, his eyes give him away as he glances over at a nearby monitor, his fingers twitching slightly. Since the event isn't televised, monitors are generally not needed but they usually bring them anyway- along with everything else on the trucks- and someone tends to set one or two up in the locker rooms, or hallways, or anywhere they feel like it.

Alex brushes past him and turns it on, flipping through the channels. "Where the hell is the Syfy network?" he mumbles, brow furrowing as he goes further through the channels. "They _do_ get Syfy here, don't they?"

Mike snickers as finally Alex- getting into the higher channels- mutters a quick _AHA!_ and pulls back, Morrison's match against Christian now airing on the TV. He steps away, letting Miz watch the match intensely. It's already going badly, Miz's lips twisting into an annoyed frown as John grabs at his neck, still fighting through as best as he can. However, Christian is merciless, eventually wins after whipping the back of John's neck against the top rope.

"Dammit," he mumbles, hands clenching into a fist around his wrist braces. They don't move for a few moments, as Smackdown rolls on, Alex's attention divided between the flashing TV screen and his eerily silent mentor. He does, however, notice when Zack Ryder appears on the screen, bugging HHH for something to do. _Wait, what? I just teamed with him... how is he... there... if he's..._ He looks towards the locker room door Zack had just disappeared behind with a confused look on his face, shaking his head.

Before he can mention it to Miz, he pushes away from the monitor and marches towards the locker room, his hands clenching spastically at his sides. Alex switches the TV off, his eyes gleaming with worry as the former world champion slams through the door, everyone within falling silent immediately. "What are you looking at?" he demands, voice low and dangerous as he zeroes in on his bag and immediately begins repacking it. Everyone looks away, the silence complete as no one dares to even whisper with Mike's explosive anger filling the locker room.

Thirteen weeks. That was how long ago it was before everything hit the fan, when Morrison was just starting to struggle against Truth and more injuries than Mike realized. When Alex was drafted away and Mike hadn't seen him for almost a week, when Miz got the idea (and the nerve up) to suggest John and he begin traveling together like they used to. The three months had dragged on, toeing the line carefully to assure the Anon GM that he and Alex's hatred wasn't just an act, each week their feud spreading as the GM refuses to let him go. Despite Alex not mentioning Smackdown as a viable option for weeks, Miz still feels bad about the Anon GM's hatred for him derailing what could've been a good opportunity for the former NXT rookie. As he gazes down at a sleeping Morrison, he can't help but fret further, his eyes downcast.

The doctors' constantly changing stories do little to reassure him of how well John _has_ healed, and based purely on how Morrison had supported his neck during the little bit of the match against Christian Mike had seen the previous Friday night, he'd guess it was somewhere in the middle- perhaps not as well as John was trying to pass it off as, and not as bad as the doctors initially claimed.

Swallowing, he turns away from the beds and glances out the window at the Indianapolis night. It's quiet, the ever present city bustle barely noticeable over the AC running next to him, attempting to cut through some of the humidity and heat still blanketing the central states of America. He has more media to do in a few hours, Monday Night Raw in almost sixteen hours, but sleep seems to be enjoying evading him.

He rests his forehead against the cool window pane, yawning blearily as he blinks, frustrated at being exhausted but unable to actually shut his brain up long enough to _sleep._ He's still standing like this when he hears the bed creak behind him, his breath seizing in his throat as he waits, listens.

"Mike?" John asks groggily, the bed protesting again as he sits up, the former champion watching him in the reflection of the window as he runs a hand through his hair, over his face. "What are you doing?"

"Thinking," he mumbles. "Go back to sleep."

As always, Morrison doesn't listen to him, however, slowly untangling himself from the sheets and joining him to gaze out at the soft blue horizon, gradually lighting up with each passing moment. It had been a long drive from Springfield to Indianapolis, not as bad as Pennsylvania to Indy, but still tiresome, so Miz had been relieved to arrive to find Morrison already fast asleep.

_"This was sudden," John comments as he pulls his hair back, still thrumming from the adrenaline rush his attack on Truth had brung._

_"No kidding," Miz responds dryly, his focus on many different things at once. HHH as new COO, Cena and Punk's faceoff in the ring still burnt into his retinas, not to mention everything directly involving him- Morrison's return, Alex hanging around Mysterio, and everything else._

_John seems to be steeling himself for something, his dark eyes peering around as he starts to speak, stops. Opens his mouth once more and fails, his jaw clicking shut again._

_"Just tell me already," Mike demands, rolling his eyes as he drops all pretenses. "You didn't have this much trouble telling me you needed surgery. So... just, spit it out."_

_"I need a place to crash," he finally manages, fiddling with his bag handles as his former tag partner stares at him. "I received the call and didn't have time to figure anything out. I figured with Alex and you working to continue this illusion that maybe..."_

_It barely takes a moment to think over, Mike shrugging even as his eyes light up slightly. "Sure, I have an extra bed."_

Once that awkward moment had passed, John had asked if it should be more permanent- since they were basically doing this anyway before his injury- and again, Mike had little to no argument against it. Even now, dead tired and unable to sleep, John peering out the window next to him at almost 5:30 AM, he doesn't regret the split second decision.

They sit up for awhile longer, Mike's eyes growing more and more gritty and rough the more time passes. Finally he can't stand the silence any longer, his mind stuck repeating Morrison's match against Christian, and looks over, eyes accusing and dark in the early morning sun as it rises, blanketing them in golden light. "You said..." John jerks, a pained grimace appearing on his face at the abrupt movement, fueling Miz's annoyance all the more. "You said you were recovered completely. What I saw during your match on Friday _wasn't_ recovered completely."

"I said I was cleared," he comments calmly, shifting in the chair slightly as Mike leans forward, face lit with aggravation. "Never said full recovery. I'm well enough to do what needs to be done. It's just a matter of time."

"A matter of time," Mike repeats with a mirthless chuckle. "A matter of time until your nerve damage worsens again because you can't just _wait_ a little longer? We _both_ know this kinda crap isn't something to be played with, John."

"Sitting around, waiting, isn't going to get me anywhere. I was told if I am careful, I'll be good to go."

"Yeah, but you're _not_ careful," Mike grumbles, shaking his head. "I doubt the doctors released you just for you to repeatedly pull this crap. I've told you how many times to stop with the high risk BS? I'm gonna be healthy and wrestling and you, well... who knows what you'll be stuck doing." He drifts to a stop, his lips twisting as he considers a WWE without Morrison permanently- his career cut short similarily to Edge's.

"You try changing your style after years and see where it gets you," John huffs, his eyes flashing warningly. "This is how I'm used to doing things- I'm not going to change just because of an injury that I'm already mostly healed from."

They stare at each other for a bit, neither man willing to yield, only stopping when Mike's phone alarm goes off, reminding them of their responsibilities. "I have interviews this morning," he mumbles, quieting his phone with a quick press of buttons as he heads for the bathroom.

They don't see each other again until that night, John arriving at the building to find Mike waiting by the eraser board that lists the evening's matches and other various notes. He remains quiet, uncertain if the other man will start arguing with him again or what, but Mike only glances over at him, his attention turning right to the board. John skims it quickly, stopping as he comes to his own name. "Huh," he mumbles.

"Is it possible HHH heard what I said last week?" Mike responds, crossing his arms over his chest as he ponders the chances of getting caught should he change the scheduled matches, the marker for the board teasing him, just within arm's reach.

"Well, you are a loud mouth," he says, smirking.

"That stings," Miz rolls his eyes. "You're gonna be careful this match... right?"

John's smirk fades as quickly as the words on the board behind them could. "Aren't I always?" Without waiting for a response, he walks off, his shoulders held stiffly.

Mike grumbles and scrubs at his face, exhausted beyond belief. "Idiot..."

He tries, he really does- insists on starting the match off against Morrison, keeps John away from Truth in the corner as much as possible, and only tags in when Rey is the legal man. But the dive over the top rope nearly does him in- so many thoughts, flashes of memory and emotions running through his mind, too quick for him to comprehend the majority of them in the few seconds it takes John to land. He's not even standing close to where John slung himself out to, so he's not sure what the reckless man is thinking, but it's instinctual as he lunges forward and just barely braces John's fall, taking some of his weight.

Despite John getting right back up, Mike is sore and angry, his fists clenching and unclenching as the match progresses. He's so annoyed that when Truth tags in at the same time that Rey tags in Morrison, he _almost_ doesn't care, his glower leveled on John as, despite his warnings time and again, he goes for Starship Pain. Mike isn't sure how it happens, he's just standing between the ring and the announcer's desk one minute, and the next he's pulling Truth out of harm's way, leaving John to crash and burn against the mat. He wants to scream and yell at him that this is what his high risk offense causes, but he refrains until Truth re-enters and cinches in the three count for them, sagging against the ropes as John clutches once more at his neck.

The mere sight of it- the pure _stupidity_ behind competing this match as if he's at a hundred percent- leaves Mike's blood boiling until he can't even see straight. As instinctive as it was to cushion Morrison's fall earlier, he lunges forward and locks in the Skull Crushing Finale, screaming in John's face as he thrusts his head back afterwards, needing to look in his glazed eyes as he finally says what's been echoing in his skull since the first thoughtless leap over the top rope. _"I told you!"_ he screams, slamming John's face against the mat.

Everything afterwards- raising Truth's hand in victory, walking back to the locker room, packing his things, and even the drive to the hotel- goes by in a blur. It's not until he enters the hotel room and catches sight of a pair of Morrison's cross sunglasses on the table between their beds that it all comes crashing down around him, reality slapping him upside the face. "Oh my God," he breathes, his bag slipping from between his fingers as he sinks back against the door, it clicking shut with his added weight. "What did I just do?"


	58. chapter 58

His head is still throbbing as he wanders through the hallways, a deep pain spreading from neck to temple to mid-down his back. He groans, instinctively stepping to the side and almost crashing into the wall as someone walks into his path, steadies him with a careful grip on his upper arm. He looks blankly out through a curtain of dark brown hair, not entirely caring who's before him as muffled, distorted words echo around him.

"Ok, I'm taking you to the trainer's." _That_ he hears clear as day, his eyes rolling up to lock on a worried Alex Riley.

"No, you're not," he all but snaps, wrenching his arm free from the younger man's grip. Floundering briefly, he leans against the wall for support and takes a few deep breaths, willing his body to cooperate this go-around. For a brief moment, he had thought maybe it was Mike- hates himself for even indulging that thought, hates Mike for doing this to him... again, and just plainly hates the situation. "I'm fine."

"Of course you are," Alex mumbles disbelievingly, sounding _so_ much like Mike that it makes John's anger well up anew and he thinks if he could look straight without wavering, he'd punch him. "Is there... anything I can do...?"

The answers to that could be endless but the main thing John wants right now is very simple, straight forward. "Just leave me alone," he mumbles, pushing away from the wall and attempting once more to make it down the hallway to where his things wait for him in a locker room.

Alex is like a dog with a bone, however, and follows him, his footsteps echoing off of the walls and taunting Morrison even though he remains a few steps behind. They're halfway to the locker room when Alex tries again. "Do you need a ride? Anything?"

John comes to a stop, his shoulders tensing up as he slowly, painstakingly turns to face the rookie once more. He glowers at him, about to yell again, when he stops, takes in how Riley doesn't even wince away from the anger emanating from him. _Only a few people understand how it is being alligned with Miz for the long term, how difficult it can be. This kid is one of them._ His anger dying away slowly, he takes another deep breath and lowers his eyes to the ugly beige tile between them. "I need a ride to the hotel," he admits blandly. "Mik- Miz has the rental car."

Alex nods, keeping his face impassive as he hesitantly takes another couple steps towards the man. "Sure, no big deal. Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

"I'll figure something out when I get there."

"Don't worry about it, you can stay with me." The offer surprises Morrison as much as Alex and they peer at each other for a moment, a quiet kind of understanding passing between them.

"If it's no problem," he says uncomfortably, too tired to even argue or get the energy up to figure out who exactly he could try to room with when most guys would be leaving for home the next day.

"Course not. C'mon." They only stay long enough to grab their stuff, change clothes, and Alex to push some pain killers John's way before they leave the arena. It's so... _uncomplicated_ compared to the ruckus Miz would've made that it almost makes John's head spin more, if that's even possible.

The trip to the hotel is quiet, Morrison caught up in his scattered, aggravated thoughts as Alex hums along to the radio, thoughtfully giving him his space. He looks around the lobby quietly, relieved when he doesn't see Miz or any of their other co-workers lurking around. The elevator ride is short, only to the second floor- _Our room is- was on the fifth floor,_ he thinks with a grimace- but the trek down the hallway takes forever, their room nearly at the opposite side of the building from the elevator.

"We have room 274," Alex explains as they pass by door after door. Room 275 is the last room on the floor and John shakes his head, a mirthless smirk on his lips. "Doing ok?"

"Yeah," he responds quietly, adjusting his duffel against his shoulder. His head still stings- _Who knew a water bottle could hurt_ that _much?-_ but the painkillers are doing their job, slowly easing his pain. Now he's just tired, counting the steps until he can lay down and not move for a few hours. Not think about his two former tag partners taking pleasure in laying him out...

Finally they arrive and Alex quickly unlocks the door, Morrison sighing in relief as the panel shines green, clicking open to allow them inside. Alex settles on the couch across from the TV and watches out of his peripheral vision as his temporary roommate drops his bag on the floor and kicks it to the edge of the free bed, only toeing off his shoes before he collapses onto the mattress.

After a few minutes of silence, he shifts over onto his side and buries his face into the pillow.

"Hey, John?"

"What?"

"Will the TV bug you?"

"No," he mumbles sleepily, already half-dozing.

"Ok." Alex quietly flicks the set on and looks for something to watch, glancing now and again over at the sleeping man. Settling on some sitcom that he never paid much attention to when it was originally on TV almost fifteen years ago, he grabs his phone.

A few floors above, Mike is slumped down on the carpet, staring ahead at the ugly brown wallpaper, barely paying attention to anything when his phone goes off from his pocket, his theme jerking him back to reality.

**Text from: Alex**

_Morrison is with me. You alright?_

He stares blankly at it for a minute before taking a deep, shuddery breath, glancing around the room.

**Text from: Mike**

_Fine. What room? He left some stuff here..._

**Text from: Alex**

_274\. Be quiet, he's sleeping._

Alex is still sitting in front of the TV, only half concentrating on the dialogue from the show when there's a soft tapping noise at the door about ten minutes later. Grabbing his keycard, the former NXT rookie heads to the door and, peeking back over at a still motionless Morrison, he slips out of the room, coming face to face with Mike. "Hey."

"Hey." He drops a bag at Alex's feet and shifts uncomfortably, his eyes downcast. "What'd he say?"

"Nothing, really. He fell asleep as soon as we got here, and said little in the car. I had to dig just to get him to accept this much help."

"Sounds about right," Mike mumbles, glancing up uncertainly.

"Mike, what was that? Why did you attack him like that?"

"I don't know," he breathes out, shaking his head. The attack itself is still little more than a blur in his memories, his motivations and thoughts as hard to clasp onto as his actions were in that moment. "I just... it's so damn hard sometimes." He scuffs his shoes against the carpeting, lips twisting. "Since losing the WWE title, I haven't... haven't felt like I can control anything, you know? Not that anything's ever really been in my control- Anon GM made that obvious early on- but I felt like I had a little better clasp on stuff before. Now... I'm just... unable to do anything but sit back and watch as the crap keeps piling up. Losing the title, Morrison getting injured, your being drafted to Smackdown and actually wanting to go getting so messed up by the Anon GM because of me..." He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes. "Morrison denying he still has health issues and wrestling like nothing's wrong, in front of me no less, despite my constant warnings... I guess it was just the final straw..."

Alex stares at him sympathetically, wanting to know just the right thing to say, do, to fix this for his mentor but falling short. "I'm sorry," he finally says. "If it helps at all, I'm happy where I'm at right now. Smackdown and I might not have been a good fit after all, I'm glad to be on Raw." He smiles a little, runs a hand through his hair. "I'm thinking about challenging Dolph for the US title."

Mike's eyebrows raise as he thinks fondly of his first major singles' title win after splitting from Morrison, lips twitching a bit. "That would be a good step for your career," he manages, ignoring the brief wave of envy towards Alex being able to go after titles for the first time, rising through the ranks and the pure excitement infusing each new situation.

"You don't mind, do you?" he asks thoughtfully, frowning. "I know you loved that belt..."

"No, I don't mind. Do what you have to, Alex." Wanting to distract himself and change the topic, he peers over the other man's shoulder, staring at the hotel room door, and sighs. "He was ok?"

"He refused to go to the trainer but I think so, yeah. He fell asleep as soon as we got inside pretty much."

"Stubborn idiot," Mike mumbles in exasperation before looking over at Alex, exhaustion and guilt bleeding out from his gaze so much that it unsettles his former protege. "You watch out for him?"

"As much as I can, sure, but Mike... he'll get over this, what happened tonight, you'll see."

"Maybe. Maybe not. If he doesn't, well... Can't say I blame him." Forcing an blatantly fake smirk, Mike nudges the bag between them with a toe. "This is some of the stuff from his trip to Canada that he didn't need tonight, and left at my room. Make sure he doesn't leave it behind."

"Sure."

Sharply nodding, Mike takes a deep breath, his eyes wandering over to the door once more.

"Do you... want to come in?" Alex offers awkwardly, feeling bad for the man hesitating before him.

"No," he says after a few uncertain moments spent weighing his options. "It would probably make things worse. I'll see you later, Alex."

"Ok," the younger man says with a faint sigh. "See you." He watches helplessly as Mike returns to the elevators, his walk stiff and this-side of desperate to get away. As soon as the doors ding closed, he picks the bag up and re-enters the hotel room, dropping it next to Morrison's other bag. He takes a minute to peer down at the still sleeping man, a frown on his face, before turning to shut the TV off, totally uninterested in the inane programming still flashing across the screen now.

After a weird, dull week spent glad that Miz is in Vancouver filming Psych and at the TCAs, instead of at the weekend house shows, John peers up at the arena as he pushes open the door. It's normal and bustling inside, as always, and he relaxes slightly, relieved that the drama he was expecting to be waiting for him seems to be overshadowed by how busy everyone else is. In fact, upon entering the locker room, only Alex is inside, glancing up as soon as Morrison settles down nearby to prepare. "Hey."

"Hey." Riley peers at him briefly before turning his attention back to carefully applying his wrist tape. "Truth tonight, huh?"

"Yeah," John nods distractedly, trying to decide how he feels about that. As welcome as the opportunity to get revenge will be, his anger isn't all for Truth anymore and he's not sure what to do about that. Mike already has a match for the evening and John has to focus on his own match, so allowing himself to get distracted by something else right now- especially something that's been back and forth for over two years now- just seems overly pathetic.

"Good luck," Alex offers after a few strained moments, tilting his head as Morrison snaps his head up to stare at him, pulled out of his thoughts.

"Thanks," he murmurs.

Not long afterwards, Alex leaves to deal with his US title aspirations and Morrison half watches, shaking his head in amusement as Vickie gets herself involved and costs Dolph the match by DQ. His match is up next so as Vickie and Dolph argue, he takes a few deep breaths and heads for the gorilla position.

Not even halfway down the main hallway, that branches off to the gorilla position, he spots Miz for the first time since the attack last week, walking his way with a weird look on his overly expressive face. Feeling awkward and a little strangled, time seems to slow briefly until they're passing by each other. Mike even pauses for a moment, his lips parting like he's about to say something. John shakes his head, eyes narrowing warningly. "Not now, Miz." He then speeds up a bit, relieved when he reaches the curtain and peers out at Truth's entrance, that pissed look still on his face as he makes his way to the ring.

He's not sure later if it was just an off night or he _had_ allowed Miz to get under his skin but he loses _again,_ and takes a beating on top of that, the vicious landing on the barricade wall upper back first sending pain shooting through his skull clear to the roots of his teeth. Still sore from the last few matches he's had on both Smackdown and Raw the past few weeks, it's almost all he can do to walk to the back while holding onto his neck like if he moves his hand the littlest bit, it may just fall off.

He does go to the trainer's this time, lets the man do all the checking he wants to do with little complaint, too tired and aggravated to even roll his eyes at the fuss. He doesn't respond, absorbing an ice pack, when the door opens and closes quietly. He doesn't move or check to see who it is until someone says, "So how is he?"

His eyes shoot open then, peering over at a hovering Alex in surprise. "You again?"

Alex chuckles, unoffended. "Yeah, me again. You think after last week, I'm gonna let you try to knock yourself out walking through the hallways again?"

John thinks he knows what's going on now and sits a little straighter, frowning at Riley even as his neck protests the movement. "Did Miz talk you into keeping an eye on me?" The slight hesitation is all the answer that John needs and he rolls his eyes. "I don't need a babysitter. Especially one who's only here because someone else is feeling guilty," he adds derisively.

"That's not the only reason I'm here," Alex counters, undisturbed by John's tone or attitude. "Mike did ask me to keep an eye out for you, yeah, but... well. I've known him for over a year now, between being his rookie _and_ his protege. It's nothing to the amount of time you've spent teaming with him, hating him, and everything in between, but it's enough to know how hard it can be to accept Mike for who he is, who he can be, and what he'll be reduced to in times of stress or anger. So think what you want about me being here, but I understand in a way most of the guys around here can't about what's going on with you two."

John sighs, shifting the ice pack a little more before leaning back against the couch, his eyes slipping closed. "Guess you have a point," he mumbles, quieter and more accepting now as Alex moves to sit next to him, his hands folded between his knees as he waits for Morrison to say anything else. "Sucks, sometimes, you know?"

"It does," he concedes with a grimace. "But I know, if the Anon GM wasn't so damn stupid, he would've done everything in his power to get me to Smackdown if that was still what I wanted. He's stubborn and easily angered, it makes it easy to forget his good characteristics sometimes..." He worries his lip briefly before turning back to John, a hopeful look in his eyes. "Will you at least think about talking to him? Not tonight, but soon?"

Glancing over at A-Ri, Morrison sighs, reluctantly allowing himself to remember everything Mike took time out of his busy schedule to do while he was injured- the July fifth barbecue on the cove, the various visits and all of the phone calls, text messages and other things obviously designed to keep him at least partially in the loop while out of commission. "I'll think about it," he murmurs.

"Ok," Alex says, deciding to change the topic. "Well then..." He claps his hands together, smiling slightly. "Do you like soup?" The look on Morrison's face alone makes asking this random question worth it.


	59. chapter 59

Summerslam week. It's treated similarly to Wrestlemania, with multiple media events everyday and Axxess on the weekend. The main difference, however, is in most recent years, it's always occurred in LA, California, and has been branded the biggest party of, obviously, the summer. After months of traveling from this town to that, being in multiple states in a single week, to spend so much time at home in his own bed, only driving briefly to make it to each event- in his own vehicle, no less- feels strange, foreign.

He sighs, lifts his head up to absorb the early afternoon sun as he leans against his car, taking a minute before he enters the building for an autograph signing. It's been a long week, each day dragging on a bit more than the one before as Summerslam nears. He has no actual match announced even at this late date, though there are rumors that he'll have something to do.

Alex has been mostly off the grid, though Mike knows he's in town. A text here, and a text there, are the only communication he's had from the younger man. Morrison hasn't approached him physically or electronically since the attack ten days ago, not that he really blames him.

He blinks his eyes open, squares his shoulders as he pushes away from the warm comfort of his car. "Here we go."

That Sunday, he _is_ given a last minute match- and he wonders bitterly, briefly, in the end who really is the worst master. The anonymous GM with all of his behind the scene shenanigans, who even so would at least take the time to announce and advertise his pay per view matches- or HHH, who seems to be overlooking everything _but_ the WWE title situation.

He's brooding over this when the locker room door opens and Alex enters, a grin on his face that falters a bit when he sees the look on Mike's face. "Hey, man."

"Hey." He picks at the wrist tape roll, trying meticulously to straighten it before applying it, and doesn't look up at his former protege again.

"Sorry I haven't been in touch much the past few days... it's been busy, huh?" he offers awkwardly, settling down towards the end of the bench Miz is currently occupying.

"Yeah, it's been a regular madhouse," he says blandly, finally sorting the tape out with a hard jerk. He's not mad at Alex, far from it, but here, now, the separation he's had from both Riley and Morrison recently eats at him. _We started this crap for the GM's benefit but he's obviously lost his power. Could we...? Would it be worth it or maybe we're all better off without each other's drama in our lives...?_

"Are you ok?"

Mike jerks out of his thoughts and looks over, surprised by the question. "I'm fine."

Alex looks frustrated for a moment before leaning forward, wrenching the wrist tape from Mike. His match is first, his chance against Dolph to get the US title- something he's wanted, hungered for, for awhile-, and he knows _now_ is not the time to get into an argument, to get distracted, but the locker room is empty, the Anon GM hasn't been heard from for weeks, and it seems as good a time as any to get this off of his chest. "I listened to you last week, y'know? I heard every word you said, and I understand it, maybe better than you realize. I'm relatively new to this business but I _understand_. It's been a hell of year, for all three of us. And honestly, it looks like it's not even close to ending for any of us. But I've stuck by you, and so has John.

"At least, we've tried to. Lately, all it feels like you're doing is pushing us away. The Anon GM has been basically rendered powerless since HHH took over, but still you don't say anything to suggest we stop acting like we hate each other. Do you really think HHH cares who likes and who hates each other? I doubt he sees very far beyond his own nose, much less to anything beyond the title scene at the moment." He pauses for a moment, features softening as Mike chuckles despite himself, a small noise from the back of his throat but noticeable none-the-less. "I know you hate that you've lost the WWE title, but pushing everyone away isn't going to fix things. We just wanna help, Mike." He taps him on the shoulder with the roll of tape before standing up. "Think about it, huh?"

As he leaves, applying the tape even as he walks off, Mike scrubs a hand through his hair, gaze distant and thoughtful. The monitor in the corner of the room shows feed from the arena, in the ring, backstage segments, whatever the cameras catch that's deemed relevant enough to be filmed.

Still focused on Alex's words, he watches his match against Dolph. Mike can feel his desire for the US title from here as he fights and fights, never completely gives up, until that final Zigzag that ultimately takes him out of commission long enough for the three count. He's out of the room and by the gorilla position before he can even fully think about it or come to a conscious decision.

Dolph comes through first, sneering over at Mike with a glowering Vickie by his side, his US title held securely in his hand. Wisely, the bleach blond doesn't approach, instead attempting to lead Vickie away even as she wrenches away from his hand on her back, walking quickly away from him with her head held high.

Miz rolls his eyes at their drama, quickly forgetting it as the curtain brushes aside once more, a tired, sweaty and breathless Alex stumbling through. He pauses mid-step as he catches sight of Mike, his eyes widening. "You waiting for me?" he struggles to say, trying to steady his breathing at the same time.

Ignoring this, he takes a hesitant step forward, and another, watching as Alex rubs at his neck and upper back, cringing at the results of the Zigzag. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, there'll be other opportunities, right?" Despite his sure words, Miz catches the slight frustration behind his tone and smiles slightly, reminded of a younger version of himself who wanted everything _now, now, now_... and still does. Probably always will.

"Of course there will be," he says simply. He shifts to the side, allowing Alex through, and the two men head back to the locker room quietly. "I, uh, thought about what you said," he offers once they're outside of the room. "I... You're right." He scuffs his shoe against the floor, eyes locked on the same area. "I'm sorry."

"The apology's unneeded, Mike." Alex smiles when his former mentor looks up at him, a bit surprised. "I told you, I understood. I just wanted _you_ to understand a different viewpoint of it. Besides, I think someone else needs that apology a little more than I do."

_Morrison_. His heart sinks slightly, mouth dry. "You're right. Again. Why does that keep happening?" He grins a little when Alex's smile grows and looks down the hall. "Do you... know where he is?"

Alex shakes his head, holds a hand up. "I'm gonna give you a bit of advice, Mike."

He sighs, wondering when exactly Alex changed, grew up. "More of that too, huh? Ok, what?"

"Let him come to you? You forcing an apology on him before he's ready to see you might not be the best thing to do right now."

Mike's lips twist as he considers this, remembers past fights they had during their first run as tag partners and how they had been resolved up until the last few weeks leading into the draft. He had known that too but time and bitterness had wiped his memories of how best to handle John, the past year only helping to remind him bit by bit. "What if he doesn't?"

Alex shakes his head. "This is John Morrison we're talking about; he didn't give up on you when the Anon GM forced you two to work together, did he? He stuck by you for months, until you could cash in the briefcase. He'll come to you. Just be patient."

Mike huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "My worst event," he teases slightly. Their conversation, however, is interrupted as he stiffens. "Crap, my match. I almost forgot. I'll see you later?"

"Sure, man. Good luck." As Mike rushes back to the gorilla position, Alex watches him for a moment before going back into the locker room to finish cooling off, a funny look on his face as he recalls something Morrison had said earlier on the way to the arena, quickly putting two and two together. "Hopefully their being on opposite sides of this match won't cause more tension..."

As he climbs into the ring, Mike stews over knowing so very little about this match, just that he's in it and that it's a six man, thanks to the announcement during his entrance. His gaze drifts as Truth comes out- again? Seriously?-, followed by Alberto Del Rio. He watches grimly as the Mexican hands off his briefcase to his ring announcer, Ricardo Rodriguez. Nearly a year ago, that had been him and Alex Riley.

His fists clench as his opponents come out, his suspicions upon seeing Truth confirmed: his first glance of John Morrison since last Monday is here, now, as rivals yet again. John doesn't look him in the eye as he enters the ring, focusing instead on Truth with an intense, angry stare. _Patience_ , a voice that sounds suspiciously like Alex reminds him persistently. He distracts himself by stretching a bit during Kofi and Mysterio's entrances, unimpressed.

When Truth eventually loses to Mysterio, Mike huffs in disgust and bails as quickly as he can, leaving the celebrating faces behind. Even in a match with as little fan fare as this one, a loss is a loss and it eats at him- though seeing Truth lose is always a positive.

He wanders the hallways for awhile, trying to distract himself from dwelling on how far he's fallen since being WWE champion, when it gets just a bit too much and he turns, abruptly punching the ungiving wall next to him. He hisses, shaking his fist out, and rolls his eyes at himself. "Dammit."

"A broken hand won't make you feel better," a bland voice says quietly from behind him.

He jerks, hope rising within him even as his heart sinks slightly. He turns to find John watching him, arms held rigidly at his sides as if he's not sure what to expect either. His lips part slightly, so many thoughts and feelings rushing through him that he's not sure what to do, where to start. "John," he finally manages, wincing at how lame that one word sounds coming from him after the last few weeks.

"Mike."

He looks away, shifting slightly. "I... talked with Alex earlier."

"Oh?"

John sounds uninterested, despite his sharp gaze still locked on Mike, but he bolsters himself and forces on. "Yeah, he... made some good points." Straightening his shoulders further, he locks eyes with John, not wanting there to be any doubt in what he's about to say. "Since losing the title, I've been distancing myself more and more from, well, from both of you. Even with the Anon GM gone, I hadn't made steps to fix things between Alex and I... and then I started taking it out on you, too. I'm not saying that this is going to be an instant fix- I'm a slow learner, sometimes... but I don't want to do that anymore. To either of you."

He rarely apologizes to anyone, it tends to go against his very nature, but he remembers how it felt to take his temper out on Morrison two weeks ago. Far from being the stress reliever he had expected, it had left him sick and hating himself- one wrong move could've taken John out of commission once more (maybe even permanently), especially with his nerve damage still causing him problems, not to mention how delicate neck injuries can be anyhow. Adding onto that that he had been helping Morrison's most hated enemy, the very _cause_ of his injury in the first place, and... well...

He takes a deep breath, releases it. "I'm sorry, John. It all just went... too far. I didn't mean to..." The look on John's face is inscrutable, his dark, anger-filled eyes boring into Mike's. For the first time in a long while, the former champion feels true, choking fear and he wonders if maybe listening to Alex, waiting until Morrison came to him wasn't long enough.

When John moves a moment later, he stiffens, trying not to listen to his flight or fight response as his former tag partner grabs the side of his arm, squeezing slightly. "I know. I hate what you did, that you helped Truth... but I know." He still looks unhappy, like the words are leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, and Mike wonders for a moment if he's been struggling between what he _knows_ and what he _feels_ since that Monday night attack. "I've had time to think." He mercifully releases his grip on Mike and steps back, his eyes downcast. "I was beyond pissed at first but time and talking to Alex helped, some." He strains a bit, obviously fighting to think of how to word what's on his mind, before sighing, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. "No harm done, right?"

"You sure about that?" Mike asks shrewdly, watching him with a tired frown. "John..."

"I'm fine," he insists, holding a hand up. "Hey, if I got over 2009, I can get over anything with enough time, right?"

"Sure," he says, unconvinced.

The next night is a mixed bag in results for them all- John has another opportunity against R Truth in a falls count anywhere match, his own suggestion, and Mike watches quietly as Truth all but trashes John further, his neck once more coming into play as John begins holding onto it midway through. Somehow, though, it's not the death knell it'd been the previous weeks and Morrison rides it out until he's able to get in just enough offense- involving an office chair, of all things- to knee Truth in the skull and get the three count.

He wonders if this will do it, if John will be appeased with that victory or if he'll continue to stubbornly go after the man who took away months of his career and ruined their friendship. Or if Truth will fall off of the rails worse and continue to target Morrison. As John walks through the curtain, looking a little pained but pleased, Mike nods at him. "Feel good?"

"Damn straight," he breathes, raising an eyebrow at him. "You're up, eh? What are you going to do?"

"You'll see." Mike smirks as John rolls his eyes. He has no match scheduled for real this time, so he decides instead to target a celebrity in attendance... well, sort of. Jared the Subway guy is in the front row and he directs his attention to him, stealing the sub he's carrying around and giving his own Subway advertisement to show he could be a better spokesman than who they currently have. Afterwards he announces his intentions to be champion again- Alex's words from the night before convincing him it is time to attempt to force his way back into the mess of people struggling to get a chance at the world title- and leaves, taking the sub with him.

He walks for awhile, looking for Alex and Morrison. He finally finds them hanging around catering and heads over, still working on the sub. "You know, really, this isn't all that bad," he mumbles, taking another bite from it. "Too bad there isn't enough for you two-

"Oh, but there is," Alex responds.

"What?" Mike shifts so he can see around them and frowns. The whole catering table is covered in Subway sandwiches.

"They're catering this tonight, that's part of the reason why Jared was in the audience," the rookie explains, John nodding next to him as he bites into his own sub.

"...Well, now I don't feel so special," Mike huffs as the other two chuckle slightly.


	60. chapter 60

Canada. It feels like it's been a life time since they'd last been, Miz reflects as he stares out of the hotel window. Despite the soft, red gleam of a setting sun demanding attention from all in its presence, his focus is elsewhere, scattered. Just the week before Morrison and he had talked for the first time since Miz had helped Truth leave him laying in the middle of the ring on that regretful Raw. Despite the tension still remaining between them, they had agreed to split a hotel room while in Canada. John wasn't _as_ angry anymore but he was... careful around Mike, hesitant. More quiet than usual. The slowly regained trust between them had been shattered yet again, to Miz's self-disgust.

_It's definitely all my fault but man, I'd love to get my hands on R Truth,_ he thinks once more, the idea having teased him for the past few days more and more as time passes. _How would_ he _react though?_ His eyes glance to the side as he registers John shifting on his bed, a book crinkling in his hands as he passes time reading. _It would also, hopefully, keep them away from each other?_ That thought cinches it and he slowly turns around, frowning as John doesn't glance up from his book despite the intense stare aimed his way. "I have an idea."

It comes out of nowhere, slips past his defenses, surprising even Mike, and has the desired effect- Morrison finally peers up, his uncertain gaze locking on Mike's face. "What?"

"Wait, Alex needs to hear this too. I'm gonna call him."

John watches, stupefied, as Mike crosses the room purposely and grabs his phone, the younger man's number dialed before he even has a full grip on the small device. "Alright."

He's off the phone a few moments later, Alex quickly agreeing to come over. "He's at a soup place, he's bringing some for all of us," he mentions quietly, settling down at the hard wood table not far from the couch as he fiddles with the phone, rethinking his plan- going over every detail, trying to find any weakness. To him, it's perfect and he relaxes further, knowing if there's anything wrong with it John and Alex will let him know as soon as they're told.

"What is with him and soup? He does realize it's still summer, right?" John asks after a strained silence, frowning bemusedly as Mike looks up, smirking slightly.

"You weren't complaining a few weeks ago with the pea soup." His humor slips, fades away as Morrison looks away, his body tensing up. _Dammit,_ he thinks, remembering. _You had to remind him of that time period. Smooth, idiot._ The tense silence remains, John's focus back on his book and Miz's on the imperfections on the wood before him, until a knock at the door and Mike gets up in relief, never happier to see Alex's face as he is in that moment. "Come on in," he urges, stepping back to make room for the carefully held bag full of food and his former protege.

Alex's smile slips slightly as he takes in the look on Mike's face and John's defensive position despite being sprawled out on the hotel bed with a book. "You two alright?"

"We're perfect," John mumbles, up in a blink of an eye and taking the bag from Alex in one fluid movement. As he settles it on the table, Alex and Mike glance at each other, Mike shrugging helplessly at the curious, worried look on the kid's face.

"Ah, yeah, well..." Alex clears his throat and steps away from Mike, helping John pull the various containers of soup out of the bag. "I got cream of mushroom, pea soup and... pumpkin." He flushes slightly as both men look over at him oddly. "What, it's good!"

"It sounds like something you'd get out of an Illinois festival or something," Mike comments, quickly claiming the mushroom as his own.

"Nothing wrong with that," Alex mumbles as he takes the overlooked pumpkin container, John content with the pea soup once more. They eat for a bit in silence, Alex glancing back and forth as no conversation is forthcoming at all. "So, uh, about this plan of yours..." he finally says, the quiet grating at him.

"In a second," Mike mumbles, allowing the plastic spoon accompanying his soup to drop into the styrofoam, his eyes falling onto the half-full container of pumpkin soup. Alex and Morrison had both used separate bowls in case they wanted to salvage the leftovers, so he has no qualms pointing to the remainer of Alex's, despite his earlier words. "Mind if I...?"

Alex rolls his eyes, amused and exasperated all at the same time, knowing that the only way to get answers is to let Miz have what he wants. "Help yourself."

"Thanks." Mike quickly pulls the soup over and savors a few bites, mulling over the slightly spicy pumpkin mixing with the savory taste of the mushroom, before looking up. "Ok, well... here's what I'm thinking..."

By that Monday, all possibilities of Mike's plan have been talked out backwards and forwards until they're all rather sick of hearing about it and antsy to just _do_ it. John and Alex end up going to the arena together, the plan depending on Mike going alone to entice Truth. Sure enough, barely half an hour after he arrives, the mentally deranged man finds him and starts going on about conspiracies and main eventing once more. Unlike weeks before, he actually makes like he's listening, agreeing in the right places and disagreeing in others.

Truth's words still in his ear, he fights to keep his concentration even as the monitor in the locker room shows Morrison wrestling Alberto Del Rio in an impromptu match, his lingering neck issues visibly giving him trouble early on. Before long, ADR goes after the arm, as always, but despite that John keeps his offense up, getting many frustrating near falls. It's only when John fails at the Starship pain- by now, Miz thinks its title is only deserving because it almost always provides John with more pain than anyone- that the match advantage changes and ADR locks in the armbar. John struggles and fights, Mike mentally urging him just to tap out before he gets hurt further, until finally he gives up, his palm slapping against the ring in defeat. It takes all Miz has to not lash out, do something despite Truth still babbling onto him, when Morrison rolls out in front of Ricardo Rodriguez and gets mocked, just for ADR to follow and lock in the armbar for a little while longer. "Son of a bitch," he mumbles, unable to stop himself.

Truth, however, is mid-rant and only glances up at the screen for a second. "Alberto Del Rio might be part of the conspiracy too," he announces excitedly, his dark eyes gleaming as he peers up at the end of Morrison's match, not even paying attention to his former tag partner sprawled out at the Mexicans' feet. "Not entirely sold on that one though..."

Mike gets a breather during Alex's match, slipping away while Truth is walking to catering, still going on about spiders and random conspiracies. _I didn't really think all of this through... actually spending time with him is more taxing than I figured,_ he thinks, his lips twisting as he stands by the gorilla position and watches Dolph and Vickie argue, the woman losing her balance and sitting heavily on the entrance ramp. Swagger joins the argument then, and yells at Dolph. "That's a mistake," he murmurs, watching as Alex recovers and waits, in prime positioning to get the roll up victory on Swagger. "Geez, who was the rookie here?" He hangs around as Alex catches his breath and makes his way to the back, an amused look on his face.

"Oh, hey, Mike," he greets his mentor. "Tired of Truth already?"

"Something like that. God... He never stops talking," Mike grouses, rolling his eyes as Alex attempts not to chuckle. "It isn't funny!" Shaking his head, he moves on. "How's John?"

"Sore. Aggravated. But I think he'll be ok," Alex ventures. "Trainer looked him over, said the usual-"

"Ice, rest. Blahblah," Mike recites, aware that he could say it in his sleep by now.

"Yep. Are you ready?" he asks as they wander back to the locker rooms, knowing that they'd have to separate soon for Mike to put his plans into motion.

"Yeah. Of course. I was born ready." He smirks, his eyes narrowing slightly as he catches sight of Truth down the hallway, peering from side to side and talking to thin air once more. "What have I gotten myself into...?"

"Well, look at it this way. If you ever want to bail, you probably could and Truth wouldn't think twice- he'd probably just think you were a figment of his imagination or something," Alex offers with a strained smile, watching as Truth continues carrying on from a distance.

"Yeah, something." Mike sighs. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck."

Going public, such as it is, feels weird- they beat down Santino until hitting the ring. Miz demands microphones and stares off into the audience, his lips twisted in disgust as Truth goes on and on about conspiracies, remembering Friday night and the look on John and Alex's faces as he tried to explain this idea to them.

_"But why would you want to allign with R Truth after all of this?" Morrison asks, the anger on his face even more raw and somehow fragile, like one wrong word or action and he'll shatter into a million, sharp, unfixable pieces._

_Alex, however, looks confused, worrying his lip nervously. "Mike, what if this doesn't work? How long will you let it drag on? I thought you wanted to_ stop _isolating yourself, we just worked out the whole aftermath of the Anon GM nonsense... now you're tacking more on?"_

_He closes his eyes, knowing that the timing leaves much to be desired. As he spins the spoon around the empty soup container, he thinks about how best to explain his logic. "Listen, I know this is bad timing but..." He peers up at Morrison and takes a deep breath, wanting... needing to make this work. "I feel like I owe this to you, John. Make up a little for what I've done... if I can get him to trust me enough to sabotage whatever he's going to attempt in the future, then isn't it worth it in the long run?"_

_"I can fight my own battles," he mumbles, his eyes downcast to avoid the other two's gazes. "I proved that this past week, didn't I? I beat him. I don't need you to defeat him from within or whatever."_

_"I'm not saying you can't. I just think it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on him," he says, suddenly feeling foolish at thinking that they would find this plan as worthwhile, fault proof, as he does. "Besides, he's been after me for weeks about this conspiracy and that. Why not just let him think I'm giving him what he wants, an ally?"_

Pulled from his memories, he looks over at Truth and waits for a good time to agree, suffusing just enough truth (no pun intended) into what he's saying that no one will think twice of his suddenly falling in with the man who had successfully put his former tag partner on the shelf for months. As Truth raps and Miz yells at the audience, he tries to keep the trepidacious grimace off of his face. _I hate this but it needs to be done._


	61. chapter 61

****

Possibly worse than aligning with Truth is actually traveling with the man. Mike watches blankly as he goes over the rental car like it's lined with a bomb, muttering viciously to himself about how some spiders are gon' get got if they're anywhere in the vicinity. He sighs, a headache already coming on. _If he's this bad about the rental car, I don't wanna imagine how he's going to be when we get to the hotel._ He closes his eyes, absorbing the warm sun as he waits impatiently.

Finally Truth pops his head out of the trunk and nods, satisfied. "No spiders here!"

"Thank God," Mike mumbles, hoisting his bag back onto his shoulder, desperate to just get this show on the road. When they _do_ finally arrive at the arena a little bit later- driving with Truth is a whole other nightmare, the man brings roadrage to a new level, mumbling from one shoulder to the other the whole way about this driver and that, even blaming red lights on some conspiracy against him until Miz wants to either bail from the vehicle or take the wheel- he notes the tension almost as soon as he opens the door, each one of the locker rooms far from the usual madhouses they generally are. Even the tech crew look pale and distracted, eyes flickering from here to there as he walks by.

He doesn't think much of it until he walks past Randy Orton, the World Heavyweight Title gleaming over his shoulder, skidding to a stop as he stares at the Smackdown superstar going by like he owns the arena. Which, considering rumor was that Alberto Del Rio was stuck in Mexico due to some Visa issues, he in a way does, Mike muses, missing those days when the secure weight of the title belt was on _his_ shoulder... Shaking his head, he turns to watch Orton leave, only then noticing a locker room with a bright blue sticker proclaiming "SMACKDOWN SUPERSTARS". _There are more here tonight?_ he thinks, dread swirling up within him. _What's going on? Maybe it's crosspromotion for Super Smackdown tomorrow night but... the way everyone's acting?_

His question is answered merely half an hour later as HHH announces at the start of the show that from this point on, Smackdown superstars would be appearing on both Raw and Smackdown in what he proclaims as a "Supershow". The locker room he's inside of starts buzzing, Truth's eyes widening even further as they all process this information. This doesn't bode well for any of them, the ripple effect of such a decision obvious to them all- less screen time, more guys jockeying for attention, and perhaps... perhaps more releases, down the line. He takes a deep breath and grabs his gear, preparing for the match against Punk that's scheduled later that evening.

When it finally comes, he convinces Truth to stay in the locker room and guard their stuff from any spiders that may be lurking around, not caring one way or another really but just wanting to wrestle this match on his own, prove he has the stuff it takes to hang with the current self-proclaimed "Best in the World". It goes back and forth for awhile, sometimes Punk with the advantage and sometimes Miz, but things start to fall apart after awhile, his success at getting out of repeated GTS attempts slowly fading away... he thinks the match is just about over, Punk about to defeat him, when Truth rushes down and attacks Punk.

Reluctantly, Mike joins the brawl even as it spills out to the outside and is thrown into the wall, content to lay there and catch his breath as Punk and Truth return to the middle of the ring, Truth getting a GTS for his troubles. Miz decides it's gone on long enough and returns to the ring, laying Punk out. His attention drifts as he looks up to find Nash heading for the ring, anger and purpose on his face. Uncertain what's going to happen next, both Truth and he retreat, leaning against the ropes on opposite sides of the ring as Nash repeats Summerslam, powerbombing an unexpecting Punk into the canvas.

Annoyed that the first match he's had since Summerslam's been ruined in this manner, he mumbles some excuse to Truth about needing some air and quickly distances himself from his new "partner", wandering through the hallways for the next hour or so. As the show draws to an end, he can't help but fret some. Alex has a small video package just before the main event but Morrison isn't mentioned once. With the business in a strange sort of flux due to HHH's decisions, it's been changes like these that have been worrying since the takeover. He can't help but think of how things might've been if Vince had remained- Cena would more than likely be gone, his match against Punk tonight might've been for the WWE title, and...

This train of thought dies away as he catches sight of a monitor, HHH talking with Punk. He explains that the match against Nash has been changed- now Punk will be wrestling _him_ at Night of Champions. _Why am I not surprised?_ Miz thinks bitterly. Uninterested in seeing yet another Cena match to its conclusion, he returns to the locker room to find Truth.

A strained ride back to the hotel later- with Miz driving this time, Truth content to sit in the passenger seat and go on about this conspiracy and that no matter how loud Mike turns the radio up-, he hesitates outside of their room, forcing a smirk as Truth turns to him, curious. "Go on in, look for spiders. I'm gonna get some sodas until you say the coast is clear. Any preferences?"

"Smart! No point in them getting both of us," he nods wisely. "Whatever they have that isn't tampered with."

"Alright, be back in awhile." Miz barely waits until he's turned the corner to grab his phone. "Room 337," he mumbles, shrugging. "Same floor, go figure." He walks for a bit, noting the soda machines just down the hall from his goal before knocking loudly.

Alex answers, relieved to see that it's Mike. "Hey," he says quietly, stepping aside to let his former mentor inside.

John wanders out of the bathroom a moment later, his movements quick and annoyed as he stuffs some things into his bag, zipping it up roughly as he goes. "Mike," he greets his former tag partner tightly.

There's still some tension, uncertainty between them, since his actions a few weeks ago, not to mention his decision a week ago, but this is more. This is anger not entirely directed at him, but at the situation. Alex glances his way, shrugging unhappily as Mike watches Morrison do everything to _not_ look at them. He sympathizes, still not entirely over the weeks he went with no matches on Raw- no announced bout for Summerslam. "John-"

"Don't. I'm fine," he snaps, kicking his bag out of his way as he stands.

"I can tell," Mike mumbles. "Look, the business is kinda up in the air with all these damn changes from HHH- it'll settle eventually. You'll see, this lack of match stuff won't be permanent." _I hope... God, do I hope..._

John doesn't respond for a long moment, his body rigid and shoulders tight as he peers down at the room service menu on the table before him. "Apparently, Alex, if we want matches again, we need to start working together against the conspiracy of the squirrels or something," he says sarcastically. "It seems to work for others." He _finally_ looks over at Mike, who is relieved to see under the anger and bitterness that there's a slight bit of humor in his gaze as well, his lips twitching ever so slightly as Alex looks back and forth at them.

"I wouldn't be surprised if there were," the rookie mumbles thoughtfully, frowning.

"Oh, God, look what you did now, John," Mike groans in exasperation as John finally does laugh for real this time, his gaze softening afterwards. The next fifteen minutes spent teasing Morrison that it was his turn for a poster this year in the annual magazine special- to which Morrison returns that _he_ has a month in the WWE 2012 calendar, unlike _some_ former WWE champions- until Truth texts to say that the hotel room is spider free, is the most relaxing Mike's had in awhile. Even when he returns with two Sprites from the annoyingly depleted soda machine and finds Truth looking around wildly as if double checking the walls for sneaky arachnids, he has to work to get the calm smile off of his face.


	62. chapter 62

John stretches methodically, preparing to go around the arena in one of his parkour frenzies, when even one wrong breath, thought or action could send him crashing into one of the many surfaces he used to propel himself further, higher. Perhaps his favorite part of it all is how his mind would clear and for a brief period of time, his body would take over as he automatically ran up and over chairs, crates, walls, anything he could.

During these runs, he could almost forget losing to R-Truth _again_ last Thursday on Superstars, after feeling like he was finally getting on an even keel with the victory against him weeks back. Forget Miz's association with Truth, how it feels to see both of his former tag partners hanging out together, traveling together and having each other's backs like they used to have his. The weeks he had spent on the sidelines, twitchy and anxious to get back to it, to this, his neck and arm aching with a fierceness so bad that he could barely sleep for a couple hours at a time at first.

He comes to a skidding stop after running across a door, freaking out the techs inside who open it to peer outside. Upon realizing it's him, they duck back inside the room with an eyeroll and he grins. _That never really gets old._ He scrapes a hand through his sweaty hair and sucks in a deep breath, his brief good humor failing as he looks up to find Alex Riley watching him from a distance.

All they've ever had in common, really, was Miz and yeah, they get along alright now compared to in the past, but John doesn't want to go over the topic once more- Mike's attempt to keep Truth under control by being his partner still makes very little sense to Morrison and if anything, just annoys him further because it's obviously done out of guilt. _I don't need Mike to babysit Truth because of me,_ he thinks grimly, heading for the locker room in the opposite direction of where Alex's standing. "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy," he mumbles after a bit, pushing the door open.

"Talking to yourself?" Mike greets him, eyebrows raised. "Be careful, people might start thinking you've wrestled Truth so much, you're turning into him."

John freezes at his voice, hand clenched around the doorknob as he takes in Miz looking up at him from the bench, digging through his duffel bag. "What are you doing in here?"

"It's called getting ready for the show tonight," he says sarcastically, eyeing him. "You might want to try it sometime."

"Where's your new friend?" he asks after a minute, finally letting his hand slip from the doorknob as he enters the room fully, the door slipping shut behind him.

"Who knows, probably making sure he has enough Raid to hold him over until he's back in North Carolina..." Mike kicks the bag away and turns to watch as Morrison settles down on the opposing bench, wiping his face off with a white towel. "You alright?"

John freezes and peers up at him. "I'm great," he says blandly, looking away as Miz's gaze sharpens with worry. "Don't start... just keep your focus on your new tag partner," he spits, jerking to his feet and heading for the showers. "I can take care of myself." He doesn't even twitch when Mike mumbles something that sounds like "Sure you can."

By the time the show starts, Mike and Truth are who-knows-where, John now in the other locker room where Alex is watching the monitor curiously. "That doesn't look good," he comments as Alberto Del Rio and Ricardo Rodriguez go from person to person, convincing them to work over John Cena.

Morrison isn't really focused or interested but he glances up anyway, catching sight of a Punk vs Truth promo shot. "No, it doesn't." He returns his attention to his phone, disgusted and aggravated.

It's not until Miz accompanies Truth to the ring and starts to talk that he _does_ pay attention, his face paling as Miz makes it known that they plan on going for the tag belts. Alex swallows heavily next to him and he glances over at the kid. "He's damn insane," he finally says when the shocked, strained silence becomes too much for either of them to bear. "More power to him. We saw how being in a tag team with Truth ended up for me." Unable to stand Mike's former protege's eyes on him, he stuffs his phone in his bag's side pocket and leaves the room quickly.

The time he had spent running circles around the arena earlier feels like years ago now, his brief peace long gone. "Damn you, Miz," he mumbles, trailing a hand along the cool paint coating the hallway wall. He's not sure how long he wanders around mindlessly that night but at some point he passes by a monitor and catches sight of all the men ADR had been talking to earlier converging on John Cena like a pack of coyotes. He hesitates, apathy warring with his general dislike of guys like ADR taking the coward's way out- like Truth had done on numerous occassions until Morrison's neck had given out.

Clenching his fist, decision made, he turns back around and returns to the gorilla position, making it in time to run out just behind Alex Riley and assist. He's not all that surprised when, once the others are neutralized and it's just him, Sheamus, A-Ri and Cena in the middle of the ring, Teddy Long comes out and announces an eight man match.

He doesn't have the best history with the men he's been thrown into this tag match with- Sheamus and his rivalry is still somewhat fresh in his mind, and he agrees with quite a bit of what Punk has to say about Cena. Alex is the only one who he gets along with, and he thinks they're in the same boat because when he needs a tag Riley lunges right for John, who quickly enters the ring against Dolph.

For a brief period of time he feels more like himself than he has in weeks, flying around the ring like he had the hallways hours earlier, but it's only fleeting as everything falls apart; Swagger gets a tag while Morrison is tangled up in Dolph's sleeperhold, trying not to fade, turning desperately to his corner in a worthless attempt to get over there for a tag of his own. His every attempt fails, fades away into pain as black inches along his vision; only stabbing pain up his leg leaves him clinging to awareness until the pressure along his throat disappears and he gasps, chokes and scrambles. The cloying pain along his ankle is still there and he can't do anything, no energy remaining to inch closer to the white ropes that are so, _so_ close to him, taunting him. He closes his eyes, failure bleeding through him, as he taps and finally finds relief from the pain stabbing up his ankle to knee, rolling out of the ring and landing hard on the other side.

He grimaces on his way up the ramp, remembering that Alex has the rental car keys in his bags, beyond wiped out to even get into an argument with the younger man over digging through his things. He doesn't even get out of his ringwear, simply pulling a shirt over his head and picking fruitlessly at the wrist tape still clinging to him, before limping for the parking lot. Each step is fresh, white hot agony but he works through it, breathing in deeply as he reaches outdoors. The air is cool, September coming in with a vengeance as the central states all sharply cool down after months at being at near record temperatures.

He's not sure how long the eight man match will run but he's content to lean against the green rental car that he and Alex had come in on, listening to the nonstop hum of car engines in the distance heading this way and that on the streets surrounding the arena.

When footsteps venture his way, he looks up expecting it to be Alex, but his stance tenses up when he realizes it's instead Mike walking slowly towards him. "Twice in one day, ain't I lucky?" he drawls, raising an eyebrow as Mike pauses midstep, obviously weighing his options. "Come to poke me about getting eliminated before your NXT rookie?"

Miz rolls his eyes and settles next to him, staring at the side of his face. "John-"

"What do you want, Mike? Tell me losses like these can happen to anyone... or tell me your tag title aspirations with Truth mean nothing?" He laughs roughly, notices how Mike cringes out of the corner of his eye. "It's cute, really. He takes me out of competition for _months_ and you reward him by propelling him into the tag title scene. Maybe I should make a tag team with Alex, how would you like that?"

Mike swallows, shakes his head. "It's not like that- it's not a reward-"

"I told you I didn't need you to keep Truth busy, I can handle him... I have up to now, haven't I?"

"You call being on the shelf, injured for weeks, still suffering the effects months later, _HANDLING HIM?_ " Mike demands, his voice raising in disbelief as he twitches, wanting to push Morrison or something, anything to get him to pay attention to what he's actually saying. "John," he says quietly. "I know it sucks but I just... I need to do this. I do."

"No, you don't," he mumbles, eyes flashing angrily. "You really, really do not. Let Truth flounder- find something else to do- this isn't _neccessary!"_

"But it is," he argues with a shake of his head. "John... you may not see it, but I do. It's like... I look at you and it's just obvious, maybe not to you, but it is to me. Truth took something from you when he took you out. I don't know if it was the surgery or rehab or the re-injury but you're not the same guy you were last April, the guy I faced in that cage match. I see it, every time I look at you, and if the only way to keep him from taking more from you is to keep him busy with the tag titles, then I damn well am going to do it! If you have this much of a problem with it that- that what we've gone through the past year doesn't matter to you anymore, then fine, but it damn well matters to me and I'm not going to sit back and watch you bash your head against the wall again and again in an attempt to get your revenge against Truth. It's not worth it, not really." By the end of this speech, John is staring at the pavement beneath their feet and Miz is breathing heavily, his eyes on fire.

When he looks back up, he's alone. He's still staring ahead blankly when Alex finally shows up, his hair and shirt wet- obviously thrown on right after his shower- and bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder. "John? You ok?" he asks inanely as he unlocks the car door, expecting the usual snapped response of "I'm fine".

John blinks back to awareness and sucks in a deep breath, shaking his head. "No, I'm not." As Alex stares at him, his lips parting in shock, John releases a soundless laugh, his eyes drowning in pain and exhaustion. "He was right... I am different."

"What? Who?" Alex asks, his fingers slipping off of his bag handle as John pulls the car door open and hovers briefly outside, looking over Riley's shoulder at the faintly lit arena that looks so similar to many other buildings he's been to time and again.

"No one," he finally says, his lips twitching. "Let's just get out of here."


	63. Hit and Miss

Almost four months to the day of R-Truth's initial attack against John Morrison, the Shaman of Sexy returns, his neck finally healed completely, and Miz can't resist smiling slightly as R Truth seems to lose his grip on reality even more, ranting for long minutes about this conspiracy and that. The audience's boos and jeers only seem to entice him all the further. Everyone fails at seeing just how far off the rails the past few months have taken him.

With Morrison back and Miz still pretending to be on the outs with Alex, it's an easy decision to resume traveling together and splitting hotel rooms. After that week's Raw, Mike watches with quiet amusement as John messes around with his new phone, trying to learn every inch of it. He's so lost in the device that he almost takes the wrong turn, Miz nudging him the only thing keeping him from wandering off and getting lost in the parking lot. He's about to say something mocking when he hears a car engine speeding up behind them, his thoughts derailing as he looks over his shoulder in time to see a dark red car speeding towards them.

There's no time to think, or yell, or do anything, as the dangerously fast vehicle comes barreling towards Morrison, the man still so intent on his new phone that he doesn't notice. Pure instinct takes over as Mike lunges forward, slams into John with enough force to push him out of the way and to safety.

John groans as he tries to figure out what just happened and why his elbow hurts, dizziness and confusion adding to his issues. "What the hell?" he mumbles, blinking rapidly. Just moments earlier he had been walking down the main parking lot lane, but now he finds himself pressed against a parked car's tire, shadows running over his face as he stares ahead blankly. "Mike?" he calls out, remembering that his former tag partner had only been a few steps away. No answer comes, just the ever present roar of a nearby car engine.

A niggling feeling presses against his chest, ridding him of breath, as he inches forward, peering out between the two cars he's fallen between. It takes a minute for him to register what exactly he's seeing... "MIKE!" Only a few feet away, Miz lays awkwardly, his face turned away from John. Bloody tears in his clothes are visible even from this distance and Morrison flinches, pressing a hand against the trunk of the nearest car as he gazes around and catches sight of the reason for the non-stop engine sounds. _I know that car,_ he realizes, the niggling feeling evolving to full-on nausea.

He hesitates only a moment before rushing out- yes, in front of R-Truth's car- unable to do anything about the easy target he's just put on his own back. It takes only seconds, though it feels like hours, before he's by Miz's side, not even giving himself a moment to consider the possible injuries before he's behind him and has him under the arms, dragging him up and backwards to hide between another set of cars opposite of the ones Mike had pushed him between. _I dare you, Truth, come out and find us, you coward,_ he thinks angrily as soon as he's collapsed to the ground, his back pressed to the rough brick wall, Mike's weight heavy and reassuring in his arms. _You can't use your damn car to get us now, can you?_

He presses his face against Mike's neck, his gel-roughened hair tickling John's forehead as he tries to focus on the sounds around them, one very obvious one now missing. "Hey..." he breathes, peeking up in surprise. "I think he's gone." He rests a hand on Mike's arm, shuddering slightly as he feels something- blood?- dripping through his fingers. "Did you hear me? Mike?" The lack of answer leaves him feeling worse than he did just after seeing Miz down on the ground, unmoving. "Ok... Ok. I think I dropped my phone when you tackled me," he comments, squeezing Mike's shoulder carefully. "What was that, anyway? Superman complex?" he laughs weakly, shaking his head. "That was Cena's thing, I thought." Sobering at the continued silence, he leans over. "Don't get the wrong idea, I'm just looking for your phone," he warns, patting Miz's jean pockets. "Good thing you changed before we left, if your latest suit got messed up, you would be _pissed_."

He huffs in relief as he finally feels the device in Mike's right sided pocket and pulls it out, holding his breath as he waits to see if it's going to work or not. As soon as its glow lights up the immediate area, he doesn't waste any time in dialing 911. He's just hanging up the phone, an ambulance on the way, when he hears footsteps walking towards them. His heart thumps madly as he sees red, imagining R Truth coming up to finish the job. "Ok, I'll be right back," he whispers, gingerly lifting Mike up enough that he can stand. "Hang on, you hear me?" After reluctantly laying him back down on the hard concrete, he stands up to his full height and peers over the car, holding his breath as the sounds come closer, the repetitive clanking of jingling keys adding to his tension. He's working out a plan of attack when the man gets close enough for him to recognize, his mouth dropping open slightly. "Riley?"

"Morrison? What the hell are you doing to my car?"

Rolling his eyes, he slips out from between the two cars and grabs Alex. "Shut up and listen. I need you to move your car, ok?" He waves off Alex's protests, gripping his arm roughly.

"Is that blood?" Alex squawks in horror as coppery flakes scatter across his pristine shirt. "I don't want involved, man-"

"Listen, Mike's hurt!" he snaps, effectively shutting the kid up as he gapes, his lips parting in disbelief. "R-Truth hit him with his car. I dragged him away before Truth got the idea to hit him again, he's between your car and that green thing. I _need_ you to move your car, an ambulance is on the way."

"It's that bad?" he asks soberly, already walking towards his car.

"He's unconscious," John mumbles, following him. He lingers by the trunk, giving Alex a minute to look his former mentor over.

"Crap," Alex whispers, taking in the tears in the other man's clothes and how unresponsive he is. "John, stand by him and make sure I don't get too close. I'm gonna move the car..."

"Alright," he says distantly, sliding in between the two cars again and kneeling down by Mike. "Hey, you're going to be alright, you hear me? Alex's here now," he adds after a moment of strained, hypersensitive silence, trying to think of something- anything- to encourage the man to open his eyes. When it doesn't work, he lurches up and waves Alex on, his eyes tracking the tires as they glide backwards, far away from Miz's unconscious form. As soon as the shadow of the car is gone, John gets a good look at his friend, his breath stuttering in his throat at the sight. "Oh God," he all but groans, his hand fluttering uncertainly in front of Mike. "Why... the hell... A title belt is worth this?"

He's still sitting there, gazing blankly at his bloodied and bruised former tag partner, wondering why R-Truth had taken it this far over something that was just a spur of the moment stupid idea from months ago, when Alex hesitantly comes up behind him and rests a hand on his shoulder. "Ambulance is here," he says quietly, obviously troubled by Miz's appearance as well.

_As if my own injury wasn't enough, now he's dragged Mike into it..._ he thinks, slowly stepping back to give the EMTs room to work.

Troubled dark eyes gaze down at the resting man in the hospital bed, a hand anxiously fluttering around his bearded face as he attempts to settle down in the uncomfortable plastic chair all hospitals seem to have the trademark on. It had happened so fast, the hit and run, that now time just seems to be inching along at a snail's pace as he waits for Mike to awaken, move, anything.

So much has happened in the WWE just in the years that he's been a regular competitor, but this is so random and unexpected that he can barely make sense of it. After all, it wasn't that long ago he couldn't stand being in the same room with Mike and Truth was one of his closest remaining friends in the WWE. Ultimately it was the anon GM who put them on a road where John and Mike would get over their issues slowly and Truth eased into madness after waiting for years for a true title opportunity, just to lose it due to Morrison's own desperation for a taste of the spotlight.

But, he supposes, that's how life goes. You can try to hold onto something with every ounce of strength you have but sometimes there's nothing you can do to stop the chain reaction. His mind working overtime in the late night semi-silence of the hospital, he can't help but dwell on how this whole situation could've been so much worse- the car could've been going a little faster, Mike's forward momentum might've taken him a little further into the car's path, Truth could've hit both of them and left so neither could've called for help...

Cursing himself for not taking Truth's descent into insanity more seriously, he rests a hand on Mike's forehead, idly mussing the slack strands of light brown hair that settles there whenever his hair gel is washed out. _This was too close,_ he thinks numbly. _I can't let it happen again. I won't._

Despite how bad it initially looked, many of Mike's injuries are minor- cuts, scrapes, bruises. Despite a few bruised and cracked ribs and a concussion, the doctors remain by their claim that he's a very lucky man. An APB is out for Truth and Morrison is waiting for any kind of news from WWE officials but everyone's been tight lipped and solemn over this situation. Considering visiting hours had ended a long time before the accident even occurred, John himself wouldn't be here except that Alex had smoothly taken over as nurses looked John over- explaining about his somewhat recent neck surgery and long term knee issues, not to mention the _minor_ injuries he had sustained in the hit and run as well.

Alex's dialogue being punctuated by the nasty gash along his elbow nearly clean around his arm needing stitches, the nurse ends up debating it all over with the doctor, who takes one look at John's pale, exhausted face and agrees. He's pretty sure, after all of that, that it's not just coincidence that he ends up sharing a room with the still unconscious Mike but either way, he's relieved that Alex had the foresight to make all of this happen. Even when the nurse comes in around 4 AM and gives him an exasperated, partially amused look as she catches him still sitting by Miz's bed, as if she expected him to be there. "Mr. Morrison," she chides, multitasking by checking Mike's vitals while lecturing John. "You need your rest as well."

"He's not resting," he says slightly bitterly. "He's unconscious."

"His body is healing," she corrects, not unkindly. "Which is what you need too... How would Mr. Mizanin feel if you exhaust yourself watching over him and we end up keeping you a few more days while he gets to go home?"

John rolls his eyes and hesitates, his fingers still pressed against Mike's forehead. "He knocked me out of the way of an oncoming car... I just, I don't want him to wake up alone."

The nurse's eyes soften as she turns towards the empty, cold bed, only a few feet away. "See, you'll be laying right here. Even if you're asleep when he wakes, he'll be able to see you and will know he's not alone. Now I have to insist you at least lay down..." She waits by his side and shakes her head with an exasperated smile as he stubbornly pushes himself out of the chair, ignoring the stiffness and soreness even when his elbow shifts, pulling at the stitches.

The nurse obviously isn't going to leave until he's relaxing in the bed so he makes a show of crawling between the sheets and dropping back against the pillow, his eyes glinting in the faint light from the hallway as she stands over him, her lips twitching. "There you go," she says in a sing song as he pulls the sheets up to his chin, watching her closely. "I hope you're still in that bed by the time I return to check vitals again."

He sighs as she leaves, his head tilting so that he can see Mike. He has no intention of sleeping but the stresses of the day, mixed in with the soft, regular beeping of the machines, eases him into darkness within minutes.

It feels like only a brief time has passed before bright light gleams down upon his face, dragging him back to the surface reluctantly. Eyes fluttering against the sunshine, he stares blankly at the dull beige wall in front of him, a large white eraser board reflecting the sunlight even more. Names are listed there, _Nurse Sandra... CRN Patti_... and... It all rushes back to him and he sits up, almost falling back over as he leans on his elbow, pain immediately flaring up and causing him to gasp.

A hand rests on his upper arm, trying to calm him down and ease him back onto his side. "Breathe, John," he hears, looking up just to see Alex peering down at him, worried and a bit fretful. "You're fine, in the hospital, remember?"

He grimaces, the pain slowly disappearing as he's rested on his back, pressure off of his elbow. "Mike?" he asks sleepily, turning to look. He's disappointed to see that his former tag partner is still fast asleep but the repetitive, unceasing beep beep of the heart machine helps him to feel a bit better.

"He woke up a few hours ago," Alex explains. "I guess a nurse was passing by and he yelled at her... when she came in, he demanded what you were doing here. Once she told him you were fine, he fell back under. But at least he woke up- they say he should be in and out for a little bit, but there's no signs of any other worrisome brain injuries, just the concussion, which isn't severe and should clear up in a week or so."

"So he's lucid?"

"That's what the nurse said," Alex nods. He continues watching, jaw slackening a bit as Morrison tries once more to shift up. "What are you doing now?"

"I need... I need to get up," he mumbles, struggling against the blankets and sheets. Alex, torn, helps him by untangling his good arm and legs as he starts kicking to get free, pushing the offending bedding off to the edge of the bed. "Thanks." He's a bit more awake once the cool air brushes against his bare feet and arms, causing him to be steady on his feet as he makes his way back over to that horribly uncomfortable chair.

Alex hovers nearby, almost expecting a nurse to come in and yell at them at any moment, but the transition actually goes smoothly as John slowly drops down into the chair, his gaze raking over the machines, taking in the numbers and blips of the various monitors. "Idiot," he mumbles, his voice a little stronger as he shifts to stare at Mike's peacefully sleeping visage.

"What?"

"I didn't need him to protect me," he comments quietly. "Almost would've rather take the shot myself than... this. I've been fighting this thing against Truth for months now. I survived the neck injury- I would've survived this too. If Mike's injuries had been much worse, I... don't think..."

Alex shakes his head, fighting down the temptation to slap Morrison along the back of the head, reminding himself that they're all on edge at the moment and getting into a physical confrontation at the hospital- by Miz's bedside, for God's sake- wouldn't be wise at all. "Don't you think that's why he did it? Only a few months ago, you were out having _neck surgery_. Who knows what getting hit by a car right now would do to your progress? He probably didn't have time to think out what _you_ would think about it, or anyone else," he adds bitterly, glancing from Mike to the back of John's head. "We can't change what happened, best we can do is move forward."

Morrison says nothing, his whole body tense as he thinks over Alex's words. He wants to believe them, but-

"Don't be stupid, you know he's right," Mike's tired, strained voice breaks through, causing him to jerk up and stare as Alex shifts closer. His hands twitch as his eyes slowly flicker open, a hazy look in their depths, perhaps from the pain, perhaps from just waking up. Probably from both.

Morrison sucks in a deep breath, leaning over the bed as he tries to figure out what to say or do next. "How do you feel?" he finally settles on, his lips abruptly so dry that it's hard to get a word out.

"Like I just woke up to the stupidest conversation ever," he mumbles, the bright sunshine reflecting through the windows into his eyes, causing him to squint. As Alex moves to handle the drapes, Mike shifts to glare at John, his gaze growing sharper once the sunlight is muted. "Alex is right. As much as this is a pain in the ass, I don't regret what I did so shut up and tell me what the doctor said."

"How can I tell you if I'm supposed to shut up?" John asks, exasperation and fondness warring in his tone and gaze.

"You shut up, and Alex will tell me," Mike suggests with a vague smirk as John huffs, crossing his arms over his chest before cringing as pain shoots through his elbow and straightening them out, resting his palms on his knees as Miz's now worried glance flickers over to him.

"You have a minor concussion," Alex starts off with. "A couple busted ribs... Bruises and cuts, especially on the side of the impact." He pauses, glancing over at John, who's picking at his sleeve that falls just past his stitches. "And John here, he got out very lucky thanks to you. Just needed stitches along his elbow. Isn't that right?" Morrison nods, his dark gaze still locked on the unimaginative blue bedding. Miz and Alex exchange a glance, both worried and confused at the man's uncharacteristic silence.

John doesn't even need to look up to know the two are having a silent conversation over his head, something that automatically bleeds over to day by day happenings if you tag team long enough, the other person figuring out what you want by mere glances, so he's not surprised when Alex clears his throat and steps back. "I'll be back in a little bit," he says. "Going to get something to drink."

Once he's gone, Miz reaches out and swats at John. He can't move much with various monitors still attached to him, barely manages to disrupt the air around John's face, but his hair following the motion attracts his attention and he reluctantly looks up. "Yeah?"

"Something wrong?"

"Who says there is?"

"Your face." Mike huffs and shakes his head. "I don't have anywhere to be, I can easily sit here and prod you until you tell me."

"I don't have to stay," John mumbles stiffly.

"Oh please, like you'd leave the guy who pushed you out of the way of a speeding vehicle alone," he scoffs dismissively, crossing his arms carefully and keeping an eye out for a reaction. Sure enough, Morrison flinches and looks down, his hair hiding his face. Mike's gaze softens at the slight show of discomfort. "Just... talk to me?"

"I understand now," he mumbles after a few minutes. Shifting, he stares up at Mike despite the hair still shielding him from any clear view in or out. "Why you got so pissed when I returned to WWE early and Truth took me out again..." There's no comparison between the two situations but Mike bites down the comment forming on his tongue, taking a deep breath as John struggles to reign himself in. "I don't like what you did, but I see why you did. I probably would've done the same thing, if circumstances were reversed."

Mike looks thoughtful for a moment before smirking. "Aw, John, you like me, you really like me!" he mocks dramatically, sobering as John glares at him. "Seriously, though, you don't need to tell me that you'd do the same thing. Despite everything from the past few years, I know you would."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Two years ago, Mike had made a split second decision and left Morrison laying on the mat, effectively ending their partnership. As Alex returns with sodas and passes one off to John, just to push a glass of water onto an eyerolling Mike at a nurse's order, he can't help but think that this split second decision has a much better resolution as they settle in to wait for an update from the doctor and Alex fiddles with the remote, trying and failing to find something to watch that all three of them agrees on.

Mike is released early Wednesday, his ribs causing teeth gritting pain with each jostle, the wheelchair they force him to ride in to the parking lot not helping anything, especially when the nurse pushes a little too far and nearly sends him over the curb. It does amuse him a little to see both John and Alex glowering at the nurse, who quickly apologizes and runs for the entrance, her eyes wide with fear.

"Doc said he might be cleared to compete by Monday," Mike overhears Morrison mumble to A-Ri as they enter the car, both ignoring him for the moment.

"Insane," Alex offers, his amazement obvious even though Miz can only see the side of his face. "With a concussion and... and everything?"

"Apparently so." Clearing his throat, Morrison peers up into the rearview mirror at Mike. "Looks like we're hanging out at your place for a few days, Miz. Any objections?" Not even giving him a second to respond, he immediately nods. "Good. Here we go."

Mike scowls at the back of his head.

By Friday, Mike's doing well- after sleeping a lot the first couple of days, he's mostly back to his usual abrasive, sarcastic, cranky self, just with the added bonus of a headache and sensitive ribs. Even so, leaving to go to weekend house shows wears on both Alex and John but they don't have a choice- with changes in management and many other things, everyone is a bit tense to prove themselves, hold their own. One wrong move and one's career could be seriously screwed up forever.

For this reason, Raw as a whole is awkward, the uncomfortable vibes greeting Morrison and A-Ri as soon as they enter the building. Even so, the good ol' rumor mill provides news immediately: Truth had been fighting the investigation against him all week, claiming that he was a _good_ R-Truth, that the car accident had been just that, an accident, and he hadn't intended for anyone to get hurt, much less his old friend John Morrison. With it being his word against John's- Mike's memory of the whole thing sketchy due to the concussion-, and no security cameras in the area due to budget cuts, neither statement is helpful. The state they were in at the time of the crime not considering a hit and run a felony makes things all the more muddled.

John is conflicted- he'd love for the investigation to go in their favor and the insane man to be away from his life, his career, and everything else but the mere fact that he would be _out_ there somewhere, with no one able to figure out where, leaves him unsettled. Thus he himself goes to talk to HHH.

Afterwards, as soon as he's somewhere quiet, he pulls his phone out and hits speed dial 2, listening impatiently to it ringing.

_Ring... ring... click._ "Hello?"

He releases a soft breath. "Hey, Mike."

"Hey. Couldn't go an hour without checking on me?" he mocks, having just gotten off the phone with Alex when they arrived at the arena.

"Something like that. Got some news."

"Oh?"

"Truth's not going to get fired," he says, to get the worst of the news out of the way first.

"What? Why?"

"Partially because I talked to HHH," he says softly, closing his eyes as Mike sucks in a loud, angry breath.

"Why would you _do_ that?"

"This way we can keep an eye on him. Mike, if he was fired, he could be anywhere and we wouldn't know what to expect. It's not much different with him working here but at least I know where to find him. You know? Especially when I'm here and you're..." His voice trails off.

"I'll be fine, John," Mike mumbles, voice strained and tense. His pale eyes peer from place to place, abruptly paranoid as he gets up to check the locks on his doors and windows. "I'll be fine. I'll see you on Monday."

"Mike?"

"I said I'm fine, John. I meant it. I'll talk to you later."

"I'll call after the event."

"Sure. Bye, John."

"Bye." He pulls the phone away and stares at it, hating the fact that he can't do more. The tone of Mike's voice, calm and collected but with an obvious note of panic deep within haunts him for the rest of the weekend, even during the few times that he talks with Mike.

Monday is a relief- means that Raw is soon, and Mike will be back on the road with them where John and Alex both can keep an eye out for him, along with other members of the WWE locker room who had shown shock and horror at Truth's actions. Even with the knowledge that Truth will still be wandering the halls like nothing bad had happened, John feels almost optimistic about it all.

Except that it doesn't work out that way. By the time the opening pyros go off, Mike hasn't been seen by either Alex or John (or anyone else they'd asked) and they're both fretting. "Let's just go talk to HHH," Alex suggests finally. Neither really care for the man, the verdict still out on if he's better than either Vince or the Anon GM with some of his decisions and actions, but he is their boss and perhaps would have answers for them.

They walk together to the room labeled HHH's office and knocks, waiting impatiently for him to respond.

"Yeah?" he calls out, John pushing the door open at the first sound of his voice. "Oh. What do you two want? Did Truth do something else?"

"No, I... well, I don't think so. Have you heard from Miz? We haven't seen him," Morrison replies.

"Oh, he called in this morning. Said he still felt a little off from the concussion and the doctor urged him to take another week off, at least. I granted it." HHH fiddles with some papers before looking up, taking in the weird looks on Alex and John's faces as they linger uncertainly. "There was nothing suspicious about the call, he sounded fine... just tired. Trust me."

"Ok," Morrison finally speaks up, disbelief still in his dark eyes. Miz had _never_ taken a night off- not when his knee was messed up, not a few months ago when he had another concussion... the man just didn't know how to stop, take it easy. "Thanks."

"Sure."

Alex doesn't speak until they're half down the hallway leading away from H's office, a pinched look on his young face. "Anything about this seem weird to you?"

"Where do I begin?" he mumbles, sighing. "Come on." They walk out to the parking lot and get into the rental car they'd shared, Alex twisting his frame around in the small passenger side seat to watch as Morrison pulls out his cell phone and hits speed #2, feeling even more nervous and sick inside than he had the past weekend after volleying for Truth to keep his job. He puts the phone on speed dial and they exchange glances as it rings in once and goes right to voicemail.

Mike is near obsessive with his phone, never has it shut off... John can't even remember the last time he'd heard his voicemail- perhaps in 2009 when all he wanted was an answer for _why_ but Mike had ignored his calls- so as Mike's recorded voice drones on, they both know. "Something's not right," Alex speaks their thoughts aloud after a few tense moments, the phone beeping to encourage them to leave their message.

John shakes his head in agreement, clicking the phone shut with a shaking hand. "This is all my fault."

Days pass with nothing happening. Alex stays in Los Angeles with Morrison, trying to keep him from completely self-destructing or doing something that would ultimately make things worse- like finding R-Truth and playing their hand too early, losing their opportunity to get information on Mike's condition or whereabouts. For now, they decide that Truth must think that they think Miz is off somewhere in LA resting from the concussion, and that's how it has to stay. He hates it as much as John, impatient and twitchy the longer time passes that they don't know where his mentor is at, but there's nothing they can do without something more than "he said vs he said". They need honest to God proof that Truth had something to do with Miz's disappearance, more than an empty house and unanswered voicemail messages for the past five days. They want to go to the police but with the time from Miz's message to HHH not quite passed, they're sure in the end it'd just be a waste of time.

By Friday, it's bittersweet to get back on the road, the blurring rush of highway they pass as they drive to the airport a weak distraction for them both as they try not to think about where Mike is, what his condition is... how Truth might be treating him. Leaving LA to go back to work feels like a betrayal to them both as John takes the long way to the airport and they go past the turn off to Mike's house, both glancing that way surreptitiously. "This sucks," Alex mumbles unhappily.

"It does."

The main good thing is they somehow feel like they're doing _something_ when they arrive at the first arena for the weekend house show cirquit and find R-Truth in the locker room, everyone else avoiding him as he continues on talking to thin air. John rolls his eyes as Alex looks over, the two carefully walking past him to the far side of the room. "I wanna say something so bad," Morrison mumbles as they drop their bags and begin to pull out wrestling gear for the night.

"You know we can't do that and clue him in that we know Mike's not just recuperating," he whispers. His eyes slip over to Truth's bag and he swallows. "I do have something else in mind, though..."

His plan doesn't happen on Friday, Morrison's match is followed by Alex's and by the time they're both free, Truth's long gone. Saturday fails too, Alex getting taken out by Alberto Del Rio's armbar. He's stuck in the trainer's office up until the show ends and there's no point in even looking for Truth. Morrison shrugs when Alex apologizes, still clutching his arm tightly in an attempt to ease the agony stabbing through it. "Not your fault. We'll deal with it tomorrow."

Fates allign the next day, thankfully, as Truth's match is first on the card. While Alex is keeping a look out, Morrison digs through his bag for anything suspicious. It's hidden way, way at the bottom, and he almost doesn't think twice about finding yet another wrestling shirt- that is, until he shifts the bag and the overhead light flashes just right inside, illuminating the clump of fabric in his hand. He freezes, staring down at the unusually white wrestling shirt- you could count on maybe two hands, pretty much, how many non-black WWE shirts there has been in the last ten years. Only two white ones have been made recently that he can recall- one is CM Punk's, and the other is Mike's. His heart pounding in his ears, he pulls it the rest of the way out and gapes at the shirt with the large 40 on the back.

_"Dammit!"_

_"What's wrong?" he asks, running his fingers along his touchpad phone as he browses the Internet before they're too far into the parking garage and out of the arena's wifi zone._

_"There's a hole in my shirt," Mike grouses, poking at it. "I hate those guys at ringside, they never take proper care of anything..."_

_"Well, quit messing with it, you'll just make it worse."_

_"Worse? It's already ruined, what does it matter!" he sputters._

John stares desperately at the finger-sized hole in the material and closes his eyes. "Dammit..."

HHH is more prone to listen this time, Alex and John both staring down at him as he examines the shirt dropped unceremoniously across his desk with a grimace. "I see." He looks up, obviously weighing his options. "Neither of you have heard from Miz since last weekend?"

"Right. We went to his house, it was deserted. The police wouldn't do anything since you had been told he was going to take the week off to rest, suggested he was on a vacation. Mike doesn't _do_ vacations, you know this. He has a need to always be busy... We came here, we found that shirt in Truth's things. Now what are _you_ going to do?" John demands, impatient and unwilling to beat around the bush any longer.

He stares at them, his eyes flashing warningly at Morrison's tone. After a strained few minutes, he reaches over to the phone and places a call. "Hey, one of my workers hasn't been seen for a few days. His house is abandoned and he hasn't been answering his phone. We need an officer down here, and a missing person's report filed."

As HHH handles this, Alex and John glance over at each other, somewhere between relieved and disgusted that it's taken this long to get this far. When the police come, they examine the shirt and go to find R-Truth. What follows is somewhere between a follow up from the car accident and a request to look in Truth's bag.

The paranoid man looks suspiciously from HHH to Morrison and Alex to the police, mumbling incomprehensibly to himself awhile before his fingers clench around his bag handle anew and he makes a break for it- the attempt fails when Morrison, somehow sensing he'd try to make a break for it, slams the door at the last second, Truth rushing facefirst into it and falling back into the waiting grip of the police. From there, they aren't as considerate, prying the bag from his hands and going through it, laying all of his clothes and things out on the ground.

Alex makes a thin choking sound as a cell phone is freed from the sea of dark jeans and shirts, his eyes wide. "That's Mike's too," he grounds out, glancing over at John who nods faintly, eyes locked on the thin, sleek device. "What did you do?" he snaps at Truth, who barely seems aware of what's going on around him. John drops a hand on his shoulder in warning, making sure he doesn't do anything while the cops are in view. Wrestlers or not, assault is assault, especially in front of police, and the last thing he needs is to have to bail out Alex.

The police talk quietly amongst themselves for a minute, Truth standing near his bag as Morrison remains by the doorway, glaring viciously at him. "Ok," one of the cops, who had introduced himself as Ash Williams from the start, finally speaks up. "We're going to take him in for questioning. The missing person's is up and we'll be keeping an eye out for any leads. We'll be in touch with any news."

"Thank you," HHH says, motioning to John and Alex, who reluctantly move away from the door to let the group pass, along with Truth's bag and Miz's things. They follow the cops out, watching from the arena doors as Truth is guided into a police car, mumbling absently to no one the whole way.

"If he gets off on insanity, I swear..." Alex mumbles, feeling like he's caught in a bad soap opera.

"That might not be a bad thing," Morrison says, his eyes locked on his former tag partner. "He's needed help for awhile. Maybe now he can get it... the important thing is we find Mike, though."

Alex's eyes widen. "If Truth's in police custody and no one else knows where Mike is, what does this mean for him?"

John looks pained at this thought as well, his lips twisting as he thinks. "I have an idea. You stay here so HHH doesn't get too suspicious, I'll be back soon."

"John-" But he's already slipped through the arena door, walking purposely towards the parking lot and their rental car. "Crap."

The police station is bustling as John makes his way inside twenty minutes later, his walk purposeful and calm. He doesn't want to raise suspicions himself, but Officer Williams is there and he catches John's eye, quickly making his way over to him. "Where's Truth?" he asks, not waiting for the man to say anything. "Ron, where is he?"

"He's getting processed," he responds. "I can't let you in to see him."

John shakes his head, biting his lip as he thinks. "Listen, it's my best friend, alright? He has him held up somewhere- who knows if Mike's safe, or healthy, or what? You've probably noticed, Truth's not exactly stable right now. Mike's alone somewhere and the only guy who knows where he is is getting processed for arrest right now. I _need_ to talk to him... Just for a minute."

Williams still looks unrelenting, his dark green eyes sympathetic but unwavering. "There's protocol, I can't bend that for anyone or any reason- we'll question him and, all goes well, he'll tell us where your friend's at, then _we'll_ handle it from there. That's all I can do, I'm sorry."

John growls, just barely holding his temper back as Williams raises an eyebrow. "Listen, I understand protocol. Alright? But Truth has issues, who knows- he might forget where he has Mike before you can even get close to an answer. Let me talk to him, just for a minute. We used to be friends, I might be able to get through to him." He looks, sounds so desperate but he doesn't care, willing to let the whole station see his every emotion if it meant being a step closer to finding Mike. " _Please."_

Williams wavers, glances over his shoulder at what's apparently his desk, various pictures of him with friends and family scattered around the surface. He thinks for a long, torturous moment before groaning, his shoulders slumping. "You get one minute," he says with a grimace, leading John back to the room they've set aside for Truth to stay in while he waits for the processing sequence to conclude.

Williams hovers outside as John enters the room, his eyes immediately landing on Truth, his gaze distant as he rocks back and forth, mumbling wildly to himself. He pauses, for once _really_ seeing the broken, insane man for what he's become, and wonders how exactly they've gotten to this point. Remembers when Truth was normal, before John himself had let his ego take over, put title aspirations over their friendship just to take his long awaited title opportunity from him without a second thought. Pushing him carelessly into this madness, causing all of the pain for all of them the past few months. It's something that he hadn't allowed himself to think about often the past few months, still too angry and raw from the various attacks and surgeries caused by the man before him, but here, now, with Truth handcuffed and slumped in an uncomfortable steel chair, it all returns to Morrison like a tidal wave, nearly rocking him off of his feet.

"God," he breathes, just loud enough to attract his former friend's attention. Dark, wild eyes shoot up to meet brown, hesitant ones and the former tag partners gaze at each other for a moment. "I'm so sorry, Truth." He takes a step forward, abruptly stopping as Truth skitters away, the chair scraping against the floor slightly before coming to a stop, the chains on his cuffs pulled taut at the movement. "No, look, I'm not gonna move from here, ok? You're fine, just... I'm gonna talk, and you listen. Alright?" He plants his feet as the dark skinned man gazes up at him once more, looking helpless and fretful as he tugs at the handcuffs attached to the table before him.

There's so much he could say, feels like he needs to say, but something tells him he needs to hurry- Williams is still on the outside, holding off the process as long as he can, and the thought of Miz, alone somewhere, cold and abandoned, maybe hurt and hungry, is an ever-present buzzing in the back of his mind. "I need you to tell me where Mike is, Truth. Where did you put him?"

"He's, he's where he belongs," Truth mumbles distantly, his wild gaze skittering around the room. "Where you can't find him. He'll be fine." He jitters a bit, the steel digging into his flesh enough that John winces.

"No, no he won't be, Truth. He's alone where no one else can find him- you're the only one who knows where he's at, right? No one else knows to check on him?" Morrison prods, his heart skipping a beat as Truth nods reluctantly. "What's he going to do without food, something to drink? You might've left him things to hold him over during this tour, but after that? You really want him to die just because of me?" He's starting to tremble despite his best attempts at holding strong, his whole body betraying him as he realizes how possible it is that his words aren't going to be enough, that Truth will go to jail without confessing where Mike is... That even if the police do find something out, it might not be in time.

The rocking gets more severe, the chair rocking back and forth with Truth's wild movements, the handcuff links biting into his wrists more and more. "I'm the good R-Truth," he mumbles repetitively, his eyes downcast as the blood trickles down his fingers to drip against the ground. "Good R-Truth, good..."

"Then tell me!" Morrison all but begs, backing away as Truth's face shoots up once more, gaze locking onto his. "Please. Mike shouldn't suffer because I'm an impulsive, egotistical idiot..."

He tilts his head from one side to the other, looking at something John can't see, his lips moving quietly as he shifts his wrists around, the skin underneath already raw and angry looking due to all of his struggles. "Where's my stuff... I need my stuff..." His tone is getting more and more desperate, wild, and John can't take much more of being in this small room surrounded by his madness, the reality that the cause of all of it is his own carelessness. "Please, Johnny, get my stuff?" he beseeches, looking more like the old R-Truth as he peers up at his former friend, his gaze horrible and pleading, boring its way into John's subconscious.

That's the final straw as John fumbles behind him, his hands finally gripping the doorknob. "I'm so sorry," he chokes breathlessly, quickly escaping the room. Ignoring Williams, he marches through the hallway to the exit, not noticing or caring as the officer rushes in to check on Truth. He's almost past Williams' desk when he notes a bag of familiar items resting near the edge. He pauses, remembering the look on R-Truth's face as he spoke of his things, and reaches out. With a quick glance around, he grabs the bag and continues on to the exit, closing his eyes as he nears the doors. _Please... please..._ Luck is with him as no one stops him, his escape smooth and easy. Before long, the bag is resting on the passenger seat of the rental car. "Hang in there, Mike," he mumbles. _Hopefully there'll be something in here that'll tell me where you're at..._

By the time he returns, Alex is fretful and a little wild looking, grabbing John by the arm as soon as he enters the locker room. "What did you find out?"

"I think we're heading to North Carolina," he says with a faint grimace, holding up a scribbled on business card with a phone number and _Jones Storage_ printed on it. "This is in Charlotte, not far from where Truth lives."

Alex curses, scrubbing a hand over his face. "So he did have him this whole time. God..."

"Yeah, but we don't have a lot of time. Can we go? Is there- Either of us have a match?"

"No," the younger man refutes, shaking his head. "I never thought I'd be glad with HHH's decision to combine the rosters again..."

"Me neither," Morrison agrees. "Come on. We need to see if it'd be quicker to drive to North Carolina or fly. Depends on how the flights fall." John handles the calls as Alex looks online but both come to the same conclusion- all flights to North Carolina from Oklahoma are hours off, and neither are willing to sit around and do nothing. "Driving it is," John decides, grimacing for real this time. "You ready to go?"

Alex nods and hoists his bag up on his shoulder. "Let's go," he says, anxious to find his mentor.

After an excruciatingly long, tiresome drive, they arrive at North Carolina early the next morning and follow the GPS' directions from street to street, houses growing rarer and more run down looking as they near the downtown area. Thankfully the GPS doesn't lead them astray and John takes in a deep breath as he pulls the rental to a stop outside of _Jones Storage,_ peering up at the lifeless looking building. "You have that card?"

"Yeah," Alex nods, holding it out to him. He quickly flips it over, trying to decripher Truth's scribbles. "It looked like 29..."

"It does," John agrees after a moment. "Keep the bag, there are some keys in there. Hopefully one of them will unlock it." Alex nods as they get out of the car, both twitching nervously a bit as their doors slam. Nothing happens, however, the sleepy area remaining unresponsive to their presence. "Ok, well, there aren't that many buildings... 15, 16..." He counts a bit mentally. "If we go this way, we'll probably find it."

Alex nods, content to follow him between a couple rows of the similar looking buildings, their anxiety racheting with each step taken. It takes about ten minutes, both men gazing carefully at each numbered sign as they pass it, not wanting to accidentally walk past where Miz is being held. The only sound is their breathing, birds chirping overhead and the soft roar of car engines as they pass, people carrying on with their lives like there's nothing wrong in the world, even though the world hasn't felt the same for the two men trolling around the storage yard since the hit and run barely a week previous.

"There," Alex finally breathes as John too comes to a stop, their eyes locking on the large, almost mockingly dark 29 that points them in the right direction at basically the same time. He quickly fumbles for the keys, mentally labeling them based on their design, words written on them, size... _House, car, rental..._ A few smaller keys for lock boxes or whatever else and Alex is left with an untarnished, silver key that matches the lock before them. Its lack of use is obvious as it glints in the sun. "Here," he urges, pushing it into John's waiting hand. "This has to be it."

He nods, closing his eyes as he enters the key and twists, holding his breath as a soft click-click noise sounds, the lock giving way. John releases a heavy breath, quickly pushing the door open. "Thank God," he mumbles, entering the dark, windowless room hesitantly. "Alex, go get the flashlights out of the trunk, I can't see." As Alex leaves, he ventures inside, feeling stupid for not even thinking about that. He's only half through the room, looking behind the various things held within so as not to miss anything, when Alex returns with the flashlights. He quickly flicks his on and sweeps it across the room, only stopping as he hears a soft hiss of protest from across the room, his movement immediately ceasing. "Did you hear that?"

"No, what?" John repeats the movement, watching Alex as this time there's a plain groan. "Mike," he whispers almost reverantly. They forget being quiet or stealthy, quickly maneovering through the shelves and other items scattered around. Alex skids to a stop as John's flashlight illuminates the wall and, further down, his former mentor, his eyes widening in horror at the sight. John, too, slows down but keeps moving, by Mike's side in a moment.

"Damn, Mike," he breathes, resting a hand on the wide eyed man's shoulder, squeezing it through thick, coarse fabric. "It's good to see you," he offers carefully as dazed blue eyes drift from John to Alex and back, confused.

"J-John," he whispers, finally focusing on his former partner's face. "You're really here?"

"Yeah man, we're here." John works, and just succeeds, at keeping his voice level, holding the anger at bay as he looks Mike over. Truth had had his fun, obviously- a strait jacket is wrapped snugly around the former WWE champion, holding his arms pinned against him. He shakes his head, leaning over slightly in disgust. _This is just further proof how insane he is, but dammit... I wanna go kick his ass right now..._

"John," Alex whispers, snapping him out of these dark thoughts. "How do we get him out of that?"

Morrison's hand slips from Mike's shoulder down, down to his wrists- where he pauses, even further incensed. "Mike... are these?" He doesn't need to hear the choked admission from Miz to know- not only the straitjacket, but Truth had also put him in handcuffs, the unforgiving links obvious through the fabric. "Son of a bitch," he whispers, wanting to get up and pace angrily, maybe kick something. Go back to Oklahoma and find Truth, deal with him on his own terms, no matter what Officer Williams would do to him for it. "Come on, Mike," he mutters quietly, leaning forward. "Let's see what we can do to get you out of these, huh?" He supports a weary Miz as he pats at his back, finally finding the straps that hold the jacket together, undoing them quickly.

Alex watches quietly, swallowing convulsively as Mike barely responds, his head lowered to the point that his protege can't catch his eye, until finally Morrison finishes with the straps, pulling back as he fiddles with the front strap, not stopping until he succeeds at pulling the jacket over Miz's head, leaving him shirtless against the cool wall. "John, one of these keys-" he suggests, glancing at the various, smaller keys that he had passed off as nothing barely fifteen minutes prior.

"Pass them over," he orders in a tone that brokers no delay. As soon as the keys are in his grasp, he starts testing them against the handcuffs, finally, after what feels like a lifetime, the third one clicking just so, the handcuffs snapping open. He flinches as he gets a look at Mike's wrists, remembering how Truth's had looked with just minimal struggling at the police station. Blood is smeared across his wrists, more pouring out as they sit there. Obviously the man had fought long and hard to get free, just to fail each time. "Oh, Mike," he whispers, tugging him closer until he tilts over to rest against John's side. "You're ok now." He looks back at Alex, obviously close to losing it. "Get the rental car close to the door... and find him a shirt. You're driving."

Alex nods, a little surprised but too scattered to even think about it. Even on the long drive to North Carolina, Morrison hadn't let him drive... but there's no time to consider it, already half way to the car. As soon as the key's in the ignition, he's digging through his bag, looking for something comfortable for Mike to wear. His face lights up a bit as he finds something perfect and drags it out, leaving it on the passenger seat before he eases the car over to the entrance to the storage unit. He only waits a second before lunging out of the car, rushing to the doors. John has Mike there, easing him carefully towards the car, and nods appreciatively as Alex takes his free arm, easing it around his shoulders while taking care of the blood seeping down the vicious wounds caused by the handcuffs. "God," he whispers, Mike so out of it that he barely twitches.

It takes forever but they finally ease the poor man into the backseat and John runs to the other side, crawling in and pulling him the rest of the way inside, leaning him against his chest as he props himself against the side cardoor. "Did you get his shirt?" he asks, adjusting Mike slightly.

"Oh, yeah," Alex nods, handing over the shirt. He watches for a moment as John gapes at one of his own shirts, one Mike had thrown at Alex with the command to throw away after once of his many arguments with his former Dirt Sheet host; Alex had had the sense to stuff it deep inside of his own bag, where it had stayed until this moment, when it was needed the most.

"Seriously?" He sighs, his face softening slightly as he leans Mike forward a bit and pulls the shirt over his head, holding his breath as he pushes his arms gently through it. "Damn, he's freezing," he mumbles, rubbing slightly at his upper arms, careful not to be rough or go too close to his mangled wrists.

"Should we take him to the hospital?" Alex asks, gaze flickering from the street to the rearview window and back, just barely able to see the side of Morrison's face in the edge of the reflection.

_This_ garners some attention as Miz shifts in John's grip, shaking his head desperately. "No," he groans out. "No hospitals... please..."

Alex looks like he's been punched in the stomach at this and John feels almost worse, immediately leaning closer to Mike's ear. "No man, it's ok, I think we can take care of you ourselves. Don't worry, you're not going to the hospital. Ok?" They exchange looks, both knowing, however, that if his injuries are worse than they suspect, they'll have no real choice.

He nods, his eyes slowly drifting shut as he finally gives in to being somewhere safe, his body's need for rest.

He remembers the results of the concussion the first few days, his balance a little off as he wanders around his apartment and does small things; even standing long enough to brush his teeth is a chore, his usual sure footing failing after awhile and nearly sending him face first into the bathroom sink. It took a few days but he had finally felt secure enough to go out for the first time since the hit and run.

He was wandering the sidewalk outside of his home, taking in the gorgeous late-August weather and letting the warm sun beat down on him, warming him fully for the first time since his stay in the hospital, when he heard it. Footsteps. Familiar, horrible footsteps. Despite the shoes hitting pavement instead of tile, he recognizes the slow, shuffling walk- would know it anywhere. He tries to turn, defend himself but something cold and metallic presses against his back, trailing dangerously over the fabric of his shirt.

"No stupid movements, Miz," Truth whispers, teasing him by pressing the sharp points of the crow bar between his shoulderblades, trailing it up towards his neck. "You know how little damage it took to get Morrison on the shelf for months? And you know what a car did to you, first hand... imagine what my new friend could do?"

Things move fast then and Mike hopes that someone's nearby to see what's going on, but the heat is so excessive- even for Las Angeles- that grown ups and kids alike are all holed up inside, no one around to witness as Truth directs him to his waiting car, the crow bar now held lazily in one hand, swinging it back and forth as if testing its weight.

The next thing he remembers, he's being pushed into the car's backseat, no consideration for his well-being taken as his head hits the side of the passenger's seat roughly, his ribs protesting the harsh treatment. Due to this, he's too dazed to even sit up, much less fight his way to freedom as Truth slips into the driver's seat. His last chance slips away as the doors lock shut with a horrifying _click-whir_ sound that echoes loudly in Miz's sensitive ears _._

What happens next, he's not sure, but his vision continues tunneling until finally he fades away completely, face smashed uncomfortably against the backseat of Truth's rental. When awareness returns slowly, he's alone in a mostly dark, lifeless building, full of random shapes and shadows. He has no idea where he is, or what time it is, all he knows is he's laying down, pressed against something hard, and can barely see anything around him. When he tries to lift his arms to push himself up into a sitting position, he hits something fabric and his heart skips a beat- he can't _move!_

He squirms and struggles, breathing deeply and coughing against the stagnant, dusty smell of the room he's stuck in. Finally he fights successfully against gravity and pulls himself up, his arms shifting uselessly against what's holding them down. His vision is slowly adjusting and he can see the dark shadow of a wall just a few feet away. He scoots that way, biting his lip as his ribs throb with each movement. It feels like it takes a really, really long time for him to reach his goal and he's breathless and sweaty when he finally does but he can't stop the feeling of accomplishment as he leans against the sturdy wall, feeling slightly better with something to support him.

It takes some time, his head still spinning from everything, but finally he pulls himself to his feet and leans over, planting his feet and groaning as his ribs grind painfully. "Damn..." He's not sure if there's an exit, barely able to see two feet in front of him, but he takes it at a walk, unable to brace himself with his hands as he bumps into the opposing wall. "Damn," he repeats, feeling his way across the wall with his body, searching for a doorknob or anything helpful. It's hot and dry and he begins to rethink his hatred for cooler climates when sweat trickles down his neck, trailing itchingly down the collar of the shirt he's wearing, annoying him further.

The sweat only gets worse the darker it gets, the air cooler and making his soaked clothes accomplices to his discomfort as he begins to shiver and shudder, unable to get warm once more. He can't sleep despite how bad he feels, his head and ribs competing to see which could throb the most.

It's easy to tell when the sun starts to rise, the temperature going with it. He staggers exhaustedly to his feet once more, hands still tight against his midsection, and makes his way uncoordinatedly back to the other side of the building, trying to avoid the direction the sun is rising at. He breathes heavily, his eyes slipping closed, his body finally taxed beyond discomfort and pain and lulling him into sleep. What seems like days pass with similiar results, though some days Truth is there with water and food and a sneer. Other days the waiting and silence gets too much and Mike rushes the opposing wall, trying time and again to gain someone's attention, find an exit... something... anything. Other times he remains slumped on the other side of the building, his hope to wake up to rescue slipping away bit by bit more.

He jerks and twitches, finally coming awake, the memories still fresh in his mind as he groans. He can feel hands on him, holding his wrists down and he struggles anew. His ears are buzzing and his eyes feel like they're weighted down, the only sense he can trust being touch. As he continues to fight, something curls around his jaw carefully. _Truth has an accomplice?_ he thinks desperately, almost arching off of the strangely soft surface he can feel under him. The touch shifts, one hand against his chest and the other still around his jaw.

"MIKE!" he finally hears as the ringing fades away, his rapid, freaked out breaths catching in a ragged gasp.

"Alex?" he groans out in realization, the hands on him shifting once more.

"Yes," his former protege whispers in relief. "It's me... and John. We're here. We're patching you up, can you hang on a little longer?"

"No hospital," he remembers dazedly.

"That's right, no hospital," John answers, patting Mike on the chest before returning to his wrists. Mike flinches as gauze is wrapped snugly around his sensitive, raw skin, his former tag partner carefully laying his hand down on the bed once he's done. "There you go. How's it feel? Not too tight?"

He grimaces, shifting both wrists around carefully. He finally forces his eyes open, staring at John and Alex both in turn. "No," he manages tiredly. "It feels fine... Thank you." He's too wiped out to explain just how thankful he really feels to them both, remembering John holding him together in the storage unit _and_ in the back of the car, talking soothingly until he drifted off, Alex keeping his wits together long enough to get them to safety. Not to mention what he knew both had done for him after the hit and run, despite his incomplete memory of the event itself. "Thank you..."

After enduring John and Alex both fussing over him once again for the rest of the week, he returns to WWE that following Monday, his wrists mostly healed and a new confidence fueling him as he takes in the new R-Truth-free Monday Night Raw, his lips twitching. There's no joking, even the air feels fresher with the knowledge that Truth is nowhere near the arena... Alex and John stand on either side of him, both men looking a lot more content as well. "Whatever will we do without Lil Jimmy?" he asks mockingly. His grin grows wider as he takes in being home after much too long away.


	64. chapter 64

A week has passed, Alex Riley watching John as discreetly as is possible until they go their separate ways, A-Ri back home to Florida and John to LA until the Canada tour begins that weekend. From the moment Morrison steps back into their hotel room that Friday afternoon, the furtive glances and mental calculations of each reaction begins anew.

"Hey," he greets quietly, digging through his bag to figure out what he needs for the evening's show and what can stay behind until they move on to the next city.

"Hey," John answers with a frown, dropping his own duffel down on the floor nearest the empty bed.

 _Still in a bad mood then,_ Alex thinks, purposely keeping his eyes on his things as he reflects on the look in John's eyes the Monday before. He had talked to Mike briefly over the phone when he had returned to Florida, his former mentor too busy with this media event and that to have a full conversation but it had been long enough for Riley to get the gist of things. _This kind of reaction from Mike's comments... it doesn't bode well,_ he thinks with a grimace.

"You ok?"

"Yes," Morrison grumbles, his very stance telling Alex it's time to step back, give him his space or prepare for an argument with the man.

They fall quiet once more, Alex taking a deep breath through his nose as he pushes some clothes back into his bag. _Geez, John tries to help Mike, Mike tries to help John and they both fight each other every step of the way. Lucky me, I get stuck in the middle of it all._ He rolls his eyes.

That Monday, they drive together to the arena, Alex patiently quiet as John fiddles with the radio, not finding anything interesting. Many thoughts are running through his mind- John and Mike's issues, of course, Mike's tag match this Sunday, and his own aspirations for the US title. It's been seemingly backburnered for awhile as he waits for the right moment, Ziggler and Swagger repeatedly distracting each other. He knows that his chance will come eventually, it's just waiting for said moment to come that grates at him.

His thoughts are derailed mercifully as he follows John into the arena, the buzz of the building distracting him. He's adjusting his bag when Morrison makes a thoughtful "Hmm" noise. "What?" he asks, looking up. It's the first word either of them have spoken since leaving the hotel.

"The schedule for the evening," John says, pointing to the white board. Alex steps up next to him, examining the multicolored scribbles along the white surface, reading it carefully. _Alex Riley and John Morrison vs Jack Swagger and Dolph Ziggler._ They exchange glances, John's eyebrow raised as they peer back at it. Their matches together the past few weeks had been all WWE, their tentative friendship not known by many people. "Ha, if the Anon GM was still in control, we'd probably be wrestling each other tonight or something," he mumbles, his eyes slipping down the list.

Alex notices immediately when his eyes fall on Miz vs Kofi, his tag partner's whole body going tense. He takes a deep breath and nudges John, not wanting him to dwell and lose his focus before the match tonight. "Come on, let's get ready."

"Fine."

It's easier said than done, however. Just their luck, Miz's match is right after theirs so he and Truth are already lurking close to the gorilla position when A-Ri and John prepare for their entrances. John glares at them both, Truth's maddened eyes immediately locking on him. He's heading for him, Alex preparing to break up the confrontation that will surely follow, when Miz smoothly drops an arm in front of his tag partner, stopping him in his tracks. "No, don't. Some people are just _jealous_ they don't have a match this Sunday," he says bitingly, smirking over at them. Despite the look on his face, his expressive gaze is tired, empty. How it fools Truth, Alex doesn't know.

Morrison glances from Truth to Miz, his defensive position shifting as he turns to Alex, slaps him on the arm. "Let's go." If John notices the look on Mike's face, Alex doesn't know. He's a little afraid to ask.

The match goes quickly, Morrison handling Dolph for awhile before he needs a tag, leaving Swagger to Alex. The other team's issues continue, Swagger slamming into Dolph and sending him to the outside. He sees out of the corner of his eye as Dolph squirms back into the ring but ultimately leaves Swagger to eat the three count. A little more thrilling than the win is the first honest grin on Morrison's face that he's seen since last Monday as the man congratulates him on the victory.

Dolph and Swagger arguing echoes behind them as they make their way back up the ramp, barely paying any attention to Miz and Truth as they walk past. By the time they make it back to the locker room, a four man match has been made at Night of Champions for the US title, Morrison against him, Swagger and Dolph. "What were you saying earlier about them putting us in a match against each other?" he grins, rolling his eyes briefly.

John huffs. "What can I say, at least now Mike can't rub our faces in his having a match on the card anymore."

"True." By the time Alex finishes showering and changing his clothes, John's gone, the locker room quiet and empty as steam lazily follows him out into the main area. "Uhh... Great."

He runs a towel over his hair a time or two more, quickly brushing it down with his hands before heading out to try to find his erstwhile traveling partner. Catering is Morrison free, gorilla position no better, and he even looks in the other locker rooms scattered around the arena, but no one's seen the man.

"Hey," he hears, jerking slightly as he turns to find Mike leaning against a wall opposing the building's exit, his arms crossed over his chest and a weird look on his face. "Check the top level of the parking garage, that's one of his common hiding places. When there _is_ a parking garage..."

"Oh." Alex bites his lip, shakes his head. "You wanna come too?"

"No, I doubt he'll want to see me," Miz shrugs. "Someone once told me to give him space... It worked then, for a little bit, so I think I'll just try that again. Maybe history will repeat itself, eventually." He smiles, a worn, false kind of expression, that wrenches at Alex's chest a little.

"I'm sure it will," he says, not sure what to say to take that look off his NXT pro's face.

"Do me a favor?" Mike asks, pushing away from the wall.

"Sure, Mike, if I can. What?"

"Watch over him? I can tell... he's not in a great place, and what I've said and done the last few weeks aren't helping any... No matter what happens on Sunday, no matter what he does or how he acts, you stay by his side?"

Alex takes a deep breath, floored. "Sure, Mike. I wasn't planning on doing anything differently. Things'll be fine. You'll see."

Mike nods, his lips curving slightly as he takes a breath of his own. "I hope you're right." He waves quickly before heading off the other way, spotting Truth down the other end of the hallway.

"I hope I am too," A-Ri mumbles before going to find John.


	65. chapter 65

The weekend's house shows are on the West Coast, Friday's in West Virginia to be precise, Alex grimacing as he watches Smackdown on the monitor. Mike is on the TV, commentating during Truth's match, mostly arguing with Kofi the whole time, and he shakes his head before noticing movement out of the corner of his eye. He looks up to find John standing nearby watching, his arms crossed grimly over his chest. "Hey."

"Hey," he mumbles, turning away from the TV and digging roughly through his bag. "Anything interesting happen?"

Alex turns his attention back to the TV and watches as Truth beats Evan. "No, not so much." John makes a dismissive "hmmm" noise before heading off as quietly as he had come. The younger man sighs, watching a little more of Smackdown as he gets an idea, his eyes lighting up. Grabbing his cell phone, he cycles through his contact list and places a call to someone he's not had to call in ages.

When the house show ends, Alex meets up with John at the rental car and leans against the car door, peering over at him. "Hey, I wanna drive," he says, smiling slightly as Morrison looks up at him, startled.

"What? Why?"

"You'll see." He reaches out over the roof of the car for the keys, his grin growing even more as John hesitates. "Come on, man, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Oh brother," he sighs, finally handing over said keys. "If you screw this car up, you're paying the rental agency for it, not me," he warns, half-teasing as he slips over to the passenger side and let Alex have the driver's.

"Got it," he says, rolling his eyes at _that_ incident from long ago still being used against him.

John watches quietly as Alex drives from street to street, somehow knowing exactly where they're going even though John gets lost after the first few turns. "Where...?"

"You'll see," Alex smirks, glancing over at him for a second before leading them out of town. _I hope this works._ He only drives for a little bit longer before pulling over, the near perfect silence after the car engine dies completely all-consuming and a bit startling at first.

John looks out the window, his eyebrows nearly up to his hairline. "What is this, Riley?"

Suddenly nervous, Alex leans forward, looking out at the vacant field Heath Slater had suggested to him during their brief phone call earlier, the former NXT rookie not mocking at all once he realized what Alex had called for, sounding almost ecstatic as he recited the obviously well-known streets of his home state. Barely ten minutes later, Riley had watched, flinching, as Khali took the redhead out viciously.

He glances back over at a perplexed Morrison and grins again, shaking his head. "I was thinking... with the PPV this Sunday, and everything going on, maybe some time away from everything and everyone would be alright. So when I heard about this, I thought it sounded like a good place to think at- uh, meditate, whatever you want to do," he concludes, fumbling a little as John's silence continues.

John finally looks over at him, his face softening as he reaches out for the door handle. "Thanks, Alex. Sounds good." He pauses before leaving the car, a brief shadow crossing over his face. "Mike never would've suggested this..."

Alex swallows, watching as he pulls himself out of the car and slams the door behind him, the soft chirps of crickets dying away for a few moments before resuming tentatively. As John leans against the hood of the car, peering up at the stars, Alex digs around in the backseat, grabbing a few things. He then joins him, handing over a bottle of water.

"Thanks," John comments softly, toying with it for a bit. Alex nods, not wanting to speak and risk breaking the peace of the evening.

He watches out of the corner of his eye as John slowly relaxes bit by bit, barely moving from his position except to tie his hair back with a tie taken from his jean pocket. Neither men speak, allowing the basic, soothing sounds of nature- only broken now and again by a passing car- to wash over them.

By that Sunday, Morrison is focused once more and Mike's words of warning from the week before return to Alex- beseeching him to not let John's potential actions get to him, shatter the tenuous friendship they have brewing. He considers how far John took his quest to get a world title shot, mocking R-Truth into putting up his opportunity months back, leading the man into madness. _Not that I spent a lot of time with him during that period, but he never really did seem to show regret for that..._ He takes a deep breath, shaking his head. _But of course, Truth's actions after it... who would? There wasn't_ time _to really consider the repercussions. Anyone would be pissed after being put on the shelf... twice... no matter the cause._

He stares at the design of his wrestling gear, gold against black, and sighs. _Not that I think he'll turn on me, but Mike knows him better than I do. I just have to remember that this is a match, and he's not going to baby me. I wouldn't want him to, after all. I wanna win this US title fair and square... and I'm pretty sure he wants to do the same. It's just Swagger and Ziggler that more than likely will not play by the rules..._

His chaotic thoughts are derailed when the pay per view finally starts- the first match, interestingly enough, being Truth and Miz's attempt at the tag titles. John joins him after a bit, already wearing his red tights. "Hey, you missed their rap," Alex says with an eye roll as John groans.

"Why do you think I waited until now to come in?" he volleys back, shifting to find a more comfortable position on the bench.

"Smart," he concedes. They then fall silent once more, watching on as the match proceeds, John tense next to Alex the whole time. It's mercifully short, the ref bumbling quite a few times until even Alex gets exasperated with the man, deciding that he could do a better job. Even so, when Miz argues with and then pushes the referee, a general gasp fills the room, everyone present immediately beginning to buzz and whisper as the match goes by DQ. Mike's anger is visible even when the camera isn't directly aimed on his face and everyone in the locker room gapes as he slaps the referee to the mat.

"Well, that was shortsighted," John says softly, grimacing as Truth follows his partner's example and slaps the referee as well. "Geez, they've lost their minds... whatever was left of them."

Alex feels sick as the cameras pan in on Mike's angry, tense face. He had learned early on that, no matter what was going on, touching a ref could get you in _big_ trouble, fines, suspensions... firing. He swallows thickly and looks over at John, who too looks unsettled. "What does this mean?"

"I guess it depends on if HHH walks out COO tonight or not," he comments with a pensive frown. "After the last few weeks, I don't think he's gonna take something like this lightly."

Alex nods grimly, taking a deep breath. As worried as he is for Mike, their match is soon and he can't allow himself to get derailed. As much as he wants to search out his former mentor, he can't- Mike's made it plain that Truth isn't supposed to know that the three of them are still technically on the same side, _and_ he needs all his focus on the upcoming four man match.

Despite his determination, there's a weird feel to the arena now, everyone a bit subdued and distracted as they carry on with their business. It effects him as well and, even though he wrestles as well as he can, in the end it's not good enough: Morrison gets the upperhand for awhile and attempts the Starship Pain but A-Ri thinks quickly, gets his knees up. Swagger and Ziggler re-enter and lock in their individual submission holds, painful flashbacks for both men as they struggle against the urge to tap. The urge to win the title overwhelms this briefly, however, and they escape the holds.

Even so, their continued attempts fail and Alex, stuck in another agonizing ankle lock, is forced to watch as Swagger powerbombs Morrison. In that moment, Ziggler quickly releases him and, before he can even think to move, tosses Swagger out of the ring and pins John, retaining his title. Alex groans and slaps a fist against the mat, disappointed at how his first true attempt for the US title has gone.

"Dammit," he breathes through his nose, watching as John rolls towards him, their eyes locking. Alex's tumultuous emotions are reflected in the other man's gaze.

The walk back up the ramp with no gold feels horrible, John a bit ahead of a limping Alex though halfway there, he slows down enough that Alex catches up, the two continuing on shoulder to shoulder as they make their way to the trainer's room for the usual post-match check up. "Your ribs ok?" Alex asks after awhile, remembering how hard Morrison had hit into his knees after the failed Starship Pain attempt- so much so that _his_ knees were still a little sensitive. Swagger's Powerbomb probably hadn't helped matters any.

"Yeah, they're fine." He can't help the grimace that remains on his face, however. "Your ankle?"

"I'll live," he says, shrugging. Just their luck, the monitor is on in the trainer's office and they half watch, half listen together as match after match carries on, the buzz in the arena growing visibly even with the trainer's door shut.

When they finally return to the main locker room, HHH vs Punk is about to start. Everyone is tense, gaze locked on the TV. The room is so quiet, you could hear a pin could drop.

Alex sucks in a deep breath, settling his ankle on his duffel, glancing over as John drops down next to him, arm wrapped around his midsection. Their eyes lock briefly before turning to peer at the TV with a similar focus as the rest of their co-competitors. Their future is on the line with this match, many of them just starting to get used to the new way of things with HHH in control. Another new boss after such a short period of time could be devastating for many of them.

The match carries on normally for awhile, everyone holding their breaths as moves are countered, kick outs occur, the action spills out to the outside and back inside. They're all so focused on the match that when Miz and Truth rush out, attacking HHH and Punk both, forcing Punk into covering HHH, it takes a bit for everyone to clue into what's just happened, that buzz from earlier returning as the various wrestlers being whispering and murmuring amongst themselves.

"What is he _doing?"_ John demands, dark eyes wide and troubled. Another confrontation with another referee and Punk and HHH regain control of themselves, kicking both Truth and Miz out of the ring. "Good God," he groans, scrubbing a hand through his hair before resting his chin on his palm. "Those idiots. Are they _trying_ to get fired?"

That's not the end of it, however, as John Laurainitis and Kevin Nash both get involved, Kevin's actions partially costing Punk the match. HHH remains in control of the WWE.

John and Alex exchange troubled glances. "That's not good for Mike," the younger man mumbles.

"No, no, it's not." John shakes his head.

The next night, Alex and John arrive early, unsurprised that the same kind of tension and murmurs from last night have bled over into tonight's arena, this time the focus on Miz and Truth and what kind of punishment they'll endure as a result of their actions. Speculations are wild and varied, not at all helped by the fact that neither men are present quite yet, and haven't appeared by the time the event actually starts.

John's match is early, Alex watching on in shock from the back as Alberto Del Rio brutalizes the other man in a very, very short match, obviously letting out his anger from losing his WWE title on Morrison.

Alberto and Ricardo push past the gorilla position minutes later, barely glancing over at him. Ricardo looks tired and fretful, Del Rio's face the very picture of anger. He _almost_ feels bad for the ring announcer as he watches them go. Forgetting this, he turns and watches as a referee follows John up the ramp, his arm held tightly to his side. Both men look annoyed, John obviously trying to brush the shorter man off.

"Morrison," the referee attempts to say again, John roughly shaking his head.

"No!"

Alex steps in, grabbing John with enough force to stop his brisk walk but not hurt him further. "Hey," he nods at the ref, forcing a smile. "I'll take care of him, ok? Go do whatever it is you have to do. He'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" the ref asks even as John huffs.

"Yeah, he's in good hands."

The ref looks uncertain but shrugs as Alex appears trustworthy. "Fine. If I hear he's not been to the trainer's..."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure he goes." Alex smiles for real now as the trainer, appeased, looks between the two of them once more before marching off.

"I can take myself," John grumbles, already turning in that direction. "I don't need a babysitter."

Alex rolls his eyes, remembering some of Mike's exasperated stories about John's pride, reluctance to accept help. "I'm not a babysitter. Just a... friend... wanting to help. There's a difference."

"We're friends now, huh?" he wonders, already turning down the hallway to the trainer's office.

Alex nods tentatively, eyes locked on the side of John's face. "I think so. Don't you?"

"I guess so," he mumbles, sounding surprised by the realization.

The trainer keeps John for what feels like forever, paying special attention to his arm due to the nerve damage and distracted a little later by Dolph Ziggler's injured jaw, so Alex and John end up watching most of Raw on the monitor in his office once more. They both grimace, John whistling slightly as HHH, obviously unmoved by their apologies, fines both Miz and Truth $250,000 for touching the referees and him, then puts them in a tag match against Cena and Punk.

"Well, at least they weren't fired," Alex says quietly.

"Yeah," John agrees, his eyes locked on the TV. _This doesn't feel right. It's somehow too... easy..._

By the time the tag match starts, there's a commotion outside of the trainer's office and he grumbles, distracted. Alex glances from the trainer to John before, curious, heading for the door. "Hey, they're all sitting out here, watching on the monitor," he realizes, lips twitching as he takes in rivals sitting next to each other, enemies ignoring each other blatantly as they wait to see what happens next- who HHH plans on firing.

"Go join them," Morrison says a second later, cringing as the trainer moves his arm in a way that shoots fresh pain up it. "I'm gonna be here awhile longer, one of us should at least know what the hell's going on." The trainer, fed up by the outside noise, had turned the monitor off as he focused on Morrison's arm and Dolph's jaw.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, go. Tell me what happens."

Alex smiles at John, nodding quickly. "Sure! Be back soon." He slips out of the room, feeling bad for leaving John behind, but not having much of a choice. He's watching, along with everyone else, as Punk gets the pinfall victory against Miz, who slips out of the ring to join R-Truth.

They're still outside of the ring when HHH makes his way out, piercing all four men with his gaze. Alex feels nervous for reasons he can't explain, a weird sense of foreboding washing over him as the others surrounding him murmur and whisper, falling silent when HHH begins to talk.

"Punk, good match. Miz, Truth... you're fired." The bottom drops out as they watch Mike and Truth's reaction. Mike looks shocked, pain and horror crossing his features before he and Truth take off at a sluggish run up the ramp.

All hell breaks loose then, Miz and Truth quickly catching up to HHH and pounding him in the midst of them all. It quickly turns ridiculous, everyone punching at Miz and Truth and, before he can really work it all out in his brain, HHH is yelling at them to get rid of both of the crazed wrestlers, Regal, Wade and Swagger working to kick Truth out of the building. Brodus goes straight for Miz and Alex, standing nearest, acts first in an attempt to stop the larger man from hurting Mike, grabbing him even as he struggles. Their eyes lock for a moment and Mike looks horrified, Alex shaking his head briefly, before he and Brodus and a couple others literally carry Mike to the door, throwing him through it. Luckily he lands on his feet and doesn't appear hurt even as the door is slammed behind him, but all Alex can hear is Mike yelling desperately from the outside, the sounds haunting him as he quickly separates from the group of hyper, gossiping wrestlers. One of the WWE cameras corner him and he's not even sure what he says afterwards, something lame that he'll probably regret later, before leaving completely.

_Morrison,_ he realizes, his eyes closing as he automatically turns back to the trainer's office. "Oh, God," he mumbles, licking his lips. John and Mike had had many issues the past few weeks, but this was going to be hard.

He pushes the door open slowly and finds John still shifting his arm around, the trainer watching carefully. Alex attracts both of their attention as he hovers reluctantly in the doorway, gnawing at his lip.

"Alex?" John asks, immediately forgetting what's going on with his arm. "What's wrong?" His eyes rake over Alex's distressed face. "What happened?"

"Mike... John," he sucks in a deep breath. "He's been fired."

The response is automatic, John pushes himself up one handed and stares at Alex, pale and thin-lipped. "Where is he?"

"John-" the trainer starts to rebuke, until the dark eyed man glowers at him, effectively quieting him.

"They- uh," Alex strains, exhales. Licks his lips, remembers the wild look in Mike's eyes as he carried him out of the building. "HHH made us... kick him out of the building after he fired him."

"Us," John echoes incredulously. "You helped...?"

"It was that or let Brodus get his hands on him, and who knows what he would've done! At least I tried to be careful," Alex says, flushing as John stares at him.

John shakes his head, running a hand over his face repetitively. Ignores the trainer as he pushes past him. "Come on, Alex."

"What? John-"

"I said come _on_ , Alex. We have a mess to sort out."

Alex glances back at the pissed off trainer once before lunging for the door, following in John's wake. "What-?"

"Think, Alex. You're kind of new here, sure, but it's been long enough for you to know what the other guys are capable of. Mike didn't have time to get his things, did he?"

Alex swallows. "No, he didn't."

"If we leave them laying around too long, who knows what they'll do to them. Now, explain it to me. What happened?" Without waiting for Alex to begin speaking, he pushes his way into the main locker room, quickly looking around. Mike's bag is obvious- the area around it is a mess, as always, covered in wrist tape, various shirts, schedule sheets for media events and CDs. Only his suit is treated with any kind of care, folded and put in one of the nearby cubbies.

"Punk and Cena beat Miz and Truth-"

"Of course," John mumbles, teeth grit against the pain as he leans down to collect Mike's things. Alex quickly stops him from using his bad arm and helps, scooping the papers up into a somewhat sorted pile before stuffing them and the CDs into the bag. The shirts follow before he places the wrist tape on top and glances around cursorily for the rest of Mike's things.

"-and then HHH came out. He congratulated Punk on the match... then said that R-Truth and Mike were fired."

John pauses from where he now stands, going through Mike's suit, and glances over, surprised. "Truth too huh? Well, can't say I'll miss him but damn... then what?"

"They rushed HHH in the back, where we were all sitting. It just fell into this big brawl and HHH started yelling to kick them out of his building... so, we did."

"Huh. The things I miss out on," he mumbles, finally uttering "aha!" as he lays the suit down carefully once more. He then turns to Alex. "I need you to run these out to Mike."

Riley looks up, blinking as he reaches out for Mike's rental keys and a hotel key card. "Oh. Why don't you take them to him...?"

"Because I'm so beyond the right mood to see him right now, it's not even funny." John sighs. "You'll handle him better than me, and hell, it might cheer him up to see you. Just go, Alex. I'll bring his things to our hotel room and we'll figure out a way to get them to him soon. Alright?"

Alex nods, pocketing the keys. "I'll be back soon. I'm not sure who's still at that exit so I'm going to have to go around."

"Beware Truth too," he warns needlessly, watching as the younger man walks off purposely.

He ends up circling the building, taking the opposite exit from where Mike and Truth had been thrown out. As he nears it from the outside, he overhears Truth rambling pointlessly on, sounding even crazier than usual. Miz is worryingly silent and Alex peers out between some bushes at the two, sitting in the dimly lit area outside of the arena, still in their wrestling gear.

He considers throwing a rock to knock Truth out but eventually disregards that idea, another one coming to him. "SPIDER OH MY GOD!" he yells loudly, ducking back behind the bushes as Truth flips out and starts looking all around.

"What was that? Where-?"

Mike too looks around, his lips twitching. "I think it came from the parking lot, Truth. You better go help that person out," he urges.

"You're right, Miz! That spider's gon' get got," his tag team partner declares, rushing off in the opposite direction of where Alex is holed up.

Once he's out of sight, Alex pulls himself free of the bushes and joins Mike. "Hey, man, you ok?" he asks quietly, taking in how downtrodden his former mentor looks.

"Don't I look ok?" he snarks, sighing. "What are you doing out here, Alex?"

"John and I are taking care of your things. We can't get everything to you yet, but when you can get away from Truth for more than a minute, we will." Mike stares at him for a long moment before nodding. "In the meantime, do you think you can explain to Truth how you got these things?" He holds up the car keys and keycard and smiles softly as Mike's eyes light up like he's just seen water for the first time in days while stranded in a desert.

"Yes! I'll think up something," he nods furiously, taking both things from Alex. "Thank you, I was thinking we'd be forced to walk around Cleveland like this all night."

"Well, the fangirls would _love_ that," Alex comments. "I'm surprised you didn't go to your parents, though. They'd help, wouldn't they?"

Mike takes a deep, shuddery breath. Even Alex, with clothes on, realizes it's chilly out tonight, and here Mike is in simple wrestling trunks. "They would but, Alex, I got fired in front of them... I didn't want to see them yet." He looks away. "Don't tell him this but... I think John was right... I'm not sure things would've gone this far if I wasn't involved with Truth. He kind of has a way of warping things... I was starting to feed into that mindset, I think. I've never... been like this before. I used to be a smarter competitor than this..." He muses over it briefly and shakes his head. "You should go, he won't spend the rest of the night searching for that spider. Thanks for the keys."

Alex nods. "Sure, man. And hey, you've been fired before, right? You figured out how to get rehired then... I have no doubt you'll figure out something here too, Mike. Call me if you need anything."

"I will." As Alex wanders off, Mike watches morosely, walking backwards to the half-wall that he and Truth had been sitting on. Sucking in a deep breath, he waits for his spider-hunting tag partner to return so they can go to the rental car and return to the hotel, where clothes and a warm bed is waiting, for perhaps the last time.


	66. chapter 66

John stretches thoughtfully as he peers over at Mike's bag from his bed. With Truth hanging around, there had been no real chance to sneak it to him once they were all back at the hotel, so it had remained in a corner of his and Alex's room overnight. Neither had slept very well, John half-dozing, half-watching TV through the night. Alex had been just as restless, messing with his phone whenever Morrison was awake enough to look over at him. Neither had spoken a word.

Needless to say, it had been a long night.

He's about to grab the bag and handle it himself- even if it means waiting in the front lobby until Miz comes down, hopefully alone, and takes it- but Alex comes out then, looking only a bit more awake as he runs a towel through his hair. He too glances at Mike's bag and sighs, a troubled look reappearing on his face. "I-" John's just said when Alex reaches over and plucks the bag off of the floor.

"I'll go bring this to him," he says quietly, squeezing the handles tighter than is necessary.

Despite his decision from the night before, John feels a little resentful at this and can't keep it from his voice completely as he sits up straight, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Oh?" For whatever reason, a part of him wants to see Mike for himself after last night and he feels his last excuse slipping through his fingers as Alex drops the bag onto his bed.

Alex peers over at him and sighs, shaking his head. "Stubborn idiots," John thinks he overhears him mumble. Before he can open his mouth to ask, the younger man turns to face him fully, his lips twisting in annoyance. "John, _you_ will have plenty of opportunities to see him after this... you both live in LA. I'm stuck on the other side of the country, and, unless he miraculously gets his job back, I don't know when I'll get to see him again. So... just, don't get pissy with me over this." He takes a deep breath, hoisting the bag over his shoulder before grabbing his keycard from the table between their beds. "Besides, you're the one who's been pushing Mike away the past couple of weeks- he and I managed to always keep in touch even during the Anon GM nonsense, but you haven't even tried, have you? Despite what you seem to think, you don't need an excuse to go see him, you just can whenever you want unlike some of us."

John watches, dumbfounded, as Alex turns and leaves without a backwards glance. _Dammit_... _I hate when he's right,_ he thinks, scrubbing a hand over his face roughly before heading to take his own shower.

By the time he gets out, Alex is back, collecting the last few things of his scattered around the room. A small pile of Morrison's items are laying across his bed spread, Alex's... unique way of organizing their things before they leave. Used to it by now, John carefully pushes his things off to the side and sits down to finish brushing his hair out. "Get Mike's things to him alright?" he asks after a few moments.

"Yeah, I texted him and he came down. We hid the bag in their trunk... he'll just play it that while Truth was still looking for his stuff, he put his in there." Alex pauses while stuffing his things into his own duffel bag and stares over at John. "What I said earlier-"

Morrison waves him off. "No, don't... There's nothing that needs to be said about it. I know you're right." He swallows and glances up finally, his hairbrush held in mid-air as their eyes lock. "It sucks, and I still hate what Mike did, but now isn't the time to dwell on that. With his being fired, it doesn't really matter all that much anyway. What's done is done, now we have to look forward."

Alex nods hesitantly, wondering what John will do from this point on.

John's been home in LA only a few hours, taking the time to check the mail, return some calls and handle other business that always slacks a bit when he's on the road, when he comes across his travel itinerary. He pauses, thoughts drifting as he reflects on this being the first time since he'd been drafted to Raw that Mike just _won't_ be there... instead stuck in LA, trying to figure out what he's going to do for the future.

It's a lonely, depressing picture. He taps the envelope against the desk a few more times before standing up, stuffing everything back in drawers to go through more thoroughly later. _Despite what you seem to think, you don't need an excuse to go see him, you just can whenever you want unlike some of us,_ A-Ri's words return to him. He's out of the apartment and in his car before he can even start to second guess his decision.

The drive takes forever, traffic as obnoxious as ever, and John _does_ almost change his mind a dozen times while on the freeway alone, close to pulling off different exits almost each time he passed one. It's not until he's actually on the exit leading to Mike's place that he relaxes, heart and mind quieting for once, determined now to see this through, no matter what the end result is.

Pulling into Mike's driveway is surreal, sobering as he realizes that from now on, the only way to _see_ the former world champion would be to do this, no more seeing him at work, watching with exasperated amusement or bitter fondness as he shoots his mouth off or cheats his way into a victory. His grip on the steering wheel tightens and he clears his throat, peering up at the house gleaming red in the slowly setting late September sun.

He hesitates only briefly before thumping his fist against the steering wheel and pulling himself out of the car. He's not even up to the door when it opens, as if Mike had seen him coming and waited. _That's probably exactly what happened,_ he thinks mirthlessly, peering up at his former co-competitor. "Truth isn't here, is he?" It's a stupid thing to ask, he realizes, as Mike's curious, cautiously hopeful demeanor changes immediately.

His arms slowly crossing over his chest, Mike leans against the door frame and frowns down at John. "What do you want, Morrison?" It's obvious he's had little to no sleep as well, his hair lifeless and dull against his forehead, eyes heavy and shadowed, each blink slow and looking like it may be his last. On top of that, an undeniable sense of _sadness_ just bleeds from him, overwhelming Morrison more and more the longer he stands there, staring silently up at him.

"You... uh." He fumbles, licks his lips. "Are you ok?"

"Oh, _now_ you care," Mike groans, slamming the door shut behind him as he finally drags himself from the protection of his house and stands before John, the blinding gleam of the dying sun making all of his exhausted features the more vivid. "I waited..." He presses his fists to his sides angrily and shakes his head. "I waited for you last night."

"What?"

Mike scrubs at his face, angry and hurt, before looking back up. "I took my time in showing Truth the hotel keycards, the car keys. I thought, well, hell, Alex figured out a way to lure Truth away for a minute. Morrison could do the same, right?" His voice drifts for a moment and he takes a deep breath, releasing it before smiling mirthlessly at his frozen former tag partner. "I stalled in the cold for almost an hour more, until I knew people were going to start to leave. Then I showed Truth the keys and lied that Julie felt bad for us," he muses, shaking his head. The seamstress who had a hand in all of their ring gear dislikes him as much as everyone else in WWE, but Truth had been ridiculously easy to convince. "So we left. But, dammit, John, would it even have killed you to take a minute? Just... something? I know things have been bad between us lately but... hell. I don't even know why I'm saying all of this, it obviously doesn't matter. I'm not in WWE anymore, you're probably planning a party later or something, to celebrate having one less obstacle in your career." He huffs and turns, reaching out for his door once more, when something stops him, causes _him_ to freeze on his steps.

"Wait," John demands faintly, gripping Mike's upper arm tightly. He clears his throat, says it again, louder and stronger this time. "Wait, dammit."

"Why? If you're gonna yell at me for tagging with Truth again, for God's sake, John, I do _not_ want to hear it, alright?" He tries to pull away but, even with his numerous nerve issues and the Alberto match from the night before- doubt towards his health flashes through Mike's mind as he stops fighting quite as hard- John holds on even tighter and succeeds in turning him around, face set and stubborn.

"Listen, I should've come, probably. But it wouldn't have ended well, I was still pissed... even am, right now, a little bit." He pauses as Mike rolls his eyes, tries pointlessly to free himself again. "But I realized there's no point in letting that anger rule me... or ruin whatever it was we had worked out the past few months." He takes a deep breath and loosens his hold on Mike's arm slightly, sensing that the man isn't going to try to run now. "You stayed by my side when I was injured, even when I didn't want you to, and now... well, now it's my turn."

Mike stares down, flabbergasted, and whispers, "Seriously?"

It's John's turn to roll his eyes but he nods anyway. "Seriously."

Miz stares at him for a long moment before nodding briefly. "Alright. Alright. Um." He looks behind him at the door and says, "Hang on a second." Before John can formulate a response, he's ducked back inside the house.

John frowns, wondering if the man had just agreed so he would let go of him, but within moments, he's back, almost looking surprised himself at finding John still there, waiting for him. "What are you doing?"

"I need out of there for awhile," Mike explains, pushing his keys, wallet and phone into his jeans pockets. Steeling himself for a denial, he brushes past John and heads for the sidewalk. "How about food?"

Morrison gapes after him, remembering all too well the kinds of places Mike usually eats at and is _thisclose_ to saying no, but stops at the last moment, remembering the look on Alex's face after dropping Mike's things off with him, the look on Mike's when he first opened the door. He hesitantly takes a step, two, towards him. "Alright, I guess."

Mike half-grins before turning to face him. "Great. Let's walk, it's just a few blocks away."

John takes a deep breath and follows him, wondering how much he'll regret this as they walk on silently. It's barely a five minute walk, the restuarant of Mike's choosing just a couple streets from his house. "No way," John mumbles, coming to a stop outside of the establishment. _This_ _explains a lot, Arbys being so close to his house... Dammit!_ he thinks grimly, trying to figure out a way to get out of going inside.

"Come on, John," Mike orders, staring at him with a raised eyebrow. "You're not going to try to weasel out of this with me, are you? Consider it our final meal as coworkers or something, if it makes you feel better."

"Playing the guilt card, Mike?" he counters, lips twisting into an awkward grimace. "Oh dammit, fine. But I'll be blaming you for each extra set I have to do at the gym to make up for this..."

"Ha! That's more like it," Miz smirks, eyes gleaming as they finally enter the building. Thankfully only a few people are inside, the supper crowd long gone, leaving only a few stragglers behind. John peers up at the menu board distastefully for a few moments until Mike nudges him. "Come on, you have to order _something._ If you must, get a damn salad."

"Probably the least evil thing they have here," he concedes with a sigh, following Mike up to the cash registers. He half listens as Mike orders a super roast beef sandwich- what exactly makes it super, John isn't sure, but he doubts he really wants to know anyway-, curly fries and a chocolate milkshake. Trying not to think about how unhealthy this all is, he nods and manages, "A chopped farmhouse salad-"

"And he'll have a Jamocha shake too," Mike cuts in, flustering both Morrison and the poor girl behind the counter, who looks awkwardly at John.

"Fine, I'll have the shake too," he accepts through gritted teeth, elbowing Mike roughly when he gets close enough.

"Hey, I declare this your cheat day," Miz hisses, pushing him back.

"Dammit, you always do that, Mike," John grumbles, digging through his wallet. Before he can even find a ten, Mike's dropped a twenty down into the girl's outstretched hand. "Hey! You don't have to pay-"

"Don't worry about it, I want to."

John pauses awkwardly, frowning tensely. It doesn't feel right to take money from the now-unemployed man but Mike glares at him warningly so he accepts after a moment, stepping back to look for a table. They end up at a bench, both relaxing into the well-worn but comfortable plush seats as they wait for their food.

"So this morning go alright, getting your stuff?" John asks with a vague smirk after a moment, not wanting to bring up the R-Truth subject in their first civil conversation in weeks but his curiosity's always been his weakest point.

"Yeah, security let us in, we got 'our' things, and we were out of there and heading for our individual flights within the hour." Mike only pauses long enough to use air quotes before finishing off his sentence, obviously wanting to avoid mentioning Truth as well. "The trunk lie worked well too, he didn't even second guess what I was saying."

"He never was the smartest," Morrison offers, frowning as Mike looks abruptly awkward. "Wha-" Before he can finish, a man comes up with a tray and starts handing their food out.

By the time everything is where it belongs, spread out before them, John looks like he's about to ask once more why Mike reacted that way when Mike glances down. "Damn, that guy forgot ketchup for my fries."

John sighs, derailed once more. A quick glance around shows that all of the workers are clustered around the cash registers or in the back. "I can get it, if you want."

"Yeah? That'd be great, thanks." He watches, wanting desperately to stay off the track they were heading by discussing Truth. _Damn my overly expressive face..._ He waits until John gets the ketchup and pulls the lid off of his Jamocha shake, dipping a few curly fries into it just as Morrison returns.

"Dammit, Mike! Use your own shake," he grouses, pulling his shake away and reapplying the lid. "Now I don't feel as bad about you paying." He rolls his eyes as Mike grins, pulling the ketchup packets out of John's grip.

_Conversation officially forgotten,_ he thinks as John glares at him, picking at his salad. "Oh, go on, John, eat. I didn't touch your salad."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" the Prince of Parkour sighs.

After they finish eating, they walk leisurely back to Miz's house, the rapidly approaching night easing some of the Californian heat. The closer they get to John's car the slower they walk until they're barely moving at all.

Morrison finally sighs and turns to Mike. "So what do you think you're going to do now?"

"Honestly... I'm not sure. I don't think I'm done with WWE, by a long shot, but it's barely been twenty four hours yet. I haven't really thought things through yet, you know?"

John nods thoughtfully, peering at him through the partial darkness. "Well, you're innovative when you want to be. If anyone can figure something out, it'll be you."

He nods, smiling slightly. "Yeah, God knows I'll try." He turns somber quickly and shakes his head. "Just hit me this week will be the first time in a long time I'm not out doing media or wrestling for WWE or doing... _something..._ Especially with the PPV this weekend. This makes Summerslam feel like the best time of my life, you know?"

John winces, well aware of how much the man hates sitting around idle. "I'm sorry," he says honestly. "For all of it- how I've acted the last few weeks, your firing..."

"Yeah, me too," Mike mumbles, staring back over at his house as his fists clench at his side. "It's like... it's like HHH is slowly sucking away whatever promise was left in the WWE, you know? Shutting up those willing to speak out about things. He fires me, he wrestles and defeats Punk after so much weirdness with the text messages and Kevin Nash and everything else..."

Morrison can't help but think that he sounds like a more rational, sane R-Truth in this moment, but even so... "It is suspicious," he agrees.

Mike turns his attention back to John and says, "This is really it, isn't it?" At John's confused glance, he elaborates. "Life post-WWE. Not stepping foot in a WWE ring again... Stuck watching the shows at home... Not seeing Alex at all unless there's an event in California..."

It sounds like unequivocal torture to Morrison. "It'll be ok," he offers after a moment, reaching out to squeeze Mike's shoulder.

Mike, however, slaps his hand away. "No it won't, dammit," he almost yells, stepping closer to John. "You know it won't... Oh God, what am I going to do? Screw your cliche platitudes, Morrison, tell me _that._ "

John stares at him, takes in how exhausted he looks, and regrets undoing everything they had managed during the meal by bringing up the future. "Mike, dammit," he mumbles, not even allowing himself to think as he reaches out and wraps his arms around his best friend, greatest rival and worst enemy all in one. "I don't know... God, I wish I did... but I'll be here if you need me." He's repaid in stiff silence until finally Mike tentatively reaches up and hugs him back.

That Monday, John and Alex are randomly thrown into a ten man battle royal for the Intercontinental title and both eliminated within moments of each other, a close repeat of the week prior as they painfully drag themselves to their feet and walk slowly up the ramp, side by side. "Is it just me or is it depressingly quiet around here without Mike?" Alex mumbles out of the corner of his mouth as they return to the locker room, glancing around to make sure no one is listening in. Everyone had silently agreed that discussing Mike or Truth either was just asking for trouble, especially with how unforgiving HHH had proven himself to be the week before on both Raw and Smackdown.

"Not just you. But it doesn't help that everyone's tense right now, waiting for the next shoe to drop," John responds just as quietly. "Ugh, how is it we keep getting thrown into these random matches?" He flexes his hand a few times, ignoring Alex's curious stare.

"Just our luck, I guess?" He settles down with a sigh, grimacing as the back of his still bruised leg touches the hard bench.

"How's your leg?" Morrison asks, noticing the look on his face.

"It's fine," he waves it off. They glance at each other, sighing. "We're pathetic, aren't we?"

"Yeah, sometimes," John admits grimly.

"Well... this is probably going to sound weird but... hm, I'm glad I _didn't_ win the Intercontinental title..." He unwraps his wrist tape quickly before glancing over at a confused looking John. "I still want the US title... now that Mike is fired, I want it even more... Like, it'd be a tribute to him and everything he's done for me if I was a success at something." Silence follows this statement for a bit before Alex notices John's face twitching. "Uh, John..."

"Oh my God, that was so sappy," he finally chuckles.

Alex glares at the side of his face, flushing. "Dammit, Morrison..."

He sobers quickly as Alex's glare turns almost murderous, sucking in a deep breath. "No, but seriously, it's a good goal," he gasps, waving a hand. "Really, I mean that. I hope you reach it."

Alex rolls his eyes. "Great. Thanks. Is this how it's going to be from now on since Mike's gone?"

"Weren't you just talking about how lucky you were?" John grins as his exasperated friend groans, burying his face in his hands.

"Why me...?"


	67. chapter 67

Come Sunday, Alex Riley can't help but think the tension in the Hell in a Cell arena is different than he's ever felt it in the short time he's been in WWE, as if the happenings lately are nearing their peak. Morrison senses it too, his gaze watchful, careful, as the whispers of their coworkers drown out everything else around them. "This doesn't feel right," he mumbles, adding to Alex's anxiety.

The younger man isn't on the card this evening so he has nothing to do but sit around and wallow in the multitude of emotions lingering around the hallways and locker room, missing Mike more and more with each passing moment. If anyone could've cracked some stupid comment and eased the tension, even a little, it would've been him.

"Oh God, would you look at that?" John asks after a bit, biting into Alex's thoughts.

He looks up to find that the show has begun, Christian vs Sheamus starting things off. But focus was far from being on the match, John Laurinaitis shown arguing with- Alex blinks. "Mike?"

"And Truth," John says with no shortage of disgust in his voice. "They're still working together... Yeah. This'll end well." Sure enough, the two get kicked out of the arena despite having tickets, and the pay per view proceeds as planned, audience members slowly getting drawn back into the action they're _supposed_ to be paying attention to.

The Vice President of Talent shows his face in the locker room eventually, eyes falling onto Morrison. "Hey, John, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Exchanging a glance with Alex, the parkour master shrugs and stands. "Sure." After a muted conversation from the other side of the room that the younger Superstar can't hear, John returns with an intrigued look on his face.

"What was that?"

"I'm getting an impromptu match in a little bit," he says with a shrug, a glint in his eye. "You'll see," he says, stalling Alex's barrage of questions with an upheld hand. "It's soon enough."

He leaves a few moments later and Alex watches as Cody Rhodes comes out to unveil the new-old Intercontinental title that flashes white in the overhead lights. His suspicions about _what_ match Morrison's been thrown last minute into are confirmed as Laurinaitis interrupts Cody's time, announcing Morrison as his opponent.

Despite Cody's disadvantage of no preparation time and competing in a suit, he defeats Morrison to retain the title, John's disappointment bleeding through the TV screen as he leans over the top rope and tugs at his hair. Alex feels bad for him, sucking in a deep breath as the pay per view carries on to a planned match.

"I'm fine," he says as soon he returns to the locker room, looking tired, a little sore, and extremely annoyed at yet another loss, but all in all he looks as alright physically after a match as any of them does so Alex sits back and lets him stew in silence as they watch the monitor.

HHH and Laurinaitis are bickering in the back when they get called to the tag team locker rooms about something; Alex glances over at a grim-faced Morrison when it's revealed that Miz and Truth had attacked the two men. "This is getting worse..."

"It is," he agrees, frowning. "I don't know what Mike's thinking anymore. I know he wants his job back, but does he think this is really helping things any?" He looks away, mumbling something about Truth's influence as Alex glances back at the TV, his gaze heavy and troubled.

They're still sitting there over an hour later, half-watching the main event of CM Punk vs John Cena vs Alberto Del Rio when the match reaches its conclusion- ADR winning the title back once more, mostly thanks to the machinations of Ricardo Rodriguez.

When the cage rises, allowing Cena back inside, Alex has his mouth open to say something when all thoughts fade away, his vocal cords going with them. He gapes as two forms make their way into the ring, somehow familiar despite the black hoods partially covering their faces. As they begin attacking everybody and anybody within the now lowered cage, the camera catches one of their faces. "Mike," he chokes near soundlessly. John glances over at him, nodding quietly before turning his attention back to the monitor.

They watch on in speechless horror as the beat down continues, wrestlers, referees and cameramen alike getting the brunt of the brutality. No one is safe. Their frozen shock is shattered like ice when the locker room door slams open, leaving a dent in the wall behind it. "Come to the ring now!" Laurinaitis' gravelly voice demands of them, before he disappears as quickly as he'd appeared.

The locker room cleans out as Superstars from both Raw and Smackdown rush down to try to wrench the cell door away from its hinges to get inside, stop this madness. Alex can't get to the door, too many people clinging to or wandering around it, so he walks along the side of the cage, watching as Mike continues to mindlessly attack referees and former colleagues alike. "Mike!" he yells, gripping the cage. "What are you _doing?"_ His voice garners no response and he steps back, horrified as Mike all but ignores him, his focus completely bent on decimating everyone in reach.

In that moment, Alex realizes he doesn't recognize his former mentor at all. _What did R-Truth do to you?_

He looks up as the echo of chains cracking apart fills the arena, realizing that they're cutting into the prison with bolt cutters. He walks automatically back around the ring, his eyes locked on Mike as he seems to come back to his senses, motions to Truth and they easily drop their weapons, falling to their knees as one. _They're surrendering,_ he realizes, throat dry as he rejoins Morrison. He hadn't noticed at first but police are surrounding the area, mixed in with security, and as they watch, Mike and Truth both are handcuffed and led out.

Morrison is tense nearby, an unreadable look on his face as the security keep the superstars back to let the police through with their prisoners. They're barely to the ramp when there's a commotion and HHH lunges forward, parting the sea of security and superstars to attack both men, raining punches upon them both despite the handcuffs keeping them from defending themselves.

Alex closes his eyes as the madness continues, unable to watch any longer. _Dear God, could this get any worse...?_

After a few more moments, John slaps him on the shoulder, pushes him forward. "Come on, man. Let's get out of here."

He swallows and glances around at their fellow competitors still lingering around, looking shocked and troubled. "Ok," he mumbles, licking his lips as he follows him up the ramp. They linger in the locker room only briefly, long enough to collect their things and head out. "Where are we going?"

John throws his bags into the trunk and pauses as Alex follows suit, a weary look on his face. "I'd like to say the police station but I doubt they'd let us see him... and he'd probably be pissed if we came across R-Truth, it'd just make things worse in the long run anyway. So I guess the hotel."

Alex nods, disappointed and drowning in so many feelings that he can't even label them all. "Alright." The drive back to the hotel is almost painfully quiet, the radio for once turned off. All they hear is the road going by beneath their wheels and other outside noises.

Upon arriving to their room, Alex slumps down on the hotel bed, relieved to be away from prying eyes and gossiping whispers. Morrison leaves the bathroom after a few moments, immediately going to his own bed too. They stare at each other for a moment before John sighs and drops down onto the mattress. "Do you think he'll be alright?" Alex asks after a few moments, his hands clenching around the sheets.

"No idea," Morrison finally responds, tilting his head to watch as Alex nods glumly. "He's resourceful. He'll think of something. Hopefully sane this time."

The younger man huffs a pathetic laugh before taking his turn in the bathroom as well. He's too stressed and worn out to even bother with a shower, contenting himself with brushing his teeth. He's barely put the toothbrush in his mouth when he hears John's phone ring distantly. _Who could that be at almost midnight?_ he wonders incredulously, running the brush across his teeth.

Before he can even rinse his mouth out, John is yelling his name. He looks up, pulling the toothbrush out of his mouth. "What?"

"Get out here!"

Alert to the strange tone of Morrison's voice, he quickly leaves the room, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "What?"

John motions to the phone and holds it away, putting it on speaker. "Mike? Why the hell didn't you call a lawyer or something? Why call me?"

"Because, _John,_ Truth will handle that with his free call." Despite sounding exhausted and pissed, Mike seems relatively fine and Alex sinks down near where the phone lays on Morrison's bed, his eyes wide. "I just wanted to talk to you for a minute."

"Mike?"

There's a pause as Mike breathes into the phone. "Hey, Alex," he finally says quietly, as aware as the other two that the minutes are ticking by. Police will probably only be _so_ patient with what should be a call to get legal representation.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry, we'll be out of here by tomorrow. Anyway, uh, John... I just wanted to call to say..." He pauses, sounding almost embarrassed before chuckling helplessly. "Happy birthday, ok?"

Alex watches speechlessly as John peers at the clock before turning his attention back to the phone between them, an unreadable look in his dark eyes. "Mike..."

Before he can say anything else, Mike curses quickly. "I have to go, probably lucky I had this much time. John, Alex? I... I'm sorry, alright? I didn't... expect it all to go this far. Really, I didn't."

Before either man could formulate a response, they hear an impatient voice snap, "Are you done yet?" before the phone clicks, the dial tone following it. They stare at each other before John reaches over and fumbles with his phone, flipping it shut. "Well..."

"It's your birthday?" Alex blurts out, flushing as John stares at him.

"Yeah."

"Well, damn... happy birthday."

He watches as John shrugs, looking unenthused. "Yeah. Thanks. It's just another day, you know? I'm tired, think I'm gonna try to get some sleep."

"Oh, ok," Alex whispers, taking the hint. He taps his forgotten toothbrush against his knuckles as he turns back to the bathroom, trying to think of something to do to make John's birthday not completely crappy. _Mike would have a much better idea than I do... but there's nothing I can do about that..._

The next day, Raw's atmosphere is even weirder than Hell in a Cell's the night before, everyone staying in their own worlds, going through the motions as they handle their individual matches and drama. Alex doesn't focus on much of it, trying still to work out something to do for Morrison after the event, the afternoon proving fruitless as both were busy with media and various other things leading up to the event itself.

He does, however, pay attention when John is put in a match against Mark Henry, even coming close a time or two with his speed and agility but in the end it's just not enough, the vicious man taking him down with a World's Strongest Slam. His hands tighten around the edge of the bench as he watches, holding his breath. "Don't..." he mutters, when it appears as if Mark is far from done. Thankfully the crazed man doesn't go for a chair, instead going for another slam against the mat, his entire weight crashing down on top of John.

It could've been much worse but Alex still winces, quickly making his way out to the gorilla position where Morrison is slowly being helped up the ramp to by the referee officiating the match, one of the men Mike had attacked the night before. He awkwardly holds the curtains away so John can walk through without stumbling or hurting himself further. "Here," he mutters, taking over for the referee, who looks relieved.

"I can walk," John grimaces, trying and failing to struggle away as the larger man loops his arm around his shoulders.

"Sure you can," Alex says dismissively, allowing him to pick his own speed as they limp back towards the trainer's office. His back is obviously killing him, each step a reminder of Henry's weight crushing him down into the mat twice in a row. _Some birthday,_ he thinks sympathetically, easing him down onto the nearest couch once they arrive. As the trainer checks him over, Riley keeps an eye on the monitor, listening curiously to the commentators discussing the previous night's events and how Miz and Truth are officially suing HHH and the WWE. _Oh, great._

By the time the trainer finishes with Morrison, the announcement of the vote of confidence being held later is all anyone can talk about. Before long, John is looking miserable _and_ annoyed so Alex taps him on the shoulder, careful not to put too much pressure on his still sensitive back. "Hey, let's go outside for awhile."

"Alright." After ice and some painkillers, walking is less of a slow, agonizing process for him and they make their way to the parking lot. John settles down on the hood of the car, staring up at the darkening night sky, breathing in deeply as Alex hovers around the side of the car, the tension from inside draining off of them. "Wanna bet HHH gets a vote of confidence somehow, despite everything that's been going on?" John asks after a few moments, his voice quiet, barely hearable over the sounds of nature mixed in with cars going by streets surrounding the arena.

"I'm not sure," Alex responds. "We might be surprised. Everyone is just.. angry, and looking for something or someone to put it all on. He might not get the answer he's looking for tonight."

John sits up slightly, grimacing as his back stretches. "If you were voting, right here, right now, what would you say? Confidence or no confidence?"

Alex leans his head back against the cool glass window and sighs, considering the question. Remembers the look on Mike's face following his firing, the various weeks he or Mike or John had spent sitting around with no matches at all, and finally the night before, HHH's ruthless attack against Mike and Truth while they were defenseless and handcuffed. For a man who had said ad nauseum barely two months back that business and personal should be separate, he fails time and again to follow his own words, first with the feud against CM Punk, and now this.

After a long moment, he looks up and locks eyes with John. "No confidence." It surprises him how easily the words come, no doubt or second-guessing behind them. Morrison nods slowly.

When the time comes for the actual vote, they're back in the building and walk out with their fellow Raw competitors, taking in the somber, tension filled air as they wait for the rest of the locker room to spill out into the arena. Morrison grows more and more tense with each word from HHH's mouth, and he's not the only one. Alex peers around the ring at all of the intense expressions and wonders how long it'll go before someone blows or a fight breaks out. Or both.

However, neither really happen. Wade Barrett, Christian, Mike Chioda and Beth Phoenix speak for their individual groups but it's ultimately Jerry Lawler that pushes it all to a head, by stating his mind and finally walking out. This leads the rest to slowly, one by one, follow his lead until finally the only ones remaining are Morrison, Zack Ryder, Airboom, Santino Marella, Percy Watson and himself. Alex watches quietly, uncertain, as the few remaining discuss whether they really want to follow the others and walk out or not.

"Bros, you don't really want to do this, do you?" Zack asks, his eyes glinting nervously in the bright overhead lights.

"Why shouldn't we?" John asks, glancing from man to man. "Due to crappy security, you both were put in a position to be attacked last night," he says to Airboom. "HHH has lost whatever control he thought he had when he took over for Vince... do we really want to be a part of this anymore? Who knows what's going to happen next."

Evan and Kofi talk quietly amongst themselves for a moment before nodding reluctantly.

Zack looks frustrated but John turns to him. "You've been treated worse than all of us- long _before_ HHH returned. And by what I'm seeing, his taking over hasn't made anything easier for you. If anything, it seems like he's just teasing you most weeks. Come close to giving you what you want, then snatch it away. Why disrespect yourself by sticking around for that?" He glances from Santino to Percy Watson, who seem to be waiting for everyone else's decision, before glancing at Alex. "What do you all say?"

More discussions occur amongst themselves as Alex watches Cole slip around the other side and leave, and finally Airboom leads the way slowly for the ramp, the rest following. They've barely made it to the gorilla position when Zack seems to change his mind and turns back around, returning to HHH's side, but Morrison shrugs and continues on to the locker room to grab his stuff.

Alex gapes after their indecisive coworker for a moment before turning to follow John. He doesn't say anything until they're both in the locker room, it somehow feeling wrong to shatter the somber quiet as people wrap their minds around what they've just done, or witnessed. "So... that was different," he finally manages.

John pauses in recollecting his things and looks up. "Yeah, it was." He frowns briefly before digging back through his bag. "Do you think it was the wrong decision? You didn't have much to say back there..."

Alex takes a deep breath. "I'm not entirely thrilled to possibly be without a job right now but... wrong decision? No... After you asked me if I would vote No Confidence, I started thinking about what all's gone on since HHH took over. There was no other answer, I think. Something has to give."

John nods, a relieved look on his face. "Yeah, I know. Hopefully if someone else steps in and takes over, things will get better. Guess we'll find out soon, huh?"

Alex nods, leaning over to pick his bag up off of the floor. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

Alex had wracked his brain all day, trying to think of something simple that Morrison wouldn't mind doing on his birthday despite everything going on, but between Morrison's match against Henry and then the walkout at the end of Raw, anything that sounded half-way decent was out of the picture now. Both of them were so tired that nothing sounded better than just returning to the hotel and catching some sleep before their flights home.

This plan, however, is delayed when they arrive at the hotel and find Miz sitting outside of their room, a box in one hand and a plastic sack in the other. As they walk over to him, he looks up and smirks almost sheepishly. "Took you both long enough. Up for some cake and coconut water?"

John looks from him to Alex, who holds his hands up defensively. "It wasn't my idea, I swear. I'm as surprised as you."

Mike chuckles as John sighs, pushing between them to unlock the hotel room. "Go ahead," he orders, eyes glued on the bakery box curiously.

John has barely entered the room when six cupcakes of varied flavors- chocolate, red velvet and vanilla- are set up on the bedside table, the bottles of coconut water resting nearby. "Where's your friend at, Mike?" he can't help but ask, making a face as soon as he's stopped speaking.

Miz, however, doesn't flinch or do much more than roll his eyes. "He's back at the hotel room, asleep. I had just enough time to get these things before a nearby bakery closed," he explains calmly.

Wanting to break this train of conversation, Alex leans forward, snagging one of the cupcakes. "Better get yours or I'll eat them all," he threatens, realizing that so much had happened at Raw tonight he hadn't had time to even glance at catering.

It's a false threat and they all know it but the two men lean forward anyway and grab a cupcake each, John also snagging one of the bottles away. "Happy birthday, man," Mike says, holding his cupcake up expectantly.

Alex clues in and grins, following his mentor's lead as they stare at Morrison, who looks at them like they're the goofiest people he's ever seen. Finally he lifts his up as well and they tap the three baked goods together like they're making a toast. "Happy birthday, John."

John looks back and forth from Alex and Mike, shaking his head. "Thank you," he finally says, lips twitching upwards into a rare, honest smile that neither Alex or Mike has seen on him for much too long.


	68. chapter 68

October 8th, 2011. His birthday. Mike sighs grimly, running his fingers across the hard wooden table looking out over the neighborhood. He's never _not_ worked on his birthday, either media or house shows or something similar. For a man who enjoys being busy, he twitches, disgusted with sitting still for _another_ day, especially this day. He's never felt like a failure in his life, even the last time he had been fired... but after being fined, fired, kicked out of the arena, arrested, and now stuck here on his birthday doing jack, he can't help the self-loathing building up within him.

John and Alex are both across the country, wrestling at a houseshow in Oklahoma, so whatever choices he might have had at a distraction are unavailable to him. His phone does ring after awhile, his breathing picking up slightly as he reaches for it, but all hope drains away from him when he reads "Truth" on the screen. Huffing in annoyance, he drops the device back down on the table and lets his face fall into his hands. "I'm so pathetic," he groans into his palms.

He's still sitting there when a knock sounds on his front door. He unfolds himself slightly and peers over at the barrier, blandly wondering who it possibly could be. As the knock sounds again, he trails his hand along the wall on his way to the door, peeking out the window for a second before he wrenches the door open. "Yeah?"

"Package for Mike Mizanin," the bored-looking delivery man says, holding out a clipboard at Mike's blank look. "Need your signature."

"Oh. Yeah. Sure." He signs quickly, barely a scribble, before taking the large box from the man. "Thanks," he mumbles, turning back towards his house with the item.

He's just gotten the box settled in on the table and is about to attack the wrapping when there's another knock on the door. "What the hell?" he mumbles, suspicious of what's going on. "Those two idiots," he sighs in exasperation. Balancing another box, he drops it onto the table next to the first and sits back, crossing his arms over his chest. _Ok, which to open first..._ He tilts his head, examining the two. "Well, Alex will be disappointed if I keep his for last... but Morrison's is bigger." He hums thoughtfully. "Oh, whatever," he sighs, pulling the larger box to him. "If I tell Alex I saved the best for last, it should be fine."

Tearing through the stubborn tape with scissors, Mike leans over, putting the scissors on top of the other box before peeling apart the flaps to peer inside. His lips twitch as he reaches in and pulls out a large chocolate cake, settling it carefully onto the table's surface. A small note flutters off of the box and he slaps his hand onto it before it falls to the floor.

_To make up for last Monday._

He shakes his head at Morrison's handwriting, finally letting himself smile.

_"Dammit, you two ate both the chocolate cupcakes?"_ _Mike grouses, peering down at the remaining vanilla and red velvet desserts that he had bought for Morrison's birthday._

_"Sorry," both men chorus, not looking bothered in the slightest._

_"Liars," he grumbles, poking at the red velvet cupcake._

Mike sighs and drifts a finger through some of the icing before sticking it in his mouth, his eyes closing briefly at his first taste of the rich rush of chocolate.

He sets the box on the floor, pushing the cake to a more safe position in the middle of the table, before grabbing for the second box, wondering what he'll say to the two if it's _another_ cake. It's obvious early on that it's not, his eyes widening as he pulls a laptop free.

His old laptop had died over a month ago and he had decided ultimately to not replace it, his phone's mobile web holding him over with all of his time on the road and media events. Having a laptop when he was only home a day or two a week if he was lucky seemed worthless. Even though he'd been fired for a few weeks by now, he had had hope that his job would be reinstated so he still hadn't bothered.

A note falls off of the laptop and he rolls his eyes, skimming it. "Wait, what?" he mutters, returning to the start and rereading it. "Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me." He pulls the laptop open and turns it on. As he waits for it to boot up, he grabs a fork and digs into the cake. Once he's filled out some registration information and Windows has loaded, he clicks the start menu up and reads through the file names. "Well, here we go," he mumbles, clicking it.

As it sets up, he grabs some more cake, only glancing at the laptop between bites.

_"Why am I not surprised?"_

He jerks, looking up at the computer. He freezes, fork in his mouth, and flushes as he realizes the webcam program Alex's note had directed him to had loaded while he was distracted by the cake, a slightly grainy image of John and Alex peering at him from his new laptop's screen. "Dammit," he mumbles, quickly putting the fork down.

" _Enjoying the cake?"_ Morrison asks, his smirk growing as Mike quickly swallows and wipes his mouth.

"Shut up," he groans, adjusting the volume on the computer so he can hear them easier. "What are you two _doing_?"

They exchange glances before facing the computer once more. " _Well, we wanted to wish you a happy birthday while it is your birthday so here we are_ ," Alex explains. _"Sorry we couldn't sooner..."_

He shrugs, waving the apology off. "Don't worry about it, I get it. I know how all the travel and everything else can be." He leans back in the chair and glances outside momentarily before looking back at his friends. "So how's touring without HHH going?" As the two men start explaining the latest that even isn't privy to, he runs a finger across the laptop case and listens. _It's definitely not the same as being there, competing and doing what I love to do, but it's not half bad,_ he decides, relaxing as Alex and John quickly switch the topic to anything _other_ than WWE.

**Text from: John Laurinaitis**

It has come to my attention that in lieu of the walkout last Monday, the board of directors are going over the best course of action to resolve the issues between Triple H and the Raw roster. I would advise you both to be in Oklahoma City this Monday.

The two men crowded around the cell phone glance at each other, smirking in victory. It had been a long, hard road, but finally things seemed like they were about to be corrected.

That Monday, Mike reads off where exactly they're supposed to go, hidden in some off-site parking garage that Laurinaitis had suggested for them. This had to be handled carefully- the EVP of Talent Relations had it on good authority that HHH was to be released from his duties and John himself was on the short list of people for the job- an idea that makes Mike want to roll his eyes but out of the two, Laurinaitis seems easier to manipulate.

Should the intel be false, however, the two need to be discreet, go where Laurinaitis tells them, do what he suggests. Thus, the parking blocks away and sneaking in a back exit to avoid the rally going on outside of the arena, along with hiding in a carefully selected locker room until just the right moment.

Truth paces back and forth as Miz taps his fingers anxiously against his thigh, biting his lip as the show trails by, HHH, Cena, Sheamus and Punk taking up the first half an hour talking about their loyalty and dedication despite being the only four men there and... He yawns slightly and presses a hand to his face. "God, I thought the HHH-and-Cena show was bad before. Now that it really _is_ basically just that, it's worse than I even imagined," he grouses. "We really need to get our jobs back to rescue this crap."

Truth pauses and stares at him, before hissing something over his shoulder. " _I KNOW!"_ he whispers loudly to thin air before turning his attention back to Mike. "Do you trust Laurinaitis? I don't have good luck with Jimmies... or Johnnies..."

Mike grimaces slightly, not willing to head down another discussion about Morrison with Truth. Not tonight, he's too tense and stressed to even consider acting his way through that particular conversation. _Breathe,_ he reminds himself. "I think if anything he'll be fairer to us than HHH ever was. But I'm not entirely ready to get my hopes up- for now, HHH is still in control."

Truth mumbles a little before finally focusing and nodding at Mike. "Yeah. I hate waiting games."

"Me too," he sighs, shifting his weight on the uncomfortable plastic chair that he'd claimed as his own the moment Laurinaitis had left them alone to see the show through. The monitor is droning quietly across from him when the strains of Vince McMahon's theme music interrupts Sheamus vs Cena, attracting both men's attention. "Is this...?"

"I think so," Truth says, almost blocking Miz's view as he moves close to the TV. They both hold their breath as Vince talks, explaining that the board had decided to have a McMahon free show, naming Laurinaitis temporary GM and relieving HHH of his duties.

As Truth cheers and chatters excitedly, Mike watches the TV shrewdly. _I guess our careers are secure once more, but I dunno... In the long run... Laurinaitis may prove worse than HHH in some ways. Guess I'll just have to wait and see._ Truth is so busy celebrating to himself that he doesn't observe the look on Miz's face growing all the more brooding when Morrison is shown confronting Laurinaitis as the Raw and Smackdown rosters trickle slowly back into the building and gets put in an abrupt match against Christian for his trouble.

His heart sinks when he sees that Christian has brought along Swagger, Ziggler and Cody Rhodes with him. Morrison seems distracted, off of his game, and Christian takes advantage, somehow winning with, of all things, the weakest looking spear Miz has ever seen. Barely minutes later, the three all target Morrison, hitting him with one move after another. At the first impact of the ZigZag, Miz finds himself on his feet, hands curled into fists at his side.

Thankfully he's snapped out of his angry haze when a knock sounds on the locker room door and Truth, distracted by the workings of his own mind and not seeing Mike's response to the match result, turns to answer it.

"Hello," Laurinaitis greets them both like he hadn't just left them barely an hour earlier. "I have something here for you both."

Mike releases a deep breath as a clipboard is held out to him, "The Miz's WWE Contract" written across it in large, bolded print. Glancing over, he sees that Truth is being presented with one as well.

"First things first," Laurinaitis says grimly. "I cannot allow you to sign these contracts as long as the suit against WWE stands. Drop that and we will gladly welcome you back with open arms."

"Consider it done," Truth says eagerly, his eyes gleaming as he reaches out for the contract.

Mike quickly skims through the items, nodding slowly once he gets through the bulk of it. "That's fine," he decides, taking the pen from Laurinaitis. "All we wanted was our jobs back anyway." They sign at the same time, Miz's signature on the bottom of the page one of the best things he's seen lately.

"Congratulations and welcome back to WWE," Laurinaitis says with a smile as he holds his hand out to each man in turn to shake.

"Thank you," Mike mumbles as his phone begins vibrating in his pocket. He waits until Truth returns to mumbling to the nothingness around him and John's left to check it.

**Text from: Alex**

Mike, can you call John? He ran off after his match earlier and I don't know where to look for him. You might have better luck.

Mike fiddles with his phone and groans, glancing over at Truth. "Hey, I'm damn thirsty... gonna sneak out and get a soda before Laurinaitis decides what he wants to do with us. You want anything?"

Truth glances up, over, and then back before shaking his head. "Nah, man, I'm good. Don't get spotted."

"Yep." As soon as he's out of that room and away from Truth's crazy-fueled ramblings, he takes a deep breath. Stuffing his phone back in his pocket, he turns briskly and makes his way quietly to the exit.

Finding John is relatively easy, Mike spotting a park across from the arena. He wanders around in the darkness for a bit before locating his friend sitting on some swings, kicking sand back and forth as he pushes off slightly. Taking a deep breath, he walks slowly up to him, settling down in the next swing. He doesn't react as Morrison glances over at him, simply swinging back and forth slowly, mimicking John's own motion.

"What are you doing here, Mike?" John finally asks after a few minutes of listening to the crickets and other nighttime sounds around them.

"Hmm, well... don't tell anyone, it's supposed to be a surprise. I've been rehired." He smiles briefly before looking over, becoming solemn once more as he takes in the pinched look on John's face. "Truth too..."

John stops swinging abruptly and looks up through the bars overhead at the stars. "I see."

"Are you ok?"

There's a long, tense pause as John twists the swing in time with his body, peering at Mike through the gloom. "No. I'm not." They stare at each other for a long moment, Mike's eyes gleaming in the faint glow coming from nearby lightpoles. John's face is shadowed by his hair and Miz is alternatively glad and annoyed that he can't see the expression there better. "Do you ever..." His hands tighten around the chains of the swing, his jaw working as he thinks about how to ask what's on his mind. "Do you ever regret this job? Ever want... something different?"

It's Miz's turn to stop swinging as he stares at the other man, wide eyed as a sick feeling overwhelms him. "What are you thinking, John?"

He scrubs a hand along his unshaven face and sucks in a deep breath that sounds almost painful. "I... don't know. I... I'm just thinking. I'm honestly happy for you, that you have your job back. I know how badly you wanted it."

John's earlier words still echoing in his mind, he nods weakly. "Thanks, man. Unfortunately, it means you have to deal with Truth again." He's fishing a little, it's so obvious that he almost wants to slap himself, but John doesn't react.

"Yeah, I guess."

He's about to say something else when his phone goes off in his pocket again. Cursing, he fishes it out, the bright screen blinding him as he peers at the text message from R-Truth. "Dammit," he groans. "I have to go back to the arena. Are you coming?"

John tilts his head, resting his face on the chains as he peers at Mike. "Nah, go do what you need to do. I'll be back around soon enough."

"Bu-"

"Tell Alex not to worry, I'm fine. Just needed some air."

Mike hesitates even as he pulls himself up from the flexible seat, peering down at Morrison. "If you need anything..."

"I know."

He stalls a moment longer, watching his former tag partner, before turning roughly on his heel. _I have a return to make,_ he thinks grimly, so many emotions and thoughts pingponging around in his skull that he's not even sure where to begin, what exactly to feel as he marches back to the arena.


	69. chapter 69

"Have you seen him?" Alex can't help but ask the instant he catches sight of Mike alone- at Smackdown's catering area. He can just vaguely see Truth off to the side, his dark eyes locked intently on the staff, making sure they do nothing harmful to his food as they prepare it. It's not ideal but with Truth stuck to Miz like glue nearly all of the time, he'll take any conversation he can get with his former mentor, especially right now.

"Not since Monday," Mike sighs around a mouthful of rice as Alex peers down curiously at his sweet'n'sour chicken currently bleeding over and turning the rice brown. "You still worried?"

Startled, the younger man looks up and releases a heavy breath of his own. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, he's just not been acting like himself lately... not that I know him as well as you do or anything, but it just seems... like something's off. You know?"

Mike nods grimly, remembering saying something like that to John himself not that long ago and how the conversation ended badly between them. "I know, but I don't think you should push it. If he wants to tell us, he will." He digs his fork angrily into his food once more, thinking about the conversation he had had with Morrison only four days previous.

He could've easily told Alex, sometimes even found himself thinking he _should_ but it ultimately hadn't felt right, betraying the little bit of trust that Morrison had shown in him by fessing up to _anyone_ , even Alex, about what John had said, and what Mike speculated it all meant, how ill it made him feel inside whenever he thought of it.

"I think you won't have to look around too much longer," he whispers after a bit, looking up as John himself enters and quickly crosses the room, avoiding R-Truth's piercing, angry stare. He does glance over for a moment at the obviously talking Alex and Mike before turning his gaze to the menu of foods offered this week tacked up to the wall.

Alex nods, grabbing his plate from the staff. Quickly thanking them and waving off the apology for the wait, he tracks Morrison's movements, following him over to a nearby table. "Hey, this seat taken?" he jokes, waiting anxiously as Morrison peers up at him.

"Since when do you ask?" he asks, his lips twitching upwards to show no malice behind his words. Alex shrugs and settles down across from him, spreading out his food. "Long wait, huh? Saw you talking to Mike."

"Yeah, looks like everyone wants to fill up now that that battle royal is done with." He picks at his taco salad before nudging his plate towards Morrison. "Want some? It's nuts over there, and Truth's not helping much with holding everyone up so you probably won't be able to get anything for awhile... he's scared they're going to poison him or something." He realizes belatedly what he's talking about and to who as John's eyes harden, flushing slightly at his own carelessness. "Um."

Thankfully Morrison waves it off, his expression relaxing slightly as he breaks off some of the hard shell bowl holding the salad in place. "How are your knees?"

Surprised, Alex blinks over at him. "Oh, they're fine," he says, remembering the hard hit he had taken almost an hour ago when Mike had eliminated him. "I really kinda thought Miz had that match." John glances over at him and he holds his breath, not sure what the look on his face means, if he had once more put his foot in his mouth.

"Yeah," he comments lowly, dipping a piece of the shell into the salad, scraping out some of the meat and lettuce within. "So did I, for a bit. But of course Orton wins, again." He sounds frustrated, Alex notes, filing it away with everything else he's been observing lately about his travel companion.

"You ok?" he asks after a few more moments of their silently sharing his salad, working around the shell and scraping up whatever bits of the filling gets past them with a fork and spoon. "I, uh, didn't see a lot of you Monday... and didn't hear from you at all this week, so..."

"Just clearing my head," Morrison says, his eyes locked on the food before them. "I'm fine."

Alex, mindful of Mike's advice- which, really, sounds familiar when he thinks about it- nods and doesn't push despite his lingering worry.

That Monday, his fretting grows as John quietly goes through his prematch rituals. Even his parkour runs look halfhearted and distracted. He itches to say something, figure out some way to fix everything for the other man. In the end, his uncertainty wins out and he lets the moment pass, feeling too young and new to even attempt to know what the best course of action would be. Especially with not knowing all of the facts.

He himself has no match this evening so he's content with settling down in the locker room, watching from the monitor as the six man tag match begins, Morrison teaming with Sheamus and Randy Orton. John has a rocky history with both men so it's almost not surprising to the rookie Superstar when they both eventually leave John in the lurch, his chest already battered from Henry stepping on him with his full body weight and the resulting bearhug before Sheamus rushes off after Christian.

"Dammit!" Alex hisses, finding it hard to watch as the manhandling continues, Mark sending John flying midair before grabbing him roughly and slamming him harshly down to the mat. He swears he hears something crack, his whole body freezing as he gapes at the screen, horrified, for a few moments longer. His sense of time finally returning to normal, he realizes that Morrison will _not_ be just walking away from an attack of that magnitude and takes off for the gorilla position.

A couple referees are hanging around, talking lowly to each other as he rushes up to them. "Morrison, where is he?" he demands, hands clenched into fists as he tries to catch his breath.

They stare at him uncertainly before shrugging. "He refused our help," Charles Robinson explains blankly before turning back to Patton.

"Wait, you didn't insist? Didn't you see what happened to him just now?" Alex demands, incensed as the two men look back at him.

"So? We tried. After the last couple of months, don't you think we've learned our lesson when it comes to trying to help people who don't want it?"

Alex's jaw drops at the referees' callous attitude, closing his eyes. "Dammit, Mike," he breathes. "Can you at least tell me which way he went?" They point down the way Alex had come and he stares at them hard for a moment before backtracking, worry gnawing at his insides the further he goes without seeing any sign of Morrison.

He's almost to all the way to the exit when he hears it, a strained gasping noise coming from the side. He takes a few more steps and spots familiar, sparkly boots poking out from behind a trunk. He curses and dashes forward. "John!" Sure enough, the man is slumped down against the wall, obviously struggling to breathe. "Dammit, Morrison," he hisses, kneeling down in front of him.

Hands clenching his arms tightly, he waits with baited breath until John opens his eyes and looks at him, awareness slowly coming to him. "Alex," he groans, his breathing still harsh and uneven.

"Yeah," the younger man sighs, almost trembling with relief. "Hang on, ok?" He fishes his phone out, still keeping one hand on John to ground him as he hits speed dial 2. While it rings, he shifts his position so he's closer to John. "What are you doing here, man? Trainer's office is back that way a little."

John groans, shifts his head back and forth against the wall. "I... I was heading for the trainer's... But... I don't know, I think I got turned around..." His body twitches and he grimaces, biting his lip against the all-encompassing pain that follows. "Oh God."

Alex winces and moves once more to lean shoulder to shoulder with John against the wall, hoping that his warmth and presence would comfort the hurting man even a little. _Dammit, Mike, come on._

"Hello?"

"Finally! Hey, I need you. We're by the exit, down from the trainer's office. It's bad, hurry up," he all but begs, glancing over at a still straining Morrison before hanging up the phone to give him his full attention. "Ribs?"

"Pretty sure," he cringes, arm wrapped around his midsection protectively as his breaths continue to come out in desperate pants. "Oh God, this _sucks..._ "

Thankfully it's only a few minutes of listening to John's breathing, feeling how tense he is against Alex's side, before the sound of rushed footfalls head their way. Alex stands and almost melts against the wall as he catches sight of a frenzied looking Mike. "Here, Mike, he's here," he babbles, motioning down. He blinks and a second later the former champion is kneeling down in front of Morrison, his hands clenching John's shoulders.

"John?"

"Hey, Mike," the other man hisses, his eyes fluttering as he takes in the worry on their faces. "Help me up?"

Mike leans back on his heels as he takes in John's forced breathing, his lips twisting in a sympathetic wince. "Hang on a minute." He scoots forward once more, pressing his hands gently against John's rib cage. As the man curses and tries to jerk away from the touch, causing himself more pain, Miz pulls back. "Sorry, sorry. Just... checking."

"Check... yourself," he wheezes, trying to curl in on himself despite both Alex and Mike's hands holding him upright.

"What do you think?" A-Ri murmurs, looking from Mike to John and back nervously.

"I think the trainer wouldn't be the help he needs right now... ER might be our best bet, because... well..." He looks up briefly at the exit before turning back to John, his expression as serious as his tone. "You're not going to fight me on this, are you?"

John weakly shakes his head and Alex pulls out their rental keys. "Here," he says, pushing them into Mike's hands. "Our car is close to this exit. I'll stay with him."

Mike hesitates only a minute, waiting for John's acceptance of this idea, before returning to a standing position. "I will be right back," he promises them both before leaving.

"Just keep breathing," Alex urges awkwardly, brushing his hand through strands of John's unkempt hair sticking to his sweat-slick shoulder.

"I'm trying," he chokes out, reaching up to push down on Riley's hand, ceasing his nervous actions.

"Sorry." He twitches slightly, wanting to move and find something to occupy himself with while they wait for Mike to return with the car, but John's grip tightens around his fingers as he breathes heavier. "Ok, just squeeze my hand," he whispers as the pain obviously ebbs and flows through him, John's face reflecting each change.

The couple of minutes that passes while they wait for Mike seem to take a life time, Alex concentrating on John's uneven breathing. "Where-" John gasps out, his eyes scrunching up as the pain rachets up once more.

Before Alex can respond, the exit door slams open, the obvious rumble of the rental car audible all the way to where Alex and John are holed up. "Here," Mike gasps, rushing over to them. "Let's get you up and out of here, huh?"

Based on John's facial expression, he's looking as forward to it as Alex is but none of them say anything as Riley and Miz grip him under both arms and draw him up to a standing position, steadfastly ignoring the pained noises he makes as they support him towards the door. "Just a little longer," Mike mumbles comfortingly into his ear as they struggle together to pull the door open and not drop John at the same time.

How exactly they manage it, Alex isn't sure but finally Morrison is in the car, eyes closed and breathing ragged. "Are you coming?" he asks, feeling ridiculously young and stupid as Mike hesitates at the backseat door, peering in at a gasping, squirming John.

"I... I can't," he says regretfully. "I have a match against Punk soon, and Truth is going to get paranoid... well, even more paranoid, if I stay gone for too long." He rests a hand on Alex's shoulder and squeezes. "You can find the hospital from here, right?"

"Yea- yeah, sure, but Mike-"

"Alex, listen, I would give about anything to go with John but... I've been unemployed for the last few weeks; needless to say, it sucks. I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize my career right now. Besides, I trust you. He's going to be fine, and I'll come to the hospital as soon as I can."

Alex's lips thin as Mike waits, finally nodding reluctantly. "Fine, but you explain this to him."

In the end it's unneeded as Mike leans in to the back seat, taking in John's pale, shaking form. "Hey John-"

"Good luck against Punk," he groans out before anything else could be said, head pressed against the back of the seat. He peels an eye open and stares dully at his former tag partner. "See you later?"

"Yes, of course you will," Mike responds, slapping him on the arm lightly. Neither man says anything as he hesitates, his hand still pressed to John's clammy upper arm. "See you soon." He pulls himself out of the car, facing an uncertain, fretful looking Alex once more. "He's freezing. If you have anything that could help keep him warm, get it."

Alex nods dumbly as Mike peers back over his shoulder once more at the car before pushing past him to head for the arena, steps quick and precise like he's afraid if he walks too slow he'll end up turning back around and rejoining them. As he digs around for a blanket, John's strained breathing still echoing around him, A-Ri can't help but wish that he had.

It's after 11 PM and Raw has been long over with, Morrison sleeping fitfully, forced to sleep sitting up in the hospital bed assigned to him to make breathing less difficult for him with two broken ribs and severe shock, the main results of Mark Henry's actions. Alex tries to forget the glance he had gotten of the Prince of Parkour's midsection... how bruised John's chest and abdomen had been, visible imprints from Henry's shoes right over his ribs.

Despite it being a foreign place to them both, Alex had found the hospital easily enough and Morrison had been examined fairly quickly, his strained breathing making even passing nurses look over at him worriedly. Since then, however, Alex's patience had dwindled to near empty levels, his eyes gritty and exhausted as he alternated between watching John and the clock. There's been no sight of Mike despite his earlier claims and Alex is getting annoyed with his former mentor, steadily nearing pure anger. At Mike, the situation, everything from the last few months.

That is, until he returns from a fruitless coffee search around the nurse's desk, not wanting to go too far and get lost in the sizable ER. He pauses outside of the hospital room, peering inside as Mike hovers near John's bed, his lips moving slightly while he says something to the sleeping man. Resting a hand on the hospital room door, carefully inching it open, he watches, eyes softening as Mike brushes strands of brown hair off of John's forehead in a rare moment of gentleness.

"You're still cold," his voice trails out into the hallway, sounding displeased. "Nights do get kinda chilly here, don't they? Not to mention the heat in here sucks..." He sighs heavily and mumbles, "I _really_ hope you sleep through this..." He pulls his jacket off and drapes it onto the nearby chair that Alex had only vacated ten minutes previously before leaning over Morrison and lifting him till he's sitting up. With a bit of maneuvering, he slides into the bed behind John and pulls him back with an arm awkwardly around his shoulders. "There we go, now maybe you'll stop shivering."

Alex is about to click the door shut once more when he hears faintly, "Mike?"

"Yeah... I'm here, John. Just relax... You shivering like you're in an igloo isn't going to help your ribs, man."

John half hisses, half chuckles, the sharp gasp of air following it proving what _that_ did to his ribs. "Are you... cuddling me?"

Alex can almost hear Mike roll his eyes from across the room. "Shut up." There's absolutely no venom in the snapped command.

The former NXT rookie shakes his head with a smile before shutting the door quietly and slumping down in a nearby chair to wait for morning, and maybe, if lucky, grab some sleep himself. _Whichever nurse goes in there next is going to be very surprised,_ he thinks before his eyes slip closed.


	70. chapter 70

Despite Raw being done in Mexico City, Miz isn't surprised to learn that some of the Raw guys, not just Alex and Morrison, decide to remain in Mexico City, relax for a few days before having to travel to Vengeance in Texas that weekend. It's a last minute decision when he calls the airport and has his flight schedule changed as well to that weekend. With Smackdown still to happen, the city is full of WWE crew members and Superstars.

Though Truth and he had begun to team months back so he could distract him from Morrison, things had slowly changed when they had gotten fired. The demented man is still hard to be around sometimes but somewhere in the struggle to get their jobs back, Mike had grown used to him and his ways. Not that it makes it any easier when John or Alex is in trouble or hurting and he's stuck in the hotel or locker room listening to Truth's ramblings about this conspiracy or that. Luckily for Mike, Truth is called back to America early Tuesday for some media in his home town and he never quite bothers to tell his tag partner that his return trip to the States isn't happening as planned.

Instead of getting twitchy at not having an interview or anything to do himself, Mike takes a deep breath and leaves the hotel room, flipping his phone from hand to hand as he heads down the hall to where he knew Alex and John are staying. Last he'd heard from Alex, John had been released from the hospital; was sore and miserable after the match the night before with Mark Henry and could barely sit up without cringing at every movement. He knocks a couple times before leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed as he looks around at the soft brown wallpaper. Despite his tolerating Truth a little more lately, he still can't help but feel like breathing's easier when the man isn't looking over his shoulder at every little thing.

After a few minutes, he's about to knock again when finally the door slips open and he shifts to look inside, surprised to find Morrison leaning against the wall, peering out at him. "John," he greets with a frown, his arms falling to his sides. "Where's Alex?"

"Out getting food and stuff," he mumbles, shifting gingerly to the side to allow Mike inside. As soon as the door's shut behind him, he turns slowly to head back to the beds, his arm wrapped carefully around his midsection to brace his ribs. "What're you doing here?"

"I just wanted to check in, see how you're both doing," he says, making sure to include Alex in things in an attempt to _not_ aggravate Morrison's pride.

"We're fabulous," John says with a sigh as he awkwardly settles back down on the bed, grimacing in a way that makes Mike ache for him.

"Can I get you anything?"

"No." He stretches out slowly, his whole body relaxing into the mattress with the ease only one used to doing so on a hotel bed could manage.

"Mind if I stay till Alex gets back?" Mike feels awkward, their interrupted conversation the week before still weighing on him, not to mention everything from the night before.

John doesn't answer for a moment, his gaze distant and not all that focused as he peers at the TV. "No," he finally shrugs. "It hurts to talk or... anything really, though, so..."

"That's fine, I just want to hang out," he says. He knows that it might be easier to sit on Alex's bed but it just feels so _far_ away from his former tag partner that he ignores it outright and sits carefully on the bottom of John's bed, laying back with his legs hanging over the edge and pillowing his head with his arm so they both can see the TV.

He quickly understands why John looks so out of it, the show they're watching in Spanish, of which neither men know a lot of so the dialogue is mostly going over their heads. "Where's Rodriguez when you need him?" he cracks, letting his head drop back against the bed in time to see Morrison groan through a laugh, shooting a glare down at him afterwards. He sobers. "Sorry." When the other man loses some tension in his face from the pain, he takes a deep breath. "Truth left this morning for an interview in North Carolina. So I can spend more time over here till you're up to leaving. In fact, if you and Alex are alright with it, I may just stay here with you guys. There's no need keeping two rooms if we're just going to hang out here for the most part."

John shrugs, hissing slightly as his upper body protests that movement. As he breathes through the pain, Mike sits up and rests a hand on his upper arm, squeezing slightly. "Fine," he finally manages, eyes fluttering open. "Alex won't mind either, you know that."

He nods, lips twitching as he leans back against the pillows next to Morrison, picking at his fingernails as he half-watches the show. Remembering John's earlier words, he struggles to remain silent and still, not wanting to aggravate his injuries any further. It's near torture for the hyperactive man, though, so he's relieved when the sound of a keycard in the door attracts both of their attention, Alex soon entering the room with groceries.

He blinks at Mike before grinning, setting the bags down on the oval table a few feet from the TV. "Hey, man. Get away from the conspiracies for awhile?"

"Yeah, thankfully." Pulling himself off of the bed, Miz joins Alex in digging through the bags to pull out food and drinks. "Truth was called off for media events in America, but I decided to stay here for awhile longer." His eyes flicker quickly over to John and Alex nods, understanding. "I was telling John maybe I'll just crash here, since you guys are hanging around too. Don't see the point to two hotel rooms if I'm just staying alone, you know?"

"Sure man, that works," he agrees easily, resting a bottle of coconut water next to Morrison so he doesn't have to move to get it. "Need anything, John?"

"No." He looks tired, Mike notes, unsurprised when Alex nudges him a little later, pointing a fork covered in tamale filling at a fast asleep Morrison. They watch him for a moment, his breathing deep and even despite the rib injury, before returning their attentions to the food.

They only leave the hotel for brief periods the next couple of days, despite Morrison regaining some of his strength in that time. Wednesday, they walk with him down to the lobby, his pace still slow and hesitant as each motion shoots throbbing pain up his ribcage and back, but when he settles down in a plush couch peering out to the street ahead, he looks pleased to be out of the hotel room, if a little flushed. On Thursday, Morrison wants to go outside for awhile, and after some quiet discussions, Alex and Mike agree. The weather is mild and warm, and sun beats down upon them as they wander around the street outside of their hotel, taking in some of the nearby businesses and people in the area.

On Friday, they're all preparing to leave back to the states the next day, packing and confirming flights and enjoying one last day of Mexican food and sights. The day passes peacefully enough, though John seems oddly quiet, thoughtful. That evening, Mike leaves briefly to get them all something to eat and returns to find a fretting Alex pacing in front of the beds, his hands tangled in his short hair. His head jerks up as Mike enters, his face falling as he catches sight of his former mentor. "Alex?" Mike demands, quickly shutting the door behind him. "What's wrong?" He looks around the room, his breath catching slightly. "Where's John?"

Alex looks even more anxious now, his eyes roaming here and there, not daring to lock gazes with Mike. "He... He wanted a soda," he says, ringing his hands anxiously. "I went to get it from the machine down the hall but when I came back, Mike, he was gone. I swear, it was only five minutes- I don't..."

Placing the bags of food on the table quickly, Mike holds a hand up to stop Alex's rambling and pulls his phone out, staring at it for only a moment before snapping it shut. He curses vehemently. "Come on," he orders in a clipped tone. "I think I know where he is."

"Wha- what?"

Mike looks grim as Alex quickly grabs his wallet, phone and keycard, stuffing them into his jean pockets. "Smackdown taping is going on right now." Alex pales and follows him.

They arrive too late, John already in the ring and wrestling Mark Henry- again. How he's working through the pain, they're not sure, but Morrison actually hits some offense and gets the much larger man down a few times. In the end, though, it's not enough, Mike and Alex unable to do anything but watch as Mark grabs John midair once more and slams him bodily down against the mat. "Oh God," A-Ri cringes, his hands clenching together in frustration.

Mike is so angry he can't even talk, grabbing Alex by the sleeve and dragging him to the gorilla position where they wait, hiding in the shadows until Mark Henry's past. As soon as the referee assists Morrison to the back, they step forward. "Shoo," Mike tells the referee, remembering how good it had felt to take the man down just a few weeks ago- had caused him his job, but in this moment, it feels like the least he could've done after the refs had all but ignored John on Monday. "We have him," he insists, glaring at the shorter man until he releases John's arm and walks off, shaking his head. Alex quickly ducks down a bit and loops John's arm around his shoulders, Mike repeating the motion on the other side.

The walk through the arena and to the rental car waiting outside the exit seems to take a lifetime but finally they arrive, John groaning slightly as Alex supports him and Mike unlocks the car. They work together quickly and efficiently to get the hurting man into the backseat, Alex running across to the other side as Mike kneels down to look him in the eye. "No pride BS here, Morrison," he says, tone dark and serious. "Do you need another ER visit?" As John struggles to breathe normally, his hands slip over his ribcage, murmuring apologies as John tries to squirm away from the probing touch.

"N-no," he stutters, strains as Mike lets his hands rest there quietly for a moment, pressing slightly. "Mike..."

"I swear to God, Morrison. If you start breathing even a little weird, or _anything,_ I'm taking you, I don't care what you say," he snaps, thisclose to poking John in the face as he points a shaking finger at him. "You idiot, what were you thinking?"

"I felt better," he almost whimpers, rolling his head against the edge of the seat. "I thought... maybe... I could prove to myself I could do it on my own, this time. Without tag partners to abandon me or..." He hisses out a tired breath and shakes his head. "It was stupid."

"No friggin kidding." Mike leans back, still frustrated and angry, but too tired to continue arguing with the agonized man. "I don't know what to do with the plane trip tomorrow," he says after a moment. "You're in no condition..."

John grits his teeth, eyes gleaming with desperation. "Mike, I just want to go _home._ " He sounds as desperate as he looks and it tugs at Mike, leaves him feeling sick and horrible.

Mike bows his head, hands pressing against John's shoulders. "You jackass," he sighs. "Fine, we'll plan on leaving tomorrow but if there's _one_ complication tonight, I'm leaving you here." He looks over at Alex, who nods grimly, and pulls himself out of the car. "Watch him," he orders the younger man. He paces around the car a few times, ignoring his NXT rookie's worried gaze following him, trying to calm down before getting behind the wheel in this foreign place. If he could, he'd march back into that building and teach Mark Henry, Teddy Long, the referees, everyone a lesson, but he's just gotten his job back and something tells him Morrison wouldn't appreciate Mike fighting his battles for him anyway. He scrapes his fingers through his hair a time or two before kicking the nearest tire viciously. "Dammit, dammit, dammit." His anger slowly fading away into dull exhaustion, he grabs the doorhandle and wrenches it open, not even caring anymore about the possibility of damaging the rental.

"You ok...?" Alex asks hesitantly as he drops into the driver's seat, staring at him in the rearview mirror.

He peers back at them, taking in Morrison's glassy gaze and Alex's wide-eyed look, shaking his head. "I'm fine," he mumbles, forcing the keys into the ignition. "Last chance, Morrison. ER?"

"No," the stubborn man gasps, shifting once more and pressing his hands to his ribcage. "I just need to lay down for awhile."

"Sure you do." Taking a deep breath, he shifts the car into drive and pulls away from the arena.

That Sunday, Mike stands at the edge of Morrison's hotel bed, glaring down at him. Neither John or Alex were on the card but Raw was in Texas as well, and with them all in one place, it was less likely for John to be able to do something stupid and risk injurying himself further once more. "Alex, you do not take your eyes off of him for a minute while I'm gone, ok?"

"Got it, Mike," Alex agrees readily, eager to make up for his slight from the Friday before.

"I swear, John, I see you anywhere near Vengeance tonight, I'll SCF you myself." The two men glare at each other for a few minutes before Mike turns away and grabs his bag, a thought coming to him as he peers down at it. "Alex, burn his ring gear if you have to."

"O-ok, Mike."

As he leaves to meet up with R-Truth, he overhears John mutter, _"Judases."_

"Drama queen." He rolls his eyes.

Nothing goes normally in the WWE anymore so when Nash runs in and takes out HHH, opening Punk up to their attacks, ensuring their victory, he's unsurprised. Their attack against Cena later in that evening has been planned for awhile, most of the idea coming from Truth since he's been so distracted thanks to Morrison's carelessness the past week. When Alberto Del Rio retains the WWE title as a result, it feels like payback to Mike- for Cena taking his title in the first place, and everything that's come since. To his relief, everything goes as smoothly as it can at a WWE pay per view, there being no sign of John or Alex the whole evening.

The next night, Morrison is back in the wrestling ring again, Mike rolling his eyes at Laurinaitis being as thoughtless as Teddy Long in sanctioning a match after the week prior. Even so, he can't do anything, Truth and he busy brainstorming for their tag match later that evening against Zack Ryder and John Cena.

He keeps his expression blank as Morrison loses after some vicious shots to his back and hip, ignoring Truth's mocking comments against his former tag partner, having no choice but to leave John's care to Alex this evening. When they attack Zack Ryder later on, he lets out some of his aggression on the younger man, destroying part of the interview set as well.

After a quick promo about how they're taking down the faces of the conspiracy one by one, the match against Cena, made a 2 on 1 by Laurinaitis, begins and they hold their own for awhile, despite Cena's constant rallying. After awhile the tide begins going the other way, Mike struggling pointlessly to get out of the Attitude Adjustment, when Truth clocks Cena with a bottle of water, quickly ending the match in a DQ. Not bound by tag rules any longer, the two resume what they had started the night before, beating Cena down with hard fists and kicks, desperate to keep him on the mat so he can't do the Superman thing once more. Their fun is interrupted, however, when Laurinaitis appears once more and announces that at Survivor Series, it'll be them against Cena and a partner of his choosing.

The rumors about a return at Survivor Series prove true as Cena announces that The Rock will be his tag partner. Mike grimaces, unimpressed. _Great._ Truth is nearly rabid at this, in his ear for the rest of the trip back to the hotel about how they should handle Rock and Cena in the weeks upcoming to Survivor Series. He nods vacantly, finally holding a hand up as they stand outside of their hotel room. "Look, we'll figure it out, ok? But for now, I just need some air. I'll see you later."

Truth looks surprised, almost suspicious, but nods anyway. "Alright. See you."

Mike walks slowly down the hall, waiting until the door clicks shut, and peers over his shoulder to make sure Truth _is_ inside before he heads for the lobby. He wants to go to Alex and Morrison's room, see what the damage is _now_ thanks to Wade Barrett, but Truth's expression weighs on him so he decides to play it safe. He goes outside, breathing in the late evening air, and leans against the side of the building, staring up at the stars for a few minutes. He tugs his phone out and dials quickly, listening as it rings in.

"Hey."

"Hey. Thought I'd check in. You alright?"

"Sore, as always." John huffs a faint, derisive chuckle. "But I guess it could've been worse, I could've been rescued by a bottle of water."

"Ha-ha," Mike rolls his eyes with a mock laugh. "Alex there?"

"Yeah, he's being a dedicated babysitter."

"Don't give him grief, you know he's just trying to help you. We both are."

There's a long pause and Mike squirms against the rough brick wall, hating not being able to know directly what's going on. "I know," John finally says quietly. "I do appreciate it."

"You have a great way of showing it," Miz comments with no heat, his eyes softening. "Look, I should go, I don't want Truth growing suspicious-" _Or more suspicious,_ he thinks with a frown. "-... take it easy, alright?"

"Yessir, Miz, sir."

"I really feel for Alex," he cracks, smiling as John chuckles.

"Yeah, whatever. Bye."

"Bye." He leans his head against the wall and sighs, letting go of some of the strain as he peers upwards once more. _Things will get better. Can't get a whole lot worse, right?_


	71. chapter 71

Mike peers down at the contracts before him. With Smackdown now piggybacking off of Raw's idea to have supershows, changes had been made to his Raw contract to include appearances as deemed neccessary at the blue brand. He shakes his head at the ludicrous idea- after years of announcing allegiance to one show or the other, the two locker rooms are supposed to mesh back together at the drop of a hat and act as if none of it had ever happened. _How dense are the people in charge?_ he thinks with a grimace before shuffling the pages back together in something resembling order.

His dwelling is cut off as Truth enters the room, slapping him on the back on his way past. "You ready, man?" They have a tag match against Airboom that evening, the whole point to their being on Smackdown in the first place. He just hadn't expected the revised contracts to be issued to him and every other Raw superstar who entered the building that evening to sign with barely a moment to sit down and read through the new terms, much less contact a lawyer or manager who could help them to understand what some of the revisions might mean for their futures.

"Yeah," he finally nods, pushing the contract into his bag and zipping it up. "Let's go." They had been practicing a combination move for the past couple of weeks, trying it again and again until it looked as near as perfect as they could get it. Tonight, they agreed, was the time to actually use it in a match, and to their pleasure, it's a success as Kofi Kingston eats the move and then the three count. As they head backstage, Miz has forgotten about the whole contract nuisance earlier, feeling on a high after their victory and promos promising victory against Cena and the Rock. "We should totally get a tag title opprotunity after tonight."

"That's the truth," his tag partner comments, nodding his head wildly.

They're almost at the locker room when Mike looks over to find Morrison and Alex hanging off to the side, John rolling his eyes as he sips from a paper cup and Alex looking blankly on; neither man look thrilled. He waits until Truth is inside the locker room before turning to shrug at them as if to say _What can you do?_ He knows that combination moves are further proof that their tag team isn't the short term thing he had originally hoped it would be, but with the WWE title locked up by Alberto Del Rio's issues with Punk, there isn't a lot else for Miz to do _but_ cause drama for HHH and other higher ups he feels are conspiring against him, against who once had been _WWE's most must-see champion_.

His only comfort is that, in the brief minute he had had with the Smackdown General Manager spent signing the revised contract, Teddy had apparently taken his quickly murmured comment about Morrison's rib injuries seriously enough to look into them and not book the still healing man to a match that night. He just hopes that word doesn't trickle to John and give him something else to get agitated over, the combination move enough to have him up in arms for awhile. And he gets it, he does. They had made combination moves an artform themselves when tag champions years back... but he can't do anything to change the decisions he's made.

That Monday starts off with Rock faking everyone out by initially saying no... just to flipflop and ultimately agree to be Cena's partner at Survivor Series. Mike rolls his eyes with a huff. "Of course. He'd make a better politician than actor with that kind of decision making."

Truth's responding grin is sharp and only slightly worried. Mike, on the other hand, has no doubts about the match. He had beaten Cena in the past, and with Rock being out of the ring for seven years, he doesn't imagine it'd be too hard to find some ring rust to take advantage of. For this reason, he sits back and just watches as the muppets carry on with their thing. To his relief, Truth isn't in the room to see Morrison getting hit on by Miss Piggy, but Mike can't stop his exasperated laughter as Morrison escapes as quickly as can be, leaving Hornswoggle to deal with her.

He brushes his shirt off as he stands, making his way out of one locker room to head for the other. He's just turned the corner when John almost runs right into him, just barely sidestepping as Mike stops short, neither coming close to actually hitting each other because of their reflexes. "Oh, hey," John says after a moment of staring at him.

"Hey." Mike shifts from one foot to the other before looking over his shoulder to make sure Truth isn't in the vincinity. "Plans tonight, eh? You going trick or treating?"

Morrison shrugs. "Just wasn't interested, actually. But Alex and I are going to hang out for awhile before we leave."

"Oh." Feeling suddenly like the odd man out, Mike blinks and turns to stare down the hallway once more, needing a second to collect his thoughts. "Uh, sounds like a plan." He turns back to look John over, relieved to see that the slight bruising he had spotted last week were fully healed by now, no sign of what Mark had done to him a couple weeks ago remaining. He can't help but wonder if Teddy had discussed with John Laurinaitis what had been said, and if the temporary Raw GM was actually being decent about it to give John a few more days to recover further.

"I'm fine, Mike." John's lips twitch slightly as Miz flushes at getting caught, their eyes locking. "Just a little sore if I twist wrong... but not wrestling on Friday or tonight has helped." He looks a little annoyed at the prospect but eventually shrugs it off, a mischievous grin appearing on his face- one that Mike hadn't seen in a _long,_ long time. "I have an idea. Wanna help me before your match?"

Relaxing that he hadn't fully been figured out, Mike nods. "Sure, if it doesn't take too long."

John smirks and pushes Mike back down the hallway towards the second locker room, hands heavy on his shoulders as he whispers his plans.

Despite Mike's loss and Truth's subsequential failure of an attack, he doesn't feel like staying in the hotel room with the angrily pacing man after Raw. "I need some quiet," he snaps, shutting the door behind him as he stomps to the elevator down the hall, a plastic bag in one hand. _Of course, silence is the last thing I'm gonna get. But I'll take this loudness over that any day._ The elevator seems to take forever on its way to the topmost floor of the hotel but finally it arrives and Mike pushes the staff entrance to the roof open, sucking in a deep gust of air as the late evening air brushes down his spine, leaving him shuddering. "Oh God, why did I agree to this?"

"Because you can't stay away from us for too long," John cracks, taking the bag for him long enough for him to shake his rolled up sleeves down to protect his arms from the chill slightly. "Better?"

"Yeah, yeah." He takes the bag back from John and shakes his head. "Alex isn't here yet?"

"No, said he wanted to get something from the room." He settles back down on the ground and peers up at the sky quietly.

Mike pulls a face but joins him, indulging the silence only briefly before nudging him. "You alright?"

"I told you, I'm fine." He stretches out slightly, his back curving as he leans on his elbows, the moon reflecting in his dark eyes. He glances over briefly and shrugs awkwardly. "It's no lie I'm not thrilled they passed me over for matches the last two events, but it has given my ribs some time to heal. I think Laurinaitis said something about a match on Superstars Thursday, though."

Mike hums slightly, giving himself a moment to think of something to say to that when the door finally opens behind them and they turn as one to greet Alex. Instead, they both fall short, staring as the taller man appears. "Seriously?"

"What the hell, Alex?" John sits up, glaring over at the younger man. "Not funny."

"Oh come on, it's a little funny," Alex says, pulling the Miss Piggy mask away from his face as Mike laughs.

"That's it, next year I'm getting a squirrel costume, see how _you_ like it," he declares with a huff.

"Why wait till Halloween 2012?" Mike grins.

"Hey! Whose side are you on?" Alex demands.

"His own," "Mine, of course," John and Miz answer as one before glancing over at each other.

"Whatever." Alex sits down next to John with a huff.

"What has you all pouty?"

"I had a bunch of candy in my duffel but someone took it."

Mike and John grin knowingly at each other. "Oh? Any idea who?"

"No, but when I do, I'm gonna kick their ass. That stuff isn't cheap."

"Wouldn't it be funnier to just... I dunno, split it with them?" John asks, unable to keep the grin off his lips as Alex looks left to right at them.

"You didn't." He sits up. "You did! Alright... Where's the candy?"

Mike leans over and pulls the plastic sack out from behind a grate and drops it in Alex's lap. "Trick or treat."

"Ugh, I hate you both," he groans, ignoring their laughter as he digs into the candy. "Here," he mumbles, dropping bags into their laps.

"Since Morrison is watching his weight and all, I'll take his," Mike says, trying to reach around Alex to grab at the brightly colored plastic.

"Hell no! It's not like Mike needs it, I'll take-" he shuts up as Alex swats at both Mike and John.

"You're not putting me in the middle of this, literally. Eat your candy and stop bickering for, like, five minutes, huh?" he finally says, rolling his eyes.

"Fine, fine. Happy Halloween," Mike concedes.

"Happy Halloween," John and Alex echo once the sounds of them tearing into the bags has faded away.


	72. chapter 72

November brings with it cooler weather and an extended European tour for both the Raw and Smackdown crew. Mike sighs, finding even the worn couch in the hotel lobby deliriously comfortable after spending so much time on the bus to Liverpool. He hadn't seen Morrison yet, busy with interviews and autograph signings, but had finally gotten a minute to breathe and check out Superstars. Alex is by his side, trying and probably failing to get a good look at the small mobile Youtube screen on his phone. Mike sighs and angles it slightly before his former NXT rookie could get beyond opening his mouth to complain, smirking as Riley's lips immediately press shut. They both cringe at the screen as John's leg slams into the ringpost after a missed kick, his shoulder already visibly aching after some of McIntyre's more vicious shenanigans sends him into the steel girders supporting the ring apron. "Damn," Miz mumbles.

"He can't catch a break, can he?" Alex asks, the two frowning even more as Morrison loses.

"Probably explains why I haven't seen him for a few days," he comments lowly. "He doesn't want me to bitch at him if I catch him limping." Alex coughs something that sounds suspiciously like _'Mother hen'_ and Mike raises an eyebrow at him, tapping his fingers against his cell screen warningly. "What was that?"

"What was what?" the younger man volleys back, trying to seem utterly innocent.

Mike rolls his eyes, dropping his head against the edge of the couch. "A, I know you too well for the innocent act to work on me and B, ..." His train of thought is squashed almost immediately as he notices movement near the elevators. "HEY! Morrison!" _Everyone_ ceases what they're doing for a moment, staring at both Mike and Alex, who tugs at Mike's sleeve, a bit mortified at how loudly he had just spoke at such a late hour. So late, in fact, that even R-Truth had collapsed in exhaustion as soon as they had dropped their bags into the hotel room assigned to them, allowing him to find Alex's hotel room and tug him out of his own half-asleep stupor, just to bring him down to the hotel lobby even though it was well after midnight at their arrival.

John freezes, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. "Uhh, Mike?" He blinks as his former tag partner hastily joins him, Alex following in a more sane fashion. "What are you doing down here?"

"Watching Superstars," he announces with a dangerous smirk. "How's the leg?"

"It's fine, hasn't fallen off yet." He glances back at the elevator, obviously hoping to make a quick escape from this conversation, but Mike doesn't seem willing to drop it just yet.

"Interesting article on . Were you just repeating what I've said a million times in the past or do you honestly believe it finally?"

John sighs, catching Alex's eye. "He's not going to drop this, is he?"

"Nope." They smile awkwardly as Mike crosses his arms angrily over his chest, glowering at the two biggest banes of his career and closest friends.

"Idiots."

That Monday, Cena is out running his mouth as always and it's funny to watch as the man tries to cover for the lack of The Rock by talking up another tag partner of his. Even Truth is exasperated by the circumstances, itching to get out there and do something, put the focus back where it belongs, on them. Finally Mike nods and they head out, distracting Cena by arguing about this and that as they head for the ring, ready to get payback for the previous week. They've surrounded him in the ring, fully expecting his tag partner ramblings to be just that, empty words, when Ryder rushes down and they're quickly taken out of the ring, leaving the two men inside to work the crowd. "Ugh, dammit," Miz mumbles, recollecting himself in time to stumble back up the ramp with Truth.

"That sucked," his tag partner grumbles. They're still wandering around the hallways, not in the mood to return to the locker room and face their fellow competitors when Mike catches sight of Morrison wrestling Dolph Ziggler on one of the many monitors scattered around. He distracts Truth into one of his barely sensible rampages by asking him inanely about what they should do in the main event, leaning against the wall just so so it appears he's concentrating fully on Truth's words. In reality, his focus is on the monitor just visible over the other man's shoulder, watching as John and Ziggler go back and forth.

He knows quite well that it only takes one win to turn things around sometimes, so he holds his breath at every pin attempt, not even completely caring if Truth notes the tension ebbing and flowing through him. It takes everything in him to not react vocally when Morrison finally gains that win, his head still jerking at the three count, eyes gleaming with relief and pleasure. _Hopefully this'll get John on a better track... I have enough to worry about._

"What?" Truth demands, cutting himself off mid-sentence at Mike's random movement. "Did you see something?"

"Oh, I thought I saw a spider on that wall behind you," he lies smoothly. "It was just lint though."

"Are you sure?" the dark skinned man asks, his eyes flashing warningly as he looks around. "I wouldn't mind if there was a spider around to get got about now."

"No, the shadow's gone now." Mike grimaces, wondering not for the first time what he's gotten himself into, as they're still standing there a few moments later, Truth's unending diatribe about this conspiracy and that dragging on and on, when Alex and Morrison head down the hallway, John looking more relaxed than he has in awhile. Miz wants to push Truth away and go to them, congratulate his former tag partner on his victory, but he knows better, taking in the sincere smile on John's face only matched by the rookie's, as they talk quietly on their way past.

Alex looks up finally and spots Miz, nudging John. As they stare at each other, Truth thankfully oblivious while completely overwhelmed by his train of logic, Mike nods subtly to them. _'Bout time. Good job._

John nods back, eyes twinkling in the overhead lights. _Thanks._

When Truth _finally_ stops talking, Mike's completely off somewhere else, thinking about what those two would find to do in England to celebrate Morrison's victory, and how he could possibly brush Truth off long enough to be involved somehow. Finally realizing that all he's hearing is the buzzing in his own head, he looks up to find Truth staring at him oddly. "Yeah, you're right. So I guess it's about time to get ready for our match. Come on, man." He claps him on the back as he finally brushes past him and heads for the locker room, rolling his eyes. _That took way too long. I think he likes the sound of his own voice more than Chris Jericho ever did._

Even so, Mike's good mood is too much to be overwhelmed by Truth's long speech, and only grows when they work together to pin Cena, making it so the other man can't kick out and Ryder isn't available to break up the pin. _Wins all around,_ he thinks smugly, raising his arm in victory by Truth's side. _Bring it on, Survivor Series._

To his surprise, it's not hard to find Alex and Morrison later on- the two are sitting at the hotel bar, just visible from the lobby as John downs a shot glass full of amber liquid, A-Ri talking loudly over the other patrons and music. Truth doesn't seem interested in doing anything tonight, still feeling a bit jetlagged from all of the traveling they've done the last few days. "You go do something, man," he urges, settling down on the edge of his bed. "I'm just gonna catch up on sleep before we have to head out again. Celebrate for the both of us, huh?"

Mike's nod is thoughtful and relieved. "Sounds good. I'll probably just be at the bar for awhile. Think you'll want anything? Food or..."

"Nah, thanks. I just want sleep."

"Alright, see you around." He waits for a moment outside of the door, listening as Truth clicks the lamp off and rolls over, the bed creaking with his movement. _Sometimes, he isn't that bad._ _I guess I could've had a worse tag partner..._ He hums slightly as he heads for the elevator, hoping that Morrison and A-Ri are still downstairs.

Sure enough, they're still there, drinking and chuckling to themselves when he drops down on the empty stool between them, raising an eyebrow when they jerk at his sudden appearance. "Hello, boys."

"What the hell, Mike? Little warning next time?" John asks, coughing at the burn of alcohol swallowed wrong trailing a path down his throat clear to his stomach.

"What fun's that?" Smirking, he claps John briskly between the shoulderblades, the coughing dying away as he gets a full breath of air. "Congrats on the win. Took you long enough."

Morrison and Alex both roll their eyes, turning their attentions back to their drinks. "Another and one for this goof next to me," John urges the bartender, who quickly refill their glasses, getting another for Mike. "So... victory against Cena." Morrison raises his eyebrows. "Think you'll be able to do it again at Survivor Series?"

"You really have to ask that?" Mike shrugs and raises his shotglass. "Here's to JoMo getting his mojo back," he says, only half teasingly as John shakes his head, clicking his glass with Miz's. Alex quickly follows suit a few moments later before they all drink. "So how soon before you start making things go awry again?" he wonders, turning to his former protege.

Alex colors, the glass clacking uncoordinatedly against the hard wood as his misjudges the distance to the bar. "Uh, well."

"Yeah, what's up with that? I may have been going through a losing streak but you've purely just not be on TV- or Superstars- for weeks now, man." John raises his eyebrows at the younger man, leaning around Mike to see him clearer.

"I... uh." He coughs slightly and leans back, obviously avoiding their stares.

John and Mike exchange glances before focusing totally on him. "Spit it out, Riley. And don't bother even trying to keep anything from us, we'll just get you drunk and make you spill. You know how talkative you get."

He flushes even harder at this and sighs. "I had a minor... hip thing during the Mexican tour, it wasn't anything worrisome but they wanted to give me some time to get over it before throwing me back in the ring."

"Wait, what?" John and Mike demand at the same time, peering at him in shock. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Minor hip thing," Mike says after a strained moment, glaring at his former rookie. "What the hell, Alex?"

"I had an MRI a couple weeks ago, they cleared me. Now I'm just waiting for Laurinaitis to actually _do_ something," he explains with a shrug. "As for why I didn't say anything, well. At the time, you both were going through your own stuff, Morrison was in and out of the ER and Mike, you were busy with the whole Punk and HHH thing, and keeping Truth in line. There just wasn't a good time."

"Wasn't a good time," John repeats, floored.

"Idiot! We would've made time," Mike mumbles, his eyes turning an icy shade of blue as he peers up at Alex. "I could smack you." They sit in silence for awhile, trying to not blow up at each other, when Mike finally sits up straighter. "You know, there's been one major problem the whole time since we've been thrown back together." He points at John and Alex in turn before pressing a thumb to his own chest. "And I don't just mean trust issues. We all aren't honest enough with each other. We hide things, keep things from each other, for what we think is the best, but it always backfires. We end up detesting each other and it's not great, you know?"

John and Alex glance at each other, surprised, before facing him. "You're serious."

"Of course I'm serious. We've been going back and forth for over a year, barely holding on through injuries, firings and too many arguments to count. Now look at us, Alex is hiding injuries because he thinks we're too _busy_ to deal, I'm stuck in a tag team with Truth, and I'm not even sure where to begin with you, John. Through it all, we've _sort of_ been there for each other, but probably not like we should be. Even when I get away from Truth for more than five minutes, we don't talk about anything serious for very long, brush it all under the rug and act like none of this is there. This business is hard enough when we're working together, but when we're all separated, it just falls apart."

The other two nod slowly, thinking it all over. "Yeah," Alex finally mumbles. John motions to the bartender for another drink as they ponder his words, if such a thing is even possible after everything they've been through separately and together.


	73. chapter 73

Boston. Their first sight of America in almost two weeks and it had to be John Cena's hometown. Morrison wonders what Mike thinks of that, leaning back against the locker room bench. Since winning the match against Dolph Ziggler last week, he had spent the time between various house shows across Europe planning his next move. As much as he's amused by and even likes Zack Ryder, there's no time for such things in a business like this, if you want to get anywhere. So the short promo he shoots for Z!TLIS, hijacking Scott Stanford long enough to make the commentator film it on Zack's pilfered camera, feels right, even though he has no honest intention of going after the Internet championship. No, he has his eyes on a much bigger, better prize- something he thinks may help put his career back on track even more than the initial victory had. The Z!TLIS promo is just there to show Zack that in the scheme of things, Morrison isn't about to go down without a fight, even though they both have legitimate claims for title opportunities.

"Hey," Alex greets him while he's considering all of this, in the process of tying his shoes up tight. Neither have matches that night, for the usual lame reasons, but Morrison thinks if he sees an opportunity, he may make his presence felt during Dolph's match against Mason Ryan later on. "How's it going?"

The trio hadn't seen much of each other since that night at the bar, Miz's words lingering in the air for long afterwards. "It's goin'. Isn't it great, having the Rock back?" he asks, somewhat sarcastically.

Alex smiles mirthlessly, still dressed in his street clothes. With no matches and no real reason to get involved in the show, he doesn't see the need of getting his ring gear out. "Yeah, you could say that." They sit in silence for awhile, half-listening to the Cole challenge on the TV, John still digging through his bag. "So..."

John glances over. "Yeah?"

"What Mike said last week..."

"What about it?"

"Do you think it's even possible? I mean, honestly?" The younger man grimaces, rubbing a hand through his hair. "I know I should've told you both about my... issues, but it just didn't seem that important."

"Well, it might not have to you, but it definitely would've to Mike. To me too," he says awkwardly. "We were all going through crap, but we would've liked to know. You didn't need to be helping me out in Mexico when you were hurting, you know?"

Alex huffs a breath and shrugs. "It just didn't seem that bad, and when I got the MRI back, I knew I was going to be fine, and it was too late to change things anyway. I didn't do it maliciously."

"Of course you didn't, Alex. That's not the problem. If we hadn't known and did something that caused you to be shelved longer, well. We really would've kicked your ass once you were better, then." John smirks as Alex releases a soft chuckle. "You know how Mike gets, considering how much of an egotistical bastard he can be, he's an expert at the mother hen thing. It just happens that you and I are equal experts at getting our asses handed to us on a near weekly basis. Well, when we actually have matches, that is."

Alex laughs. "Yeah... I know."

Their conversation dwindles as the show carries on, Morrison's attention drawn completely in by Dolph vs Mason. "Hey, I'll see you later, I'm gonna... see if I can..." Alex nods, unsurprised, as the other man leaves without completing his sentence, walking purposely towards the gorilla position.

He's almost there when someone turns a corner and runs right into him, something warm clinging to his shirt, making it stick to his chest. "Crap!" he mutters, glaring at a sheepish looking Mike, who's now holding an empty plate of something from catering. "Miz..."

"Uh, hey. Sorry." The other man looks flustered, trying to scrape what looks like pizza topping from the applique, the crust torn and scattered across the floor and their shoes. "I wasn't watching where I was going..."

"Obviously!" John rolls his eyes, swatting Mike's hands away. "Stop it, I have to get out to the ring..." He huffs and pulls the shirt over his head, slinging it at a startled Miz. Catching the wide eyed look on his friend's face, he pauses only briefly, taking a deep breath to calm down. "I guess this means my shirt technically took your lunch." Smirking, he turns and continues on his way to the ring. _I'll check in with him later. For now..._

By the time he arrives, Vickie is up on the ring apron, yelling at the referee, who has no choice but to call the match via DQ. Dolph is on the ramp, trying to make a quick escape, when Morrison takes his opportunity and rushes out, grabbing Dolph and throwing him back into the ring. It's some minor accomplishment as he watches the much larger man manhandle the US champion, mocking a squeeching Vickie with the fact that he had defeated Dolph the week before.

_If that doesn't get me a US title shot, I don't know what will,_ he thinks, half-sarcastically. The way WWE had been booked and ran lately, there's no guarrantees for anything, he knows this quite well, but a victory last week and making Dolph angry this week- well, title opportunities had come from lesser things. With Laurinaitis seeming uninterested in Zack's twitter petition to have a title shot to the point of not even addressing it once, he thinks his chances are as good as anyone else's at this point in time.

"What happened to your shirt?" Alex asks, eyebrows raised as he returns to the locker room a few minutes later, his skin still feeling a little raw where Mike's hot food had sunk in through his shirt. "Was that your way of getting past Vickie...?"

"Oh please. Let's just say Mike needs to watch his step better," he grumbles, digging once more through his bag to find a new shirt.

"Oh." Alex still looks confused but lets it go with a shrug. "So you're going for the US title?"

"Yeah." He finishes pulling the shirt on and looks closely at Alex. "You don't mind, do you? I know that was your goal a few months ago but, well..."

"Oh come on," Alex says with a visibly forced smile. "If you or Zack can't get US title opportunities easily, what chance do I have? Laurinaitis seems to like me less than either of you. I guess I still have to prove myself, and I'll do that. For now, one of us should make the most of whatever opportunity we _do_ get. It was my goal, and it will be again, but for now, I'm ok. After my hip issues, I don't mind working my way back up to the top again."

"Is that some of Miz's suggested honesty or are you just being... gracious?"

Alex grins at the awkward use of the word and shrugs. "I'm being honest. This company is in a strange place at the moment. Even if my career isn't at a great place right now, it's not stopping me from wanting you or Mike to do well. You know?"

John smiles too, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. I get you." They check the monitors in time to see Foley and Cena in the ring, a "This is your life" segment all about Cena airing. "Oh, good God," he mutters, getting to his feet. "Hey, that crap Mike ruined my shirt with looked kinda good. Wanna go to catering? Before we lose our appetites from watching this?"

"Sounds like a plan," the younger man nods, quickly following him out of the locker room before the segment gets even worse. They spend nearly an hour in catering, taking in their fellow competitors talking and eating as they too dig into pizza and lasagna, splitting a plate of garlic bread and container of marinara sauce.

"Think the Rock's in the ring yet?" Alex wonders, curious about what Mike will do in response to Rock's presense.

"Probably." Morrison scrapes up the last bit of sauce with his final bread stick and leans back, content and full. "Wanna go watch?"

"Yeah." They get up as one, walking through the halls back to the locker room they had vacated earlier to see what the big deal is about Rock's one and only live appearance before Survivor Series. The focus is mostly, of course, on Rock and Cena bickering, and even when Mike tries to get the attention back on him and Truth, it still ends with Rock hitting the Rock Bottom on Truth and, after keeping Cena from hitting the Attitude Adjustment, repeating the finisher on Miz. "We should've stayed in catering," Alex mumbles, feeling bad for his former mentor. "Poor Mike."

"Yeah," John says. "Not a surprise, at all, but still... sucks."

"Yeah." They're still sitting there, thinking, when Mike stumbles in, an aggravated look on his face. "Mike?"

"Here," he huffs, throwing John's now food-free shirt back at him. "I had it taken care of."

John shakes it out, smiling slightly. "Meaning you passed it off to the seamstresses."

"Well, yeah. You think I'm gonna clean it myself?" He drops heavily down next to Alex, almost knocking him off the thin bench. Scraping his hands through his short hair, he curses, his voice muffled and tired.

Alex and John exchange a glance. "Mike?"

"I'm fine," he mumbles. "I'm just tired of this... overshadowed by a guy who can only bother to appear twice a year, if that, and his bitch feud with WWE's overrated wonder. Remember last year around this time?"

All three dwell on those days wistfully, when Miz was champion, Morrison was about to become #1 contender, and Alex was actually in the limelight regularly by Mike's side. "Good times," Morrison mumbles, shaking his head at how far they all have fallen since then.

"Yeah," Alex agrees glumly.

"This can't continue," Mike sighs.


	74. chapter 74

Sunday. Also known as Survivor Series. With Thanksgiving looming, Miz can't help but wonder what, if anything, he'll have to be thankful for by Thursday. It all depends on the match against Cena and the Rock he and R-Truth will be competing in later this evening, whether or not they can be successful. He may be cocky and arrogant on the outside but somewhere deep inside, he keeps hearing those ads repeating over and over about how they're the most dynamic tag team ever and are basically unstoppable and... He sighs, grimacing. _I remember when Morrison and I were the most dynamic tag team, and the division actually seemed to matter._ But many things had changed since then, including Morrison himself. He half listens as Truth says something, still caught up in his wayward thoughts.

The night is also a make-or-break one for John too, his "mojo" having returned leading him into a US title match against Dolph Ziggler. It had been a rough road for the Prince of Parkour since his injury, even now his neck an issue for him. Any hit hard enough and he's out for awhile, squirming and holding his neck. It makes it hard just to watch him compete, worries that one wrong move could send him out of commission longer or, God forbid, permanently. His vague comments from weeks back and still depressed sounding tweets now and again does little to comfort Mike. Unfortunately with the partnership of Truth growing in importance by the week, Mike hasn't gotten to spend much time with either John or Alex, the younger man apparently also out of the loop with Morrison. When inclined, the other man is just ridiculously good at keeping his cards close to his vest. Mike is almost equally good at getting things out of him with time, but there just hadn't been any.

As it is, he has his own issues to worry about, his blue eyes locked on the clock overhead. Time is ticking cruelly slowly up to the pay per view start time, ratcheting up Mike's anxiety every time he bothers to check, just to find that the hands have only moved centimeters, if that. He's still sitting there, brooding, when the door opens and Truth returns. When, exactly, he had left, Mike is unsure. He flushes at this oversight, looking over at his tag partner. Despite Mike's own tenseness, Truth seems calm, his steps steady and even as he joins Mike. "Hey, man," he says quietly.

"How.. the hell are you so calm?" he demands after a moment of staring oddly at him. "You're usually as hyper as I am. This makes no sense. You're focused, right?"

Truth smirks slightly, an unreadable expression on his face. Miz may not know him that well, but he's gotten good at reading him in the past few months, so it's strange to him. "Course I'm focused, I know how big tonight is for us. It's just... Rock and Cena. They can't get along for two minutes, they won't last this match. I don't see us havin' anything to worry about." His grin looks strained, Miz thinks, but he has so much going on that he decides to take him at face value.

Finally the PPV starts and Mike is relieved that Truth's left the room again to do- whatever- when the first match ends up being Morrison vs Dolph for the US title. He watches closely, holding his breath every time Morrison comes close to winning. It had been obvious that John had been off of his game since his injury and Miz holds onto hope that he could win again tonight to turn things around fully. He won't admit this to anyone- even A-Ri- but he kind of misses the confident, annoying Morrison that would take great delight in mocking him at every opportunity.

Unfortunately, Vickie's distraction seems to rid Morrison of whatever focus he had gained, Ziggler continuing to work his neck and back over viciously. It's only a blink later when the bell rings to announce that Dolph's retained, leaving John laying dazed against the mat as he celebrates with Vickie. By the time Zack appears, Morrison has rolled out of the ring, away from the cameras.

Miz scrubs at his face, feeling bad for his former tag partner. _Hopefully he doesn't... Oh, screw this._ He's out of the room instantly, jogging through the hallways through to the gorilla position. He's not surprised to find Alex already there, looking confused as he peers around. "Alex? Hey." He pauses as Alex jerks at his voice, a worried look across his face. "Where's Morrison?" he wonders, looking around.

"Umm..." Alex flushes, his eyes darting around fretfully.

"Alex?" He frowns, once more taking in their surroundings and fully grasping that Morrison just isn't there. "What the hell? Didn't he come back?" He peers out to the ring and sees nothing.

"I think... I think he left," the rookie mumbles. "I came here to meet him when the match ended but he was already gone. I- the referee said he didn't even stop, just went right for the exit."

Mike groans. "Ok... fabulous." His worry returning ten-fold, he taps Alex on the chest and returns to the locker room, trying unsuccessfully to refocus on the looming main event. _Ok, I can't do anything about Morrison now, but... the only thing I can do is win my own match. No point in all of us losing tonight._ Match after match goes by and he realizes just as he's getting ready for the tag match that he's only seen Truth for a few minutes here and there through the evening. "What the hell is going _on_ with him?" he mumbles, roughly tying his boot laces together. "I swear, if he costs me this match..."

Truth returns five minutes before they have to go to the gorilla position, a solemn look on his face. "Hey, man."

"Hey." Mike stands and grabs his wrist tape, starting to wound it around his arm when Truth grabs him. He looks up suspiciously, frowning. "What?"

"I... uh, we need to talk about somethin' after the match. Just... give me a few minutes before we leave, a'ight?"

Miz's frown grows at the crypticness of Truth's statement. "Yeah, ok. Is this why you've been... away all night?"

"Uhh. Yeah, somethin' like that."

"You're not gonna tell me anything?"

"No, wanna wait till after the match." Truth's sober glance finally cracks and he smirks. "Don't wanna bring the mood down right now when we're so close to embarrassing Rock and Cena."

Mike sighs, his focus on the match shaky yet again. "Yeah, fine. We'll wait till after the match." His bad feeling grows all the more as they walk towards the ring and Truth doesn't look at him once, the rap all but forgotten. Sure enough, things go downhill quickly in the match and, even though there's visible dissension between Cena and Rock, Miz and Truth lose, quickly forgotten as it becomes all about Cena and Rock's issues... again. They stumble up the ramp, both annoyed and angry, although unsurprised.

As soon as they return to the locker room, Miz slams the door shut behind Truth and turns to face him, eyes glinting dangerously. "Alright. Enough of this teasing _wanna wait till after the match_ crap. The match is over, it is what it is. Now tell me what the hell it is you're being so weird about."

Truth sighs, slumping down on a bench. "You ain't gonna like it."

"Of course I'm not, I haven't liked a lot tonight. Now tell me." He stands next to the door, arms crossed as Truth shifts anxiously under his gaze.

"There was a round of wellness tests, and I was checked."

Mike closes his eyes, rubbing his thumb along his nose. "Don't tell me. You tested positive for something." He kicks the wall behind him, gritting his teeth. "Dammit, Truth!"

"I know, I know. It was dumb. I..."

"We were in the middle of something that could've been great!" Mike yells at him. "We could've gone to the top, working out who was behind our being held down. What the hell were you _thinking?"_

 _"I wasn't!"_ he spits back, kicking the bag nearest him. "Do you think this is easy for me? We went for _weeks_ fired, and I wasn't sure what was gonna happen to me. If HHH hadn't been kicked out of power, I could've been massively screwed, man. There aren't _that_ many options in wrestling, y'know!"

"Oh, don't give me that," Miz responds. "I went through the _exact_ same thing as you did, hell, we were by each others' side for most of it, but I didn't do anything stupid to risk my future!" He huffs, banging the back of his head against the wall. "God, I can't deal with this right now. I'll catch you later." He jerkily leans down and wrenches his bag up, leaving the room.

Alex looks up, hope turning to surprise as he finds Miz standing in the doorway. "Oh, hey."

"Hey. No word from Morrison?"

"No..."

Mike sighs and settles next to him, nudging him with his shoulder as he digs through his bag. "He took the rental when he left, didn't he?"

"Yeah." He picks at some lint on his jeans before looking up, his eyes gleaming with worry. "Do you think he's gonna be ok?"

There's an awkward pause until finally Miz sighs. "I don't know. Hope so." He pulls out some clothes and stands. "Look, I'll get dressed and we'll get out of here, alright?"

"What about Truth?"

"... What about him?"

Half an hour later, Alex peers down at the dark strip of carpet just visible under the door to his and Morrison's hotel room, exchanging a glance with Mike as he unlocks the door quietly. "Shh," he mutters, offput by the darkness and quiet of the room. They've spotted his and John's rental car in the parking lot so he has to be here, but a quick search of the pool, hotel gym, and bar had given them nothing as to the whereabouts of their wayward friend. He leaves the light off, listening for awhile. Finally he nods and enters the room quietly, unsurprised to hear the soft sound of breathing in the room. "He's here," he whispers, quietly dropping his bag down near the corner. As he begins to feel his way around in the dark, Mike huffs and flicks the light on, flooding the room. "Mike!" he hisses, glaring over at the door.

"He's not asleep," the former heavyweight champion says unrepentedly, dropping his own bag next to Alex's before turning to look at the chair across the room. "Isn't that right, John?"

Alex looks up to find him sitting exactly where Mike had looked, eyes closed as he breathes steadily in and out, hands stretched out to his sides as he meditates. "You could tell that just by his breathing?" He shakes his head, weirded out, and not for the first time, by how well the two know each other.

"He used to meditate in the dark all the time," Mike mumbles, not feeling the need to share that he had done it mostly towards the end of their first partnership, when things were growing more tense between them by the day, the need to succeed overwhelming their friendship. _What end does this foretell?_

Alex sighs. "Alright. This is a first for me." He inanely looks through the room service menu, putting it down upon realizing that they'd stopped serving hours ago. "What are you doing for Thanksgiving, Mike?"

"No idea. I have media on Wednesday, I'll probably decide after that." His gaze darkens as he thinks about what he'll have to say about Truth's suspension, shaking his head. "What about you?"

Alex makes a face and shrugs. "Not really, I have a match on Superstars."

"Seriously?"

"Ye-"

"And how's your hip?" John chooses that moment to join the conversation, drifting out of the chair to rest on the floor.

"Wait, what? I thought you were fine," Mike says warningly, barely able to decide where to turn his attention to first- his former protege with a recent affinity to hiding injuries, or his former tag partner who's suddenly ok with running from loss and leaving Alex in the lurch. "Alex..."

"It was, uh, the match on Superstars a couple weeks ago. I guess I wasn't as ready for it as I thought." He grimaces as Mike starts looking angrier with each word. "Doctors examined me, suggested surgery... but I don't want to go that route just yet. I'm ok for awhile, as long as I take it easy."

"You _idiot._ What the hell did I do to deserve being surrounded by ridiculous fools!" At the end of his rope, Miz grabs Alex by the jaw, fingers digging in harshly, and stares at him, eyes blistering with anger. "You're risking permanent injury by pulling this bull, A-Ri. You know this, don't you? I know I taught you better," he snaps, shaking him slightly with each word. "You don't disregard doctor's orders because you're _prideful_ and just _know_ you're going to be fine. What'll happen the one time you're not? And you," he snaps, turning his anger to John. "You knew he's hurt and you still leave him behind at the arena with no way to get back to the hotel?"

"I knew you wouldn't leave him stranded." John looks calm, too calm. It makes Mike all the more angry, disgusted with everyone in his orbit keeping things held under a facade of calmness.

"No, that's apparently your job," Mike snaps, now leering down at Morrison. "How dare _all_ of you. I try so damn hard and you all are just carrying on like none of it matters, like injuries and losses and _stupidity_ means _nothing!_ Well, it _does,_ dammit! You can't just... keep doing this. God! _"_

"Mike-" Alex says quietly, watching as John's whole body tenses up, his face frozen as he peers up at Mike. "Just-"

"I don't know what your problem is, _Mike,_ but I don't see Alex laying into me for leaving him at the arena. Like I said, he was _fine_ , I wouldn't have left him behind otherwise. Not sure if you've noticed but I haven't had the greatest night myself here, because, yeah, y'know, I think the GM kinda threw me to the wolves. No one cared I was out there tonight, they _all_ wanted Zack frickin' Ryder. Which is great for Zack, but makes _me_ feel like crap. _I_ try hard too and no one cares, it doesn't matter. So just... I don't care." He stands up quickly, almost knocking a surprised Mike over, and pokes him in the chest. "If you think Alex has a reason to be mad at me, then let Alex tell me about it, I'm sure he doesn't need _you_ to fight his battles for him. You were fine letting him go off on his own months back, maybe you should actually _let_ him do things on his own now."

"And what, so he can end up like you, injured and returning too damn early and ending up here?" Mike volleys back, slapping John's hand away. When even that small bit of contact leaves the other man cringing, Miz nods viciously. "See! See what I mean! You wrestle one match and it's like you never even had a post-op recovery period! _God,_ John!"

"Oh, shut up! I'm fine, it's just going to take time!" Before anything else can be said or done, Alex is between the two of them, pushing them apart with enough strength that Mike ends up against the bed and John is dumped unceremoniously back in the chair he had just vacated minutes earlier. They both gaze up at him in surprise as he glares from one side to the other.

"Stop it. We're not helping each other by arguing like this. Mike, I don't know why you're _this_ pissed off, but stop taking it out on us. My hip issues are manageable, and we _knew_ John's nerve damage would take awhile to heal. You yelling at us isn't helping things any!" He huffs desperately before returning to his own bed, officially done with listening to them. As Mike drops onto the other bed, he flicks the TV on and mindlessly turns from channel to channel while waiting for the next explosion to come. It never does, all three men too exhausted to even look at each other, much less pick battles.

The next day, Mike arrives at Pennsylvania's arena, desperately holding his temper even as Truth follows him slowly, his duffel held awkwardly over his shoulder. His suspension is scheduled to begin the next day, Truth explaining that he had spent the PPV yesterday somehow convincing the WWE higher ups to hold off until after tonight's event. What his trick was exactly, he hadn't revealed. Mike had returned to their hotel room the night before, too tense while in the same room as John and Alex, but they had barely talked up to this point.

"Mike, wait!"

Well, all good things come to an end. He sighs and slows, turning to look at Truth. "What?"

"Are we good?"

Mike sighs. "Yeah, we're fine. Come on." They stop at the board with the scheduled matches and segments, staring at them for a moment. Nothing planned, again, for any of them. He tilts his head, frowning at it. It had become a much too common occurence, this lack of regular activity in all of their careers. Without a word to Truth, he turns and heads for their locker room. As he watches Truth set his stuff down, he can't help but think about the next _month_ that will be free of the other man. It actually sounds nice, after so long of listening to his rambles about spiders and conspiracies and every person from Evan Bourne to HHH holding him down.

Mike leaves the room within the first hour, wanting to talk to Alex and John. After the night before, he had felt a lingering sense of wrongness, not liking how he had left things with either man. He remembers the things he had said in anger, grimacing, as he comes across Alex standing alone near catering. "Hey."

Alex jerks, surprised once more. "Oh, hey, Mike." He looks off yet again and Mike merely frowns at him before he crumbles. "I haven't seen John since last night," he admits quietly. "He... he went home, I think. Mike... I get the feeling... I think he's done."

Mike closes his eyes, the harsh words he had yelled at him the night before echoing back mockingly. "Son of a _bitch,_ " he hisses tiredly.

Alex nods slightly. Neither seem willing to leave so they hang around for awhile, watching people come and go. "What's going on, Mike? Usually you're so obsessed with not cluing Truth off that we're all working together, you barely say one word to me during a show, much less hang around."

"I don't want it overheard," he says blandly. "You'll know soon enough."

"Oh, ok." The younger man frowns, confused. The silence is almost painful, both unsure how to break it or if they even want to, but they're even less interested in going their own ways. Mike only leaves at the bottom half of the second hour to catch up with Truth, half-heartedly waving at Alex as he goes.

Cena is in the ring, going on and on about the night prior when Truth and Mike make their way down. It feels good to Mike, carthartic mostly to mock the former rapper, until Truth takes over and starts going on with his own weird rambles. Miz's aggravation ratchets up, only fueled further when Cena takes back over, telling Truth that Mike thinks he's insane- _who seriously doesn't, though?-_ and Mike that Truth thinks he's an egotistical glory hog who only became lucky after his stint in the Real World. It's such a tired old argument, and Mike is far from angry about it, but Truth looks suspicious as Cena leaves.

The argument that follows has so little to do with what Cena said, at least from Miz's point of view, that he's not even sure where it began, this pure level of animosity that he had grown good at controlling since they had been fired together. With Truth in his face, screaming at him repeatedly not to call him stupid, he snaps all the further and pushes him. The punch that follows is surprising, sends him tripping over his own feet into the corner. He collects himself and finally seems to be getting through to the other man about this all being Cena's big plan, the wheels spinning at hyper speed in his mind _. Morrison, Alex... The world championship, my_ career _,_ he thinks wistfully of everything that this team with Truth had caused him, however briefly. The more subdued emotion mixes with the pure anger and he speaks before he can think it through fully. "Let's go get Cena, this is all his fault!" He quickly tears off his jacket, relieved when the motion is mimicked by his tag partner, before following Truth up the ramp, eyes locked on his back as they head towards the back.

They're at the very top, where the metal is the sturdiest, before Mike grabs him and slings him around, arm wrapped around his neck. _This is for John,_ he thinks viciously, _this is for_ everything. One sweep of the leg later and he smashes Truth into the grating, watching with a pleased gleam in his eye as the maddened superstar stays down even when referees begin swarming to check on him. _Enjoy your suspension._ He's turned on many partners during his many years in the business, left quite a few behind as well, but none feel as right as this one.

As he storms into the back and stares at a shocked Alex, he smiles for the first time in what feels like forever. "I'm free," he comments with a small laugh. _That is something to be thankful for._ The only thing missing from the moment is, of course, the look on Morrison's face, his exasperated, amused comments. "I think I know what we need to do now," he comments quietly, gripping Alex by the arm and leading him back to the locker rooms.

Mid-afternoon the next day, they inch down the hall, hissing at each other the whole way, smiling awkwardly whenever they walk past other people living in the apartment complex. " _Careful! ... Quiet! ... Alex, I swear, if you drop this..."_ Finally they're at the right door and Mike gingerly rests his half of the burden onto the carpet, pulling out the key Morrison had given him while injured. He rolls his eyes at a hesitant looking Alex, quickly pushing the door open. "Go! If he attacks, defend the food at all cost," he orders grimly, leaning over to pick up his own sacks. "Damn stuff's expensive."

By the time he makes it into the apartment, Alex has his settled on the kitchen counter, frowning. "Are you sure he's home?"

"The car's out front, so yeah, probably. Unless he walked somewhere. Hmmm." Mike shrugs and puts his own bag down before venturing into the next room. He stops, troubled. "John?"

Morrison, sitting on the couch staring out the window at the nice California weather, barely reacts to his voice. "What do you want, Mike?" His voice is dull, exhausted.

Mike's heart feels heavy as he wanders further into the room and sits across from him, shaking his head. "Alex is with me, Johnny. We... um, we brought some food. He has a match on Thursday and I have media tomorrow but I thought we could have an impromptu Thanksgiving thing." When John finally looks up, Mike's smile doesn't waver though he feels a little ill at just how worn down the other man looks. _What have I missed while stuck with Truth? I didn't know it was_ this _bad... "_ I managed to find coconut cream pie. There's pumpkin too, of course."

"I-" he looks like he's about to refuse so Mike moves quickly, drops a hand on top of his, squeezing slightly to shut him up.

"Come on. Two kinds of pie, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, rolls, the turkey... you're not really going to leave Alex and I to handle all this food, are you?" He sobers slightly, digging his fingers into John's palm to get his attention. Once they're eye to eye, he smiles slightly. "We won't talk about anything, alright? It's just food. We'll eat, we'll find something crappy on TV, and that'll be the crux of it. Does that sound ok?"

Some of the pain on John's face slowly subsides and he grins slightly. "Ok, yeah." He unfolds himself from the couch as Mike stands and they walk side by side towards the nice smells wafting from the kitchen. "Where the hell did you two manage to find a turkey this close to Thursday?"

"Well, it _is_ California. Thank God for tofurkey taking the attention away from _proper_ Thanksgiving for some," Alex says with a chuckle.


	75. chapter 75

After the pre-Thanksgiving spent with Alex and John, Mike had gone off to Ohio to do his media events before spending the holidays in his hometown with his family. Despite the various distractions and happy times he has there, his mind never drifts too far from the look on John's face throughout most of the meal they had had on Tuesday, how hard Alex had tried to make things more cheerful, and how helpless he himself had felt.

As much as he loved the brief break, catching up on some sleep before returning to the cycle of rental cars, airports, hotels and arenas that a WWE superstar's life tends to be, he's just as glad to return to his kind of normalcy that Sunday evening, having read one of Morrison's tweets saying that he would be at Raw. It doesn't even take that long for him to first see him, however, as John is sitting in the lobby of the hotel, a calm look on his face. He looks so different from last week that Mike freezes and just watches as he stands up and walks over, lips twitching. "Hey, Mike."

"Hey." Mike's eyebrows raise. "Were you waiting for me?" John hesitates for a split second, taking a deep breath. It's that brief period of time that sends the previous fear rushing back into his chest, choking his words. _It's never a good thing when Morrison has that look in his eyes._ "What, what do you want?"

"Yeah, actually. Check in, we can talk then."

"Uh, ok. Sure." It's with a deep frown on his overly expressive face that Miz wanders over to the front desk and waits for his turn. John is halfway to the elevators when Mike has his keycards, leaving him to jog to catch up. He doesn't want to push, still unnerved by the look on his former tag partner's face. To be honest, he almost thinks he doesn't want to know. It had been a surprise that John was here at all, after last week, but he's undecided if it's a good one, or not. The elevator ride up is spent in silence, Mike worrying his lip the whole way.

As soon as they're in the room, Mike relaxes only slightly. Alex's things are in the corner, the two having decided to room together once more with Truth gone and both unaware of John's plans. Morrison doesn't respond, just drops his own bags next to Alex's before facing Mike. "So I've been thinking..."

"Ok?" Mike prompts nervously, dropping his own things close to John and Alex's, his fretful eyes locked on Morrison. "What about?"

John doesn't say anything for a long moment, looking at the three separate piles of their things with a wistful smile before facing him once more. "I want you to do something for me."

"Sure, what?"

His smile fades, his eyes growing sadder at how easy it is for Mike to agree readily without even hearing what it is John wants. _A year ago, it would've been a struggle to get anything out of him,_ he thinks. _We've come a long way since then..._ "I want to wrestle you tomorrow. In my final match."

"Wait, what?"

"Mike, I... thought about it over the past weekend and it didn't feel right just... leaving things like I did. I want one last night, to say goodbye in my own way." His eyes darken as he peers over at a confused looking Mike. "Basically, Laurinaitis isn't interested in re-signing me and my contract expires this coming week. So... Monday is my final appearance. Eight years are a long time, I want, _need,_ to do this right." He releases a slightly shaky breath, settling down on the bed behind him as he tries to think how best to word the rest of his idea. "I want... I want you to take me out of the game. One of us should... should be happy with our role in the business, and if it can't be me, then... you." He brushes a hand through his hair, almost disbelieving that he's even saying this, that it's gotten to the point where _any_ of it needs to be said. WWE had been such a big part of him for so long, even talking about his last match leaves him cold and a little nauseous. "If you take me out, it'll maybe help you back into the main event."

As he continues to talk softly, Mike's eyes widen, his lips parting in shock as he backs away slowly, hitting the wall while shaking his head. His denial is obvious in every small movement. "No, John. _No._ "

"Mike..."

"I'm not doing it, no. You can't spring this crap on me, not now. What the hell, John?" He shakes his head, eyes blazing as he pushes past him, staring out of the window with a vicious glare as he takes in the cool South Carolina evening. He doesn't respond as John takes a deep breath and joins him, peering down at the city life below them.

"Mike."

"Shut up, I said no."

"Mike, it's either gonna be you or someone like Brodus Clay."

His breath seizes in his chest again as he realizes that means if he doesn't agree, John will be going through with it anyway, but it might be someone else- bigger, meaner, with less consideration about Morrison's various injuries and weaknesses. "Why are you suggesting this? Why can't it be a simple match?"

"A simple match won't continue what you started last week with Truth. Mike, it's just... smart business," he says slowly. "I know you've wanted back in the title hunt since losing the belt and all those rematches. I can't do anything to help myself with Laurinaitis but maybe I can help you."

"Why are you always such a self-sacrificial bastard?" There's no heat behind Mike's words, just a sea of sadness, and John can't help but feel sad as well. "All the crap you pulled after the Anon GM made us tag partners to get me to that level and..." He stops talking, his breath shaky, and John claps a hand on his shoulder. "I can't believe this." He rests his forehead against the cool glass separating them from the outside, closing his eyes as Morrison kneads his neck slightly.

"Is that a yes?"

Mike's exhales still fogging up the glass at a near-hyperventilation rate, he steels himself for what's to come. "Fine, what do you want me to do?"

The next day, he avoids everyone. The steel pipe he had decided to use feels heavy in his grip, each shot he takes with it loud and echoing through the empty room he had locked behind him. Practice, practice, practice. He needs to know where his fingers should lay on the hard steel, how he should hit, where, how hard, to avoid actually _injuring_ Morrison. He won't even consider that, wouldn't set out to do it even if Morrison had paid him a million dollars or promised to buy him all the candy and coffee in the world. Despite Morrison's prompting, this is nothing more than a simple match to him, another thing to put in the win or loss column. A way to give his friend the final hurrah he had asked for, despite Laurinaitis' apparent disinterest in such things.

Five minutes before the match, he pulls his phone out to find a bunch of texts from Morrison and a couple from Alex. He doesn't need to read them to know they're probably worried ones, asking where he's at, if he's bailing on this match, what. He simply goes to the _send message_ screen and finds Morrison's name, his typing a little shaky as he types a short message out. _Pre-match attack, steel pipe. Be ready._

He stuffs the phone back in his bag, not even wanting to see the response before leaving the room. As he wanders down the hallway towards the gorilla position, he sees a monitor nearby with Morrison and Alex talking and laughing. He stops and stares for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. Alex has no idea what's about to happen, probably thinks the two are just going to continue their rivalry. _I hope he doesn't hate me for what I'm about to do,_ he thinks grimly, tossing the pipe slightly into the air before catching it. By the time he makes it to the gorilla, Morrison is out, about to do his slo-mo entrance. _Here we go._

The pre-match beatdown is hard, Mike's focus locked as he strikes Morrison's lower leg again and again, breathing heavily with each hit.

_"I'm not going to target your neck," he says while they strategize in the hotel room the night before, "or your bad knee. So don't even suggest it."_

Referees finally come and pull him away, and he's fine with that, doesn't even argue or try to get more hits in as he makes his way to the ring. He almost wishes that Morrison will stay down, limp to the back, sell the exaggerated shots. But of course John is stubborn, prideful, and has his heart set on this final match so he doesn't take the out Miz had just offered him, brushing referees away once he's back on his feet, limping down the ramp to the ring for their Falls Count Anywhere match, the only thing missing to reproduce their January match perfectly being A-Ri at ringside. And, of course, a championship on the line. _And the fact that it's John's final match,_ his thoughts remind him viciously, eating away at him as he pulls off his shirt slowly, his blurry eyes locked on the still limping man as he struggles into the ring. _He better just be selling, I swear... I tried my hardest not to actually hit him._ He bites his lip as John finally gets in and the bell rings.

Thoughts wiped from his mind as finally the action begins, he carries the advantage for awhile, keeping Morrison down and fighting from one leg, even slams his leg against the steel post before the tide changes, a kendo stick brought into the action. Miz can only watch as John rolls to a vertical base, his eyes grim and focused as he grabs the stick. They watch each other closely, both tense and waiting for the tension to hit its peak when finally Morrison takes his chance, beating Mike over and over with the Kendo. Each shot stings, leaving Mike arching away from its split wood and rolling to the outside. Even that isn't a good get away point as John follows, nothing but pure stubbornness and adrenaline pushing the agony he has to be in away from his notice, and hits a few more times with the stick, leaving him crawling and grimacing up the ramp.

Watching John use the stick to crutch his way slowly up the ramp is agonizing, Miz wondering anew if he's gone too far, if in the midst of the beatdown, he _had_ actually landed unprotected hits on John with the steel pipe. The thought makes him ill. _I gotta end this,_ he thinks as finally John reaches the top, his only remaining weapon useless and lost as Mike takes advantage of his slow gait to drop toehold him into the big W logo on the stage- the very one only eleven months prior, he had been flying off of to crash down upon Mike and Alex during their match.

He's clutching his jaw, grimacing and struggling still to stand, fight back, when Mike awkwardly grabs him and hits the Skull Crushing Finale, laying there for a minute listening to his ragged breathing before rolling away and trying to roll him over. It's such a hard moment, knowing that it's all almost over, this rivalry, John's time in the WWE, having his best friend by his side through whatever was to come in the business. Alex, of course, would still be here, but it just wouldn't be the same. He struggles to roll John over, his body unwilling to finish it even as he presses his head against Morrison's side to give that final push but still it's hard and slow, his thoughts circling in such a way that he can't even focus on finishing the match. Once Morrison's on his back, he just sits back on his legs and stares down at the dazed look on his friend's face, confused and hurt that it's come to this. _I don't want this._

He's spared from actually completing the pin when the referee waves him off, deeming Morrison too injured to continue and calling the match immediately. It's the most emptiest victory Miz has ever felt- whereas beating Truth down the week before had felt so perfect, this is the exact opposite. He stands briefly over Morrison, trying desperately to hold onto the shreds of his cocky, egotistical attitude which doesn't mind mowing over friends and enemies alike, but as he heads for the ring, he can barely see, his eyes misting over. His heart skips a beat as he looks back for a moment and spots Laurinaitis peering curiously down at Morrison. He waits in disgust for the other man to say or do something to confirm that this was John's final match, while he's already down and out, but the moment passes, Miz's time with the mic thus unbroken.

What exactly he says during the promo, he's not entirely certain afterwards, his eyes flicking over now and again to Morrison getting put in a neckbrace and then onto a stretcher. By the time he finishes talking, the group of referees and trainers are gone, probably taking the stretcher back to fully check John out.

His walk back up the ramp is slow and subdued, his gaze dropping as soon he's out of sight of the audience.

"Mike?"

He stiffens, barely two feet away from the gorilla position as Alex calls out to him, voice sounding as shaky and sad as Mike feels. "What?" he asks lowly, still unable to look up at his former protégé. "If you're here to yell at me, then-"

"He told me," he whispers, clears his throat in an attempt to sound stronger. "Everything. Before the match. I- I know this was his final match and that he wanted you to... to... do what you did."

"Damn him," he mumbles, scrubbing at his face. _"Damn_ him."

Alex ignores his words, quickly wraps an arm around his mentor, drawing him closer as his eyes blur even more, and it's then that Mike realizes just how hard he's trembling. "Mike..." He shakes his head, burying his face in the younger man's shirt, unable or unwilling to care about the brief period of weakness, or who could be watching, as they just stand there. Alex waits for Mike to slowly pull away, his face wet and miserable when he finally does. He doesn't look much better though, and they peer at each other awkwardly. "Come on, let's go to the trainer's room."

"No, no," he hisses. "I can't see him. Not right now... it..." His face falls further, even as he struggles to wipe away all evidence of his breakdown. "You go. Make sure he's ok. I just... can't be here right now." Before Alex can say or do anything, he's rushing down the hallways, back to that empty locker room he had left only a little over half an hour ago. He remains there for the rest of the show, disgusted to find that somehow he had lost the rental car keys. _Just as well, I can't leave Alex here alone,_ he thinks grimly, not even sure where Morrison's at in this moment. _ER? Trainer's room? Who knows._

He remains in that room the rest of the night, staring blankly ahead and ignoring the dull pain from the Kendo shots remaining with him. It's nothing compared to what Morrison has to be feeling, he knows. When he finally checks and realizes the time on his cell phone is flashing 10:15 PM, he slowly collects his things, having dressed long ago. He doesn't bother trying to find Alex in the large building, instead wandering to the rental car. It's dark and abandoned, the night growing chillier as he stands around and waits for his travel companion to come unlock its doors for him.

He finally hops up onto the trunk, grimacing as the cold steel bites into his skin through the clothes more, leaning back against the windshield as he waits. A few minutes pass, feeling like years, before he hears footsteps and soft murmurs, a couple of people heading for their own rental probably. He expects them to walk past, only expecting Alex, but the footfalls stop in front of him and he jerks as something slaps his leg, reviving him from the stressed half-doze he had fallen into. "What?" His gaze sharpens as he realizes Alex and Morrison are both standing before him, weird looks on their faces.

"Mike? You alright?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" he snaps, motioning at them to move away as he slides off of the car. "Why aren't you at the ER or something?"

John's face softens into a pensive smile as he takes a hesitant step, still limping but not as badly as during the match. "Bone bruise, trainer tells me. Who knew that a ringpost could hurt more than a steel pipe? ... Oh wait, that's what happens when I'm being hit more with a fist than actual pipe."

Mike's breath whooshes out of him as he takes in John's words. "So I didn't actually hit you? I thought for a little bit..."

"Sorry, if there had been time, I would've told you, but Laurinaitis was lurking around and the referee... I didn't want to risk it," he explains.

"How's your head?"

"Jaw hurts," he admits. "The base of that W definitely is nothing to play with." Before Mike can apologize for the impromptu move, John talks over him. "Trainer said it's a minor concussion at most. I'll be fine, Mike. Thank you," he says sincerely, eyes gleaming brightly in the overhead lights.

"I think I should be thanking you," Mike says dully, staring at him. "For everything. You know?" There's so much unsaid between the two of them that it hurts to think about.

John shrugs, with a slight smile. "We live in the same city, Mike. It's not like we're never going to see each other again. And you either, Alex. When WWE's touring around LA, you're both welcome to drop in whenever." The words stick a little, obviously a struggle for him to say, and Mike sympathizes. It's going to take awhile for the fact that tonight's the end of John's time in WWE to sink in for all three of them.

Alex brightens slightly at this, his lips curving up. "Thanks, John. And, uh, if you're ever in Florida, well, my place isn't much but it's open to you anyway."

"Ehh, Florida." John laughs slightly. "Well, you never know, huh? We'll see."

Only half listening to them discuss Florida, Mike digs through his bag, desperately looking for something that he had been holding onto for awhile now. "John-" he says, not caring in the slightest as he interrupts their conversation. "I've been wanting to do this for some time but it never felt like the right time." His eyes shining suspiciously, he holds his hand out to John. "This does feel right, now, though. I- I have a key to your apartment and now... I, uh, want you to have one to mine. I'm not sure what you're gonna decide to do now but whatever it is, if you ever need a place to escape to for whatever reason, you're welcome to go hang at my house. It's usually empty anyway, since I'm gone so much, and I think... I think this would be good." He realizes he's rambling, finally cutting himself off as he drops the key in John's outstretched hand.

John nods, his gaze somber and wet as well, staring down at the key in his palm with a wavering smile. "Thanks, Mike," he mutters. "I mean it, this means a lot. A year ago, I wouldn't have thought..."

"I know, things were really different back then, weren't they?" Miz's laugh sounds forced and a little fake but the appreciation in his gaze is sincere, almost overwhelming. "I'm glad that we worked through all the BS though." _Just in time,_ he thinks, glad that he hadn't remained stubborn and bitter towards Morrison's attempts at making things work until it was too late.

"So am I." They stand around awkwardly for a little longer before John takes a deep breath and holds his arms out. Mike doesn't even wait a second before he steps forward and hugs him tightly, his breath ghosting against Morrison's curly locks. "I'm gonna miss annoying you around the locker room."

"Oh please, as if you'll ever stop doing that," he says with a strained laugh. As he steps back and lets Alex take his place quickly hugging the parkour master, he looks away. _I hate change..._

"Mike?" Alex cuts into his thoughts once he and John have pulled away from each other, watching him worriedly. "We should go, the flight to Japan is only a few hours away."

"Need a ride, John?"

"Sure," he agrees, limping around the side of car, blatantly ignoring as Mike fights his base instincts to help him walk, hands hovering helplessly in midair.

Alex sighs, quickly unlocking the car. He's unsurprised when John takes the back seat and Miz joins him, turning to face the other man as the car hums to life. "Leg," he orders, snapping his fingers together obnoxiously.

"What? Mike, you've got to be kidding," he grouses. "I'm _fine."_

"Elevating it won't kill you. Now _move."_ Alex doesn't need to check to know that the two are glowering at each other but finally he hears the sound of denim rasping against the leather seats, Mike not needing to look too far to see the results of the abuse Morrison's leg had taken when his pant leg rides up just enough. "Dammit, John," he mumbles, looking at the bruise already spreading across the skin.

"It's fine. Really. Just gonna be sore for awhile, and honestly, it's not like I have anywhere to be in the next few days, right?"

Mike looks up at him, his eyes shining with sadness. "I guess," he whispers. When Morrison stiffens as his hands press on various points of his ankle, he watches closely, noting with relief that it doesn't seem to be broken. Just bruised, as the trainer had suggested. "If this gets worse..."

"I know," he breathes heavily. "I'll go to the ER or something. It'll be fine, Mike."

"Say that one more time, John, and I'll make this injury look like nothing," he groans, unimpressed. _What a sucky time for both Alex and I to be going to Japan. Dammit._

"Sure you will," John mocks tiredly, his head dropping back against the edge of the car seat as he blinks lazily at Mike. "You hate me?"

The exhausted question surprises him, leaving him gaping back. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because I forced you into this match... I know you didn't wanna." His eyes look glazed over again, and Mike remembers that John had vaguely mentioned a concussion. "Sorry. It was all I could think of to do, instead of going out on Laurinaitis' terms."

"You don't need to apologize to me, goof. It's the situation I hate, that it needed done at all, by anyone."

"Ok. Well, still, I'm sorry. It was a sucky position to put you in with such little notice." He yawns and Mike sighs, chancing a glance at Alex, who peers back at him sympathetically from the rearview window before returning his focus to the unknown road ahead.


	76. chapter 72 cut scene

A/N: I wrote this maybe three or four weeks before Morrison's release was official- before we knew R-Truth was suspended. It became unusable at that point, for obvious reasons, but I decided to post it as a cut scene, so it has no connection to the actual storyline. It's set on the night following Morrison's final match, when I had no idea what WWE was going to do, so it's kind of open about what happened before and after. Enjoy.

**November 28th, after Raw**

Miz can barely focus on Truth's exciteable rambles, Laurinaitis' ruthless announcement of Morrison's firing ringing in his ears, the look on John's face burnt into his retinas. He roughly stabs the keycard into the hotel room door, almost pulling the doorknob off as he barges into the room, dropping immediately onto the nearest bed, his duffel forgotten on the floor.

Amazingly, Truth isn't completely dense and, taking Mike's stony silence as his cue, begins his nightly rituals, just coming out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later when there's a knock at the door.

Mike huffs when his tag partner doesn't move towards the door, finally getting up himself when the knocks grow louder, more forceful. "What?" he snaps, stopping short as he realizes it's Morrison standing in the doorway. "Son of a bitch," he mutters, not caring in the slightest that Truth is staring harshly at them from across the room. He steps forward and wraps his arms tightly around John. "This sucks ass," he mumbles against John's shoulder.

Morrison nods, his arms instinctively reaching up to return the hug. "Yeah, no kidding." They finally step away from each other as John peers over Mike's shoulder at an incredulously glaring Truth. "I don't have a lot of time, Mike. They're 'escorting' me out of the hotel, too... But Alex wants to go somewhere. probably to eat. Do you want to come along?"

"Oh, hell yes," Mike says decisively, relieved for the excuse to get a break from Truth. After the last few hours, he has no patience left for his current tag partner. He almost trips over his own duffel in his haste to reclaim the jacket that he had left on the end of his bed, cursing colorfully before regaining his composure. "Come on, let's go."

John hesitates, holding onto the door as Miz pauses in the hallway, waiting to see what the hold up is. "You go on ahead, I have some... unfinished business here."

It's at this moment that Mike realizes John hasn't looked away from Truth once. "John..."

"Just gonna discuss something, Mike. I swear."

He groans, rolling his eyes so hard it looks almost painful. "You have five minutes. I'll be waiting by the elevators." At John's tense nod, he reluctantly leaves them behind, the door clicking shut behind him echoing ominously through the hallway.

John's lips twitch into a ridiculous, little grin as he saunters slowly over to Truth, who's been frozen between the second bed and opposing wall this whole time. "Ah, Ron, Ron, Ron," he murmurs, quickly encroaching on the other man's personal space.

"Don't call me that," he snaps, his eyes widening as Morrison moves in a blink of an eye, successfully cornering him. "What the hell you doin'?"

"Like I told Mike, talking. That's all." He only remains near enough to ensure that the other man can't easily get away. "You know, I've seen first hand what you do to tag partners... and supposed friends alike. Hell, what you do to them are much worse than what you do to enemies." He pauses, carelessly flicking at Truth's dreads, chuckling when his hand gets swatted away.

"I'll admit, I let my ego get in the way over the #1 contendership thing. Probably deserved a punch or two for it... but everything? The many cheap attacks, the injury... no, I don't think so I deserved all of that. Somewhere deep down, I bet you don't think I did, either. But that's all in the past now. I'm not a WWE competitor anymore and yet you remain, as Mike's tag partner." With each word, he inches a little closer until finally taking a deep breath, his hand now pressed flat against the wall next to Truth's head.

"See, I'm gonna have a lot of free time for awhile. I'll be watching, listening... I get an inkling of anything you're doing that hits just a little close to home, maybe I'll find some time to head over to the Carolinas and see what's _really_ up." Smirking at the troubled look on his former partner's face, he thuds his palm against the wall before pulling away and heading for the door, the threat lingering in the air.

"Why do you care?" Truth finally manages to ask before Morrison opens the door. "I thought y'all hated each other."

John shrugs, turning to look at him one last time. "I guess that's the difference between us. Even when Miz pissed me off the most, I never completely stopped considering him a friend, deserving of another chance." He raises an eyebrow at Truth before leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

As promised, Mike is waiting by the elevators, tension easing out of his shoulders as he sees no visible injuries on John. "He still standing?"

"Last I checked," John nods grimly as they enter the elevator side by side. All the more relieved, Mike presses the button to take them to the lobby to meet up with Alex.


	77. chapter 77

There isn't a lot of time after Raw to do much of anything, with the tour of Japan looming. Despite Morrison's visible exhaustion following the match he'd had with Mike and the end of his career, he stays up with them, the three not sure what to talk about or do but unwilling to fall asleep or go their separate ways before arriving at the airport and having no choice.

John's flight is a couple hours after theirs but he heads to the airport with them anyway at the ridiculous hour of 4 AM, a bit buzzed from the coffee Alex had bought them all when it was obvious none of them were going to get any rest that night. "You're gonna crash on the plane, aren't you?" the younger man asks with a sympathetic smile while walking in pace with the limping man, who nods vaguely. Mike leaves them to go to the front desk, tapping his fingers against the counter until someone pays attention to him.

When the dark haired woman behind the computer finally does look up, he glances over his shoulder at John and Alex, who are now sitting down on chairs to wait, their various bags scattered around their feet, before focusing on her name tag- Gia- and speaking up. "The LA flight at 7 AM, can I talk to a flight attendant that's going to be on that plane?" When she frowns uncertainly, he tries to look less bone weary and more patient. "A friend of mine's gonna be on that flight, and he has a concussion. He'd kill me if he knew I was talking to anyone about it so I just want to keep it on the downlow, but I need someone to keep an eye on him for me. Alright?"

Her face clears and she nods, looking over his shoulder to the other two men. "Alright, let's see if anyone's currently around," she agrees, typing quickly. After a moment, she reaches for the phone and speaks into it clearly. _"Danielle to information desk, please. Danielle to information desk."_ He half-listens as her voice echoes across the intercom, spreading through the whole airport. "She'll be here shortly," she tells him, setting the phone back in its cradle with a smile.

"Thanks." He scrubs a hand across his face and through his hair before stepping back to wait and let others do their thing. He's unsurprised when Alex joins him a few minutes later, a curious look on his face. "I'm trying to get someone on the flight to keep an eye on John," he explains quietly before his former protege can even speak. "Keep him distracted, huh?"

"How?"

"I dunno, think of something. I don't want to start an argument with him right now, especially about this."

"Alright, I'll see what I can do," he sighs.

"Just be glad Zack's not around, they'd end up having another dance off in the middle of the airport again."

Alex pauses, a horrified look on his face as he recalls coming across _that_ little show of second-hand embarrassment. "Thanks, Mike, I _almost_ had managed to get that visual out of my head."

Mike chuckles before turning back to mindlessly gazing at the various pamplets and advertisements spread across the desk. He feels as the seconds tick past, Morrison's impatience and curiosity almost palpable from here. Finally Danielle arrives, a disturbingly cheerful looking blonde considering the time of the morning. "How may I help you, sir?" she asks, smoothly heading behind the desk at Gia's subtle urging, to Miz's relief. He thinks- hopes- it looks less suspicious this way.

He quickly explains the circumstances to her and she nods thoughtfully, peering over at Morrison just long enough to recognize him for later. "He's been alright the last few hours, but can't be too careful with concussions, and I figure he'll sleep on the plane. I'd just feel better if someone was watching him," he tells her.

She nods. "Of course. I can do this. Everything will be fine, sir."

His face clears as he relaxes. "Thank you." Some of the weight off of his shoulders, he returns to the other two and carefully walks around the sea of luggage before slumping down in the seat next to Alex.

"What was that about?" John asks, leaning over to look around A-Ri.

"I was checking to make sure the amount of carry-ons Alex and I have are alright," he says on the fly, scrubbing at his face.

"And?" Alex asks after a moment of silence.

"Everything's good."

"Great." They sit there in silent exhaustion for awhile longer, all three startled when boarding for the connecting flight that'll lead Alex and Mike on their way to Japan is called. _"Crap,_ " Mike hisses, taking a deep breath. They exchange awkward glances before standing. "I guess it's time."

"Yeah." Alex swallows, his eyes lowered before finally giving John one more hug. "Bye, man," he mutters, his voice strained.

"See you around, Alex," John replies, awkwardly trying not to trip over the bags as he returns the hug. Alex finally sighs and lets go quickly, leaning over to collect his luggage before leaving, obviously setting out to give the former Dirt Sheet hosts a little time.

Mike sighs, shifting anxiously. "I can't believe this is happening," he mumbles, running a hand through his hair.

"Tell me about it," John agrees, poking at his luggage with the toe of his shoe.

"Such a bad timing for this Japanese tour."

"Hey. Don't worry about it, I can take care of myself, Mike. It's just a tweaked ankle and minor concussion. Nothing worse than what we both have dealt with individually in the past." He sighs as Mike blinks slowly, his eyes dark and exhausted. "You look wiped, man."

"Yeah, because you look so much better," he snips, rolling his eyes.

"You're gonna sleep on the flight, right?" they ask at the same time, John smiling slightly as Mike huffs. "You'd think we would stop doing that eventually."

"I think by this point that's impossible." Mike grimaces, dropping his hands onto Morrison's shoulders. "Call or text or something when you hit LA, or I'll kill you, I swear."

"You're _such_ a good friend," he snarks. Mike pulls a face at him, the uncertain gleam in his eyes sobering him up. "Really, you are. Today would've been a lot harder without you there to make it easier. You know?"

"Yeah, I guess." Time is ticking away again, the awareness that the line for his flight is getting shorter and shorter, departure time almost there, so finally he shifts his arms, wrapping them snugly around Morrison. "I'll see you the next time I'm in LA, huh?"

"Sure. Enjoy Japan," he murmurs, clinging about as tightly to his former tag partner. Everything feels stilted and awkward and Mike thinks if they weren't all running on empty, this would've been more of a repeat of last night. For once, he's glad to be _this_ exhausted, especially since they're out in public.

"Oh yeah, for the whole two days I'm actually there," he chuckles, stalling for a few more moments before pulling away. "Call whenever, John. I mean it. Day or night, you know I don't really have time to sleep anyway."

He looks uncomfortable but nods anyway, his teeth worrying his lip as he looks over at Alex nearly through security, waving over at them to get their attention, only a few stragglers left to go through before the door closes. "Alright. But you better go," he urges. "Alex is looking worried."

"Of course." He stares at John for a moment, finding it nearly impossible and surreal just to walk away, leave his best friend behind in the middle of the airport like this. "Dammit. I have to go, don't I?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna be fine, Mike, but you won't be if you miss this flight." He pushes him towards the gate, his gaze distant and a bit pained as he steps back to the chairs to wait for his own trip back home.

He huffs a shaky sigh and finally moves towards the line, walking backwards with his eyes still locked on John for a bit longer. "Bye," he mumbles, turning at the last second to hand his ticket over to the woman waiting impatiently to get him onto the flight.

"You ok?" Alex asks as he sits huffily down next to him, adjusting his seat with sharp, jerky movements.

"Peachy."

The flight is long, the time in Japan goes by in a blink of an eye, and they're on their way back to America before any of the superstars can really take a breath, the jetlag screwing with them all viciously. It's just enough time for Mike to think about the following week, and Morrison's own words leading into their final match together. He _had_ let things like R-Truth and this stupid conspiracy crap distract him from what he had always wanted, mainly his regaining the WWE title, and with John now sacrificing his final night on Raw just to give Miz the chance to get noticed again and maybe worm his way into another title opportunity, he's not about to waste this. By the time Raw rolls around, he's forced his disillusionment and sadness following John's release as far down as he can, focus locked on his renewed goal. _Week one._

It's all about timing, though, and he waits grimly in the back, watching as John Cena yet again starts the show off by making his interest known in regaining the WWE title. Of course. _Get at the back of the line, there are many who deserve it more than you,_ Mike thinks with a painful glower at the TV. While he watches, he tugs his phone out and accesses the text message screen, needing to get something cleared away before he actually hits the ring.

_**Text from: Mike** _

_You're going to be ok if I talk up what happened last week, right? It's just an act, you know I took no pleasure from it._

A few minutes pass and he groans, wishing he had had the time to handle this sooner, but with media events, and interviews, and many other things to handle, there just _hadn't_ been time. When Alberto Del Rio and then Dolph joins the party, he can't sit still much longer, text message or not. He needs to get his intentions known, and this is the best time to do so. Thankfully, his phone goes off then, almost vibrating out of his hand as he jerks, quickly composing himself enough to read it.

_**Text from: John** _

_Do what you have to, I don't plan on watching it anyway. Good luck tonight._

That's the only answer he needs as he stands resolutely and makes his way quickly to the gorilla position. As soon as he hits the ring, he explains that he deserves a shot much more than any of the men currently in the ring after the past few weeks he's had, the statements he's made.

Laurainitis interrupts before a full on brawl can break out, Mike's aggravation only growing as he looks at the man who had so ruthlessly made John's release public the following day after their match. He had been unable to stomach watching the video, but had seen and heard enough to know that the interim GM was enjoying himself greatly as he'd made the announcement. He barely pays attention to Laurainitis' decision, only catching the important parts- like, he would have a match against Orton next and if he won he'd face Punk at TLC for the title. _Of course,_ _it'd have to be Orton._

The match goes back and forth and at one point, he thinks he's about to lose but something distracts Orton enough that the Viper goes surging out of the ring and up the ramp. Mike looks through the ropes to find Barrett running up the ramp, away from the angered man, but it's enough as the referee's half through the ten count and Orton loses via count out before he can make it back to the ring. He tries to go after Miz after the loss is made official but Wade returns, taking him out just in time. Mike releases a deep breath of relief, his body sinking lazily against the top ropes as he takes it all in, how quickly it had all happened. _There, John. I did it. I have my title shot..._ He can't help but feel bittersweet, even when returning to the back and being greeted by Alex's congratulations.

There are still two matches to go to determine how exactly the TLC main event will pan out, and Del Rio advances after defeating Daniel Bryan. Miz doesn't worry, until a third is added when Laurinaitis begins messing with both Cena and Ryder, pitting them against each other with the added pressure that if Cena loses, Ryder gets a US title shot and if Ryder loses, Cena gets put in the match at TLC. Mike snorts as he watches, unsurprised when John wins. "Of course," he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Two opponents turning into three, with Ziggler's match still pending, messes with Mike's confidence but it's amazingly brief as Cena begins arguing with Laurinaitis for Ryder's US title opportunity a few minutes later, finally goaded into giving up his title opportunity for Zack to have another opportunity at a shot for the US title. "You have GOT to be kidding me!" Mike laughs in disbelief. "What an idiot!" It's such a Cena thing to do that it disgusts him. He blinks, even further amused when Mark Henry is shown as Zack's opponent. "Aw, poor Cena. Gives up his title shot for this." But Zack comes out on top with some help from Cena himself, and Miz rolls his eyes. "Oh, for God's sake..."

Even so, when Dolph loses in the following match against Sheamus, Mike can't help but wonder how much of the young man's distraction can be blamed on Zack actually getting another title shot. Either way, it's a relief to him. Two opponents are enough, the last thing he needs is _four_ guys to strategize for and somehow keep an eye on.

The contract signing starts off normally, like most do, he, ADR and Ricardo Rodriguez standing around waiting as Laurinaitis joins them, Punk getting a special introduction because he's the champion. Miz scoffs, unsurprised as Punk immediately starts trying to cause trouble. His annoyance only grows when he once more begins bragging, gaze distant and words focused as he tries just to get through this part, about taking Truth and Morrison out the past few weeks, just for Punk to make it all into a big joke. His lips thin as Punk suggests he'd taken them out on a date, his eyes blazing warningly. To _Twilight,_ no less, mocking his clothes and hair further. He's beyond relieved that Morrison _isn't_ watching, because he knows he'd never hear the end of it otherwise. Even so, he shakes it off, doesn't let it get to him, quickly going on about what he would do to enemies if he could do that to friends, and they move on, the focus less on him as Alberto and Punk talk, eventually all signing the required documents.

It's far from over, however, as Punk finally gets the 6 Pier Brawl he had been all but begging for. It all goes by in a blur until Punk gets his hands on Ricardo, ADR surprisingly moving quickly to save his ring announcer. He gets sent through a table for his trouble and Mike moves into position just to receive a GTS on top of Alberto and the busted table, his eyes fluttering dazedly as he peers up at the blinding, hot lights overhead.

He's just rolled off of Alberto, shaking his head slowly and trying to ignore the chatter of frenzied Spanish behind him as Ricardo checks on his _El Patron_ , when he looks up, pale blue eyes blazing. _I don't care what happens, or what else is said... I'm gonna be world champion. I deserve it, and John's sacrifice last week won't be in vain. I won't allow it to be._


	78. chapter 78

After Raw ends, Miz wanders around the back for awhile, trying to ease the dull backache that a trainer had examined quickly and effeciently, urging the usual- ice and rest, blahblah. Considering he's heading back to LA early in the morning, he doesn't really have much time for either but he does hold some ice against the shirt he's slipped back on in the meantime. Alex had made himself scarce for some reason and it bothers the former world champion. John's firing had been hard on both of them, obviously, but he hadn't made a lot of time for Alex since their flight to Japan, too busy psyching himself up for the week ahead to do much else. All that had been on his mind since Morrison's release had been honoring the opportunity his friend had left for him. Now that he had done all he could to achieve this goal, he couldn't help but feel guilty at leaving A-Ri to take care of himself for the past few days.

Finally he peeks into one of the alternate locker rooms and pauses, finding Alex inside, his back to the door. Mike knows him well enough that he can tell even from this distance that he's slumped over, fingertips pressed against his lips as he peers at the wall before him. His usual pose for when he's lost in thought so deep that it almost takes a crowbar to wedge him back out into the world of the living. For once, Mike chooses against the abrasive needling and sits down next to him quietly instead, not even breathing heavily as he, too, drifts, focusing on the prior week and what all had happened.

After a few minutes, Alex releases a deep breath and nudges Mike, not bothering to move away from this shoulder-to-shoulder position even when they're both staring at each other. "I guess this is the new norm, huh?" he asks lowly, lips twitching unhappily.

"Seems so." He licks his lips and looks away. "I'm sorry I haven't been very... present this week. My focus was..."

"It's ok, you don't have to explain, Mike. I get it." His eyes soften a little as he takes in the uncertain guilt still visible in his mentor's eyes. "You wanted to honor John, and it takes a lot to get ones' mindset right for the title hunt in this kind of environment. I definitely understand." There's a long, weighty silence and Alex releases a sigh. "It's probably even harder than it was when all we had to worry about was the Anon GM, huh?"

"You know, I think the Anon GM, annoying bastard that he was, only accomplished in making me fight even harder to prove him wrong. I _wanted_ to be better than what he thought I was, I wanted to overcome everything he threw at me. Neither he or I realized that Morrison would be the deciding factor in that, I think." He pauses, takes a deep breath. "Now I'm in it all on my own and, really, I'm just tired of all the crap. I don't think I allowed myself to think about it for real until a couple weeks ago, when Truth got himself suspended. It was easy to fall into the whole _conspiracy_ thing, to see possible truths in his words, especially after we were fired and then arrested. Do I think people had it out for us? Yeah, probably. But which came first, Truth's paranoia or the conspiracy against us?"

"Chicken or the egg type thing, huh?" the younger man asks, picking at his nails. "But really, Mike, I might not be your protege anymore, but I'm still here. You're not completely alone."

An honest smile flits across Mike's face and he nods. "I know, Alex. Thanks." They sit in silence for a little while longer, both thinking heavily.

"What do you think John's doing?"

Mike shakes his head, reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out his phone, fiddling with it for a minute. _No new alerts._ "No idea. The last I heard from him, all he really said was he wasn't gonna watch Raw tonight."

Alex nods soberly. "Can't say I blame him. Besides," and here his eyes twinkle as Mike glowers at him, knowing immediately what he's about to bring up, "I bet it's a relief to you; wouldn't want Punk to have ruined your big date idea, right?"

It's only due to his awareness about his nagging hip injury that Miz only slightly pushes the younger man, not enough to knock him off of the bench completely, but send him flailing a bit before regaining his balance with a huff. As he mutters curse words and swats at Mike, he grins, a thought smacking him at the same time that Alex does. "Soooo what are your plans for Christmas next week?" he says, eyes lighting up.

After some more media and other responsibilities, he returns to LA for the first time since the week of the Japan tour. It's a slow week for WWE leading up to the Tribute to the Troops so he has a limited amount of free time. Mid-morning on Thursday, he finds himself lurking around a by-now familiar hallway. Not wanting to push his luck, he actually knocks like a normal person and waits, mind running a mile a minute when nothing happens. Mike begins shifting his fingers through the various keys in his pants pocket, frown growing with each second. "What the hell?" he hisses, reaching for the door when it finally cracks open, a bleary eyed Morrison greeting him with a suspicious glance.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty, It's after _10 AM,_ " Mike grumbles, eyebrows rising in surprise. John's usually the early riser, with Mike taking awhile to get going after the nights he does get more than a few hours of sleep.

Morrison rolls his eyes and smothers a yawn as he pushes the door open, motioning him inside. "What're you doing here?" he wonders faintly, his footsteps quieter than usual, padded by the thick socks he's currently wearing.

"Came to bitch at you for the weather," Miz teases. "Seriously, what the hell is this? I leave Florida, where it's nice and sunny, and it's friggin 40 degrees over here? Last week, Santa Ana winds and now this?" He looks very displeased, somewhat exaggerated, just to get the reaction he wants: A chuckle from the still half-asleep Morrison. "I may as well go back to Ohio."

"What can I say, even the weather hates that I've been released." It's beyond awkward, leaves Mike frozen for a moment as for once he doesn't know how to respond, further the joke or just move on, but Morrison himself rescues the moment. "So seriously, what are you doing here? I haven't missed a holiday, have I?"

"No, unless I have too," Mike mumbles, a smile tugging at his lips. He keeps quiet as they settle in Morrison's living room, Mike's gaze locked on the limp John's still sporting as he makes his way over to the couch. "How's the leg?" he asks bluntly.

John rolls his eyes, shifting around until he's a little more comfortable. "It hasn't fallen off yet," he snarks, dropping his head against the back of the couch so he can't see as Mike bristles in annoyance.

"You said it wasn't that bad," he comments accusatorily. "Still limping over a week later doesn't seem that great to me." He pauses, takes a deep breath to calm down. "John, please."

There's a vague groan from where Morrison's sitting and he slowly shifts into a proper sitting position, looking across at Mike. "I'm going through rehab right now. For my neck, mostly, but I'm gonna have further tests on my ankle soon to see if anything needs to be done. There probably won't be much, if anything, Mike, so don't start looking guilty and crap. I'm gonna be fine, and I was gonna be doing rehab anyway, so what's the harm in doubling the fun?"

He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest angrily. The only reason he doesn't snap back a bitter response is John's tense position, not even needing to look over to know that he's grimacing. "Whatever." The awkward silence that follows then is aggravating and chokes him but he waits it out, knowing that eventually one or both of them will crack- silence never lasts very long when they're in the same room.

Sure enough, John shifts forward, looking much more awake. "Hey, since you're here, mind helping me with something?"

Interest piqued, Mike shrugs. "Sure, what?"

Fifteen minutes later, the former world champion is following John carefully along some rocks along the beach, looking highly unhappy. "I cannot _believe_ I let you talk me into this," he grouses, shivering in the chilly breeze so uncharacteristic for California. "Ugh, man," he grumbles, trying to scrub his eyes to make them stop watering in the wind.

"Just a few minutes, I promise," John urges, finally finding the spot he wants.

"We can't film this inside? Where it's warm and dry and not... windy?" he mumbles, scrubbing at his face which already feels rubbed raw from the elements.

John looks somewhere between amused and sympathetic as he grabs his camera from Mike, allowing the other man to tighten the scarf around his neck. "Look, I've been stuck inside almost nonstop since I came back home. Been wanting to do this for awhile, but not alone." He hesitates, looking almost vulnerable in this moment, and Mike's breath catches in his chest, not having seen that look since their final match. "If you really don't want to be out here, we can go back to my apartment..."

Rolling his eyes, Mike adjusts his warm clothing a bit more snugly before reaching out for the camera. "How do I use this damn thing?" John's face immediately lights up, Miz's lips tugging up into a smile as well as he listens to John's instructions for filming.

The video is short, not even a minute long, but it gets the point across that John isn't finished with wrestling, he just needs a break to heal and regroup before he decides his next move, and even though it's obviously aimed at soothing Morrison's many fans, it also comforts Mike as well. The thought of the business without Morrison permanently had just been too much to even consider, tickling at the back of his mind for the past ten days like an itch he couldn't get to. As soon as he taps his hand against the rock he's kneeling on- their pre-decided signal that John was done talking-, Mike clicks the camera off and puts it back in its protective case, watching as John peers out at the dull grey horizon, the choppy water crashing against rocks below where they're settled.

After a few moments of nothing but shivering as John takes in the nature around them, finally he comes back to life and stands, holding a hand out for Miz. It seems ludicrous, John helping Mike up when his ankle is still off, but he accepts the hand anyway, pulling himself slowly to his feet, taking care not to unbalance the other man. His legs are frozen from the wind and cold, despite John looking almost like he's in his element in the chilly air, and Mike envies him the ability to not turn into a slug at the slightest chill. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah." John only glances back once before leading the way off of the rocks and across the beach. "I have hot chocolate back at the apartment."

"Oh thank God," Mike groans, walking a bit faster as John chuckles.

The few days off, some of which he spends hanging out with Morrison, goes by ridiculously quickly and he's back at it before he can believe it, doing media for Tribute to the Troops before Raw. He's unsurprised and unimpressed by the tag match he's thrown into with Alberto Del Rio against Punk and Orton. In a repeat of the week prior, Wade sneaks his way into the match, taking Orton out on the outside so Punk has no partner to tag in, leaving him vulnerable to the Skull Crushing Finale. Ricardo Rodriguez helps push a ladder in for them and the beat down that follows is satisfying to Miz, even as Punk fights back despite being tangled around a ladder, his arm twisted up in ADR's armbar. Each hit and kick he lands on Mike only serves to make the man that much angrier and determined to walk out the coming Sunday a winner, and he makes that fact well known before dropping the mic tauntingly before the current World Champion's face.

His anger fades slightly as he returns to the back, Alberto and Ricardo trailing behind him as they mutter to each other in Spanish. Letting out some of the pent up aggression he's been feeling since before Morrison's firing helps but it doesn't stop the backstage area from feeling empty, almost lifeless, each time he steps back there.

The next night, Tribute to the Troops goes by in a blur of autograph signings and meeting servicemen and women who give of themselves for America day in and day out and he's able to forget all of the stress he's under for a brief while, forcing it out of his mind long enough to show respect to them for all they do. Despite the tag team he's yet again thrown into with Mark Henry and Alberto Del Rio this time coming up short to CM Punk, Cena and Big Show, it doesn't make him doubt this Sunday. He will walk in to that match, do what he has to do, and walk out champion. There's no other option. He refuses to let himself- and Morrison- down with any other outcome.


	79. chapter 79

"...So I lost by submission."

Mike frowns, glancing down at Alex's somewhat tentative footfalls. "Was it because of your hip? How is rehab going, anyway?"

"It's slow," he admits as they wander down the hallway of the Baltimore arena TLC is being held at. "I'm close to 100%, it's just taking a little longer than I hoped."

Mike shakes his head, mind wandering back to how Morrison's recovery after the surgery had also seemed to drag on and on and never really reached a satisfying conclusion before Laurinaitis chose to release him. It's a chilling comparison to make. "I'm sorry," he finally manages, sighing slightly. He's distracted when he catches sight of an annoyed looking Del Rio, Ricardo obviously trying to cajol him, off by catering. He slaps Alex on the shoulder. "Hey, I've got something to deal with. I'll see you later, alright?"

Alex sounds startled when he says, "Sure. I'll be around..."

Miz feels briefly bad for ditching him like that but, his mood already sour to begin with after his unsettling conversation with A-Ri, quickly gets in Alberto's face, arguing with him about stupid things before admitting that he was just using Del Rio for his own purposes. They bicker even more before Ricardo appears with a snack for the former world champion. Miz, feeling childish and so angry he could almost explode, he slams the plate into Ricardo, covering him in mustard and who-knows-what else. His guilt warring with anger grows as he spots the pained, hurt expression on the ring announcer's face, Alberto barely looking at him a second before turning back to Mike. They glare at each other heatedly before Del Rio grabs Rodriguez and drags him away, the man obviously unable to see too well due to the burning in his eyes.

Ricardo's influence isn't over, however. The ladder match begins and for awhile, the three just lay into each other ruthlessly. They're all down at one point and Mike looks up to see the hesitant man climbing up the largest ladder in the ring, slowly making his way to the top. What he hopes to accomplish, Mike isn't sure- he's not legally in the match, after all. The best he can figure is Ricardo plans on grabbing the belt and handing it off to Del Rio.

Punk is climbing into the ring, aiming right for the ladder, and Mike catches on, taking the other side as they look up at the precariously balanced Ricardo. They're both exhausted from the excruciating match so it takes both of them pushing all of their weight against the ladder to tip it, barely getting a glance at the look of horror on Ricardo's face before his grip slips and he falls clear out of the ring, the sound of a body falling twenty feet at least into the tables waiting on the outside echoing through the arena.

Mike slouches against the ring, gasping and looking around, wide eyed, as he tries to regain some energy for the rest of the match. _Did we really do that?_ Of course, Ricardo's an annoying pest on the best of days but to send him off of such a high ladder, when he's a simple ring announcer... Cringing, the Awesome One makes it to his feet and, finding the handcuffs that Rodriguez had attempted to use to hold Punk at bay earlier, recycles the idea by handcuffing Punk to the top turnbuckle, smirking as Punk kicks and thrashes at him. He's heading for the ladder when Punk makes quick work of unattaching the turnbuckle; one GTS later, and it's over as Punk slowly climbs to the top and collects the title, his opponents strewn around the ring side area.

As he drifts, all Miz feels is empty. His own hard work, what John had sacrificed weeks ago for him, slipping through his fingers like sand through an hourglass. He slaps his fist against the mat, growling desperately. "Dammit." His head drops back down to the padding and he groans, not wanting to face anyone ever again- especially Alex, or John himself. For perhaps the first time ever, he feels like a complete failure. Trudging up the ramp a little later is the hardest thing he's ever had to do, his eyes locked on the floor in front of him as he takes one step after another, the only thing he's capable of doing up to this point.

Before he can make his escape to the locker room and a long, hot shower, someone walks into his path. He doesn't even need to look up to _know,_ just senses. "Not now, Alex," he mumbles. "I just... want to be alone right now." He tries to slip past the taller man but a hand tightening around his arm stops him and he looks up, almost ready to start landing blows.

"Calm down, Mike. There's someone who wants to talk to you," he says softly, not taking no for an answer as he drags Mike away from the post-TLC bustle, into an abandoned locker room on the other end of the building. Mike's laptop is waiting for them there, the wallpaper of Microsoft's logo bouncing around the screen as it waits for him. His suspicions grow as he locks his legs at the doorway, coming to a dead stop. "Mike..."

"No way, Alex. I don't... I can't..." He shakes his head desperately. "Not now."

"Just... he just wants to make sure you're ok," Alex says soothingly. "Come on, Mike. Don't shut him out."

"I can't do this." He tries to leave but Alex blocks the way, shaking his head. "Alex, _move._ " He's tired and he's sore but he'd clock his former protege if he really _had_ to.

"Not until you sit down and talk with him." Alex has random moments of stubbornness that surprises even Mike so he takes one more look at the younger man before huffing, stomping over to the laptop and settling down in front of it. He's still sweaty and feels disgusting, probably looks worse, but with Alex staring at him like that, he has no real choice but to flick the computer off of idle.

John is looking away, his gaze distant and thoughtful, but when the glow of the computer against his face changes, he glances at it. His face lights up a little. "Hey, Mike."

"Hey, John." He still feels horrible, but his lips twitch into a small smile anyway as he peers at the screen. "John... man, I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing to me?" John's eyebrows raise into his hairline as he shifts, leans closer to the screen. "If I know you, and I'd say I do, this is just the start, right? You're not gonna just give up after one measly loss. You're too stubborn and annoying for that."

Mike chuckles, shaking his head. It still eats at him, but he knows John's right. After all of this, he's not about to give up. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right. Now stop looking like someone kicked your dog and explain to me what Ricardo ever did to you." As the conversation turns lighter, Alex joins them and they discuss the upcoming holidays and what John's been up to with his rehab and just indulging in some relaxation during his time off, something he had had precious little of for the past few years.

The next night, Dolph, Alberto and he interrupt Punk, Daniel Bryan and Zack Ryder's obnoxious, boring celebraton in the ring, just for it to begin degrading into a brawl. He and Del Rio slam Ryder into the steel steps and leave him laying just for Daniel and Punk to chase them up the ramp. For the first time in probably ever, Miz is a little glad to see Laurinaitis, giving them enough leeway as the two champions run back to check on Zack.

That is, until he places them in another tag match. After last night, Mike doesn't look forward to teaming with Del Rio but he doesn't have much of a chance. He's not sure how it helps him get another title opportunity but it keeps him in Punk's orbit, it's a start. Even when Del Rio loses to Daniel Bryan's Labell Lock, Miz isn't that bothered by it. He hadn't been the one to submit so it doesn't feel like a mark against him personally.

By the time he's ready to leave, Alex is already waiting for him by the exit and Mike grins as he heads over to the younger man. "Ready to go?" Instead of returning to Florida, A-Ri had agreed to head off to California for a few days, spend some time with Mike and John before going to spend the actual holiday with his family.

"Yep. Are you?" As Mike unlocks the rental, Alex tosses his duffel into the trunk, shifting it over before Mike can squash it with his own.

"Of course. I'm even going to do my best not to think about WWE for the next couple of days," he says, smirking as Alex looks doubtful. "I'll manage somehow." He eats, breathes and sleeps WWE sometimes but it's Christmas, and it wouldn't be fair to Alex _or_ John if he spends the whole time talking about his aspirations or future plans, considering how things are shaping up for the other two men.

Mid-afternoon, they arrive at LAX and Mike drops Alex off at his house before continuing onto Morrison's apartment. "Hey, John," he greets his surprised looking friend.

"You again?" he cracks, holding the door open a little wider. "Come in, man. What's up?"

"Oh, I don't need to come in. In fact, you need to come _out."_ He grins as John looks even more confused. "I'm kidnappin' ya for a bit. You said you hadn't been out of the house too much since everything, so this should be good."

"What exactly should be good?" he asks doubtfully.

"Christmas party at my place!" Mike laughs at the look on John's face. "Alex and I both have the rest of the week off, until Raw, so we figured why not. You're coming with me and we're gonna just hang out and do whatever for a couple days. I'm not taking no for an answer either, John, so move. Get what you need and let's _go."_

Morrison rolls his eyes, but some time out of his own head sounds good. Really good. "So pushy... Gimme a few minutes." Mike nods, watching as he walks back into his apartment. He still has a bit of a limp but it's a marked improvement even from the week prior. Five minutes later, he returns with his phone and a few other things, pushing the door shut behind him. "How long are you gonna 'kidnap' me?"

"Alex is leaving back to Florida on Thursday. I'll be heading to Ohio, so around there, I guess. Sound alright?"

"Yeah." It actually sounds better than alright and when John enters Mike's house, almost immediately overwhelmed by the size of the Christmas tree in his living room, he makes sure they know it. "Thanks for the invite, guys. This... is kinda incredible." He peers up at the tree, the various lights reflecting in his eyes and off of his ponytailed hair.

"Wait until you see the fridge," Alex grins, pushing some gifts under the tree for later. "I think Mike bought out everything that was left in the store."

"Not a surprise," John smirks as Mike glowers at them for a moment, shaking his head. "Merry Christmas, guys."

"Merry Christmas," they echo softly, Mike's face softening as he too looks up at the tree.


	80. chapter 80

When you work for the WWE, plans tend to change on a dime. But, John figures, they had had a little time for the whole holiday thing Mike and Alex had tried. It had started off as planned, at least. The three had stayed up late Tuesday, catching up and watching crap television into ridiculous hours of the morning, just to pass out in various parts of Mike's living room. All three stir, Mike reaching up to slap at his phone as it goes off at barely 7 AM, his _I Came to Play_ theme filling the room. Realizing it's not an alarm clock going off, he fumbles for it and squints at the screen before glancing over at his friends. Untangling himself from the blanket he'd awoke to find himself wrapped up in, he stumbles into the kitchen and answers it as quietly as he can.

He's just returning, an annoyed look on his face, when Alex's phone goes off, _his_ theme sounding even louder than Mike's had just moments earlier. "Oh, my God," John groans from where he's sprawled out across a couch, one arm slung over his face. "What's going on?"

Alex doesn't even bother getting up, just grabs for the small device and holds it to his ear, blearily greeting whoever's on the other end. "Alright," he finally mumbles after a few minutes. "Yeah, sure. I'll be there."

Mike raises an eyebrow. "Were you called to make an appearance on Smackdown too?"

Alex sits up and fumbles around with his phone, finally clicking it shut. "Smackdown? No... I have a match on Superstars tomorrow. I gotta go."

John blinks as both begin to talk quietly, totally forgetting him as they prepare to rush off back to their careers. He swallows heavily. They're both in too much of a hurry to say or do anything, this whole _holidays_ thing all but forgotten as they grab their mercifully unpacked bags, call the airport to confirm their last minute flights and head out on their way.

It's only when Mike wanders by the couch and spots John watching them with a blank look on his face that it seems to hit him. "Oh, God, John. I'm sorry. We have to go." His eyes are wide and horrified, guilty, and John shrugs, uninterested in making this whole situation rougher for either Mike or Alex.

"It's alright."

"You can hang around if you want, the fridge still is full of a ridiculous amount of food... you know?" He looks so fretful and hopeful all at the same time that it gnaws at Morrison just to look at him, well aware that Mike still feels some guilt at how his time in the WWE had ended only a few weeks ago.

"Don't worry about me," he insists, sitting up. "Either of you. I'll be fine. Just go... do what you do, alright? Good luck in your match, Alex. You too, Mike." He hopes his awkwardness doesn't bleed through; he does mean them both all the best in the world, it's just hard and weird to be sitting on the outside looking in as they leave. He doesn't miss the traveling through the holidays or anything like that, but the abrupt lack of competition and drive in his life is so startling, he's not sure what to do with himself just yet.

As soon as they're both gone with quick Merry Christmases, and further urging to make himself at home while Mike's gone, he steps away from the door and takes in the quiet, empty house with a grimace. Only a few moments pass before he grabs his jacket out of the nearby closet and, pausing only long enough to make sure the place is locked up tight, is on his way back to his own apartment before the strangeness of being in Mike's place without Mike or Alex can bleed through his pores and make him feel even worse.

Why Mike had been summoned to Smackdown, he never entirely finds out- Teddy Long has no plans for him, doesn't even seem all that aware that he _had_ been called, and in the end just leaves him to his own devices. Which allows him to do what he always does when he's unhappy- crash the show. So he vows for maybe the third or fourth time in the last two years to stay in the ring and not allow anything else to happen until he has a reason to actually _be_ here. All the while, he can't help but think if he had known this is the best that Teddy Long could come up with for him, he would've stayed in LA and had a little more time to spend relaxing at his place with Morrison before going to Ohio.

He's bored and rambling and with his thoughts already on Morrison, that ends up being what he talks about- his attacks against Truth and, yes, Morrison too. He hates rewatching the footage as it replays on the titantron but it is what it is, Morrison's idea on top of that, and there's no going back now. He struggles to stay on track, talking himself up as always, but his heart isn't really all that in it. All of his thoughts and emotions are derailed, further, when Sheamus' music hits. Sure enough, it's his opponent for the evening and he tries, he really, really tries, but he's distracted and all the offense in the world doesn't seem enough to keep the "Great White" down, so he's down and getting pinned before he can even focus for longer than a second, his head throbbing as Sheamus' music begins anew to mark his victory.

_Merry friggin Christmas, Miz,_ he thinks to himself as he staggers up the ramp afterwards wondering how he could go from main eventing TLC six days earlier to _this_.

Christmas passes smoothly enough but he's still feeling _off_ by the time Monday rolls around and they're back at it by Raw. Alex doesn't say anything, but it's obvious he notices, his eyes tracking each move Mike makes. He painfully bites his lip, not wanting to snap at the kid. With Morrison gone, he's more self-aware, consciencious of what he does or say; friends may come and go in the business but it doesn't hurt any less, especially when you only have a select few as it is. There's a weird vibe in the air, adding to his confliction, and _God,_ he just hates it all.

So by the time Cena comes out and he's babbling about Kane, Mike's anger is at an all time high. He wants to smack someone, wants to yell, scream, pitch a fit; something, anything to make his very veins stop itching. He heads to the ring, distracts Cena, challenges him to a Wrestlemania rematch. He wants to beat him on his own this go around, without Rock's heavyhanded influence on the match. He's Mike _The Miz_ Mizanin, dammit, he doesn't need to win any match via Rock Bottom. No way, no how. Except that the _Cena Sucks,_ _Let's go Cena_ , chants that Chicago are throwing around are in his head, echoing off the rafters and through his very skin like razors. Yet again, he's disgusted to find he can't focus, the few moves he manages sloppy and distracted. He sees an exit and he takes it, relieved to get out of the ring and _finally,_ finally rant and yell, not about what he truly wants to, _never_ what he needs to, but random stuff. Old stuff, stuff that he had mostly forgotten due to everything that had happened the past few months.

He doesn't even stop when the ten count is finished and he's counted out of the match; he only just barely stutters to a conclusion when horrifyingly familiar music hits. _The Truth Shall Set You Free._ Ironically enough, he had so very rarely told the truth since Money in the Bank 2009, between the whole act with the Anon GM, faking his whole issues with A-Ri, the tag team with Truth, and now this whole charade tonight, that it leaves him blindsided, too distracted to mount a good offense _or_ defense as his former tag partner lunges at him almost from nowhere, sending him back in shock. They brawl, Mike trying his best to regain control, but Truth is crazier than usual, sending him repeatedly into the barricade wall, the announcer's table, the steel steps. Any time he tries to move, get away from the steps that are cutting uncomfortably into his shoulder, anything, Truth would grab him and start pounding on him yet again. He finally gives up, just watching wide eyed and scared as his former tag partner vows to do this to him week in and week out, drawing the so-called _fun_ out as long as he can. A bottle of water to the head later and Mike lays, sagging, against the cold steel, wet and throbbing all over, sensing more than seeing as Truth finally leaves.

A ref finally collects him after a few shocked, quiet moments, and leads him to the back, a second quickly joining them to support him as his legs sag half way up the ramp. Alex is waiting at the titantron, smoothly taking over for the referees as he carefully slings an arm around Mike, taking his weight and holding him up as they make their way to the trainer's office. "God, Mike," he whispers, pulling his hand away just enough to look at the dampness covering it. He pales, realizing it's not sweat or water, but pink tinged blood. What he can see of it from this awkward angle is already bruising up badly. "Your shoulder..."

"It hurts," the former world champion groans, shifting beneath Alex's hand. "Dammit... can this week get any worse?" Alex sighs, relieved that the trainer's office is relatively close to the gorilla position, carefully easing Mike down the hallway as they reach the doors. "Thanks, Alex." His eyes are fluttering tiredly, the adrenaline from his anger and the beatdown crashing down around him. Each step is a chore, Alex having to maneuver him carefully to keep him from faceplanting and hurting himself worse.

"You're welcome, Mike. Any time... You know that, right?"

There's a faint, exhausted smile on Mike's face as he nods, relieved that he still has Alex, out of everything he's lost lately. "Right."


	81. chapter 81

Following that week's Raw, there's a long series of events leading up to New Years, the touring ridiculous and a bit grating on them all. Truth continues with the random run ins any time Miz shows his face, adding to the other man's paranoia and distraction when it actually comes time for him to compete.

"Are you ok?" A-Ri asks the night before they're heading back to their individual states, looking just as tired if not more. He had gone from one live event to where his Superstars match against JTG had been held to the next live event, frazzled and looking so forward to going home in the morning. Miz frowns down at the duffel bag between his feet and shrugs listlessly. "Your shoulder-"

"Is fine," he dismisses blandly. It's far from it, actually, the trainer seemingly having forgotten about it after the first couple nights of changing the dressing for him. After another run in from R-Truth followed by a cage match with Punk, however, to yet _another_ failed attempt at getting the WWE title back, his whole body throbs. He's too exhausted to care, just wanting to finish packing and collapse into bed for a few hours of sleep before the early flight back to LA. "How's yours?" Despite Alex avoiding it, he had watched his match against JTG and seen how his shoulder had been rammed into the turnbuckle post.

"Fine, it was just sore for a little bit." He watches him for a bit, hesitating, but eventually accepts his earlier claim, nodding grimly. "Alright, if you're sure." Miz nods tensely and they both fall silent, the only sounds the rasp of fabric and zippers being pulled into place as they wrap up packing at basically the same time. They exchange glances, both smiling slightly. Neither can complain too much about the time off that's ahead, even if it is only a couple days before the next Raw show.

_Pain. He gasps through it, eyes fluttering desperately. Someone looms over him and he thinks for a wild moment that it has to be Truth, the only thing that makes sense. But the knee pressing into his wind pipe shifts just enough that he can see now and if he hadn't already been breathless before, he'd definitely be so now. It's not R-Truth._ "J-John," _he struggles, looking up at his former tag partner. "Wha..." The knee presses harder and he scrabbles, claws at the rough denim covering it._

_"Why didn't you try to talk me out of that final match?" he hisses, eyes flashing dark and angry in the faint light. "I never wanted this... You should've done_ more _for me! I did_ everything _for you!_ " _He reaches down and grasps Miz by the chin, drawing him closer and adding even more pressure to his windpipe. "Why, Mike?_ Why?"

"NO!" he yells, jerking up right as hands rest on his upper arms, trying to hold him down. He's still half-asleep, hypersensitive and not even slightly aware. "I'm sorry, stop, please-"

"Mike!" Alex gasps, just barely avoiding a solid punch to the face as his former mentor thrashes against his hold. "Mike, it's me, it's Alex. Relax, man."

"Alex?" Awareness floods into him and he blinks sheepishly, slowly releasing his tight hold on Alex's wrists in a faulty attempt at holding him back. "Ugh... Sorry, Alex. I... bad dream, I guess." He frowns, scrubbing at his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Still a few hours before our flights. Do you... do you want to talk about it?" He had distinctly heard the other man mumbling something about _John_ at one point, but doesn't want to push it.

"No, I don't." The former world champion sucks in a deep, grumbling breath before leaning back against the pillow. As soon as his shoulder brushes against the surface, he winces.

"That's it, I want to look at your shoulder. Don't argue with me, Mike." Alex frowns at him. "I know you can't change the dressing yourself; I promise I won't comment or fuss too much, I just want to look. It's still hurting you so please... just let me?"

Mike groans, nodding slightly. "Whatever..."

Alex lights up like it's Christmas all over again, quickly getting up to the bathroom. What he's looking for in there, Mike isn't sure, but he only half listens to the younger man rummaging around before tugging his shirt off with a tight grimace, the old bandage tugging on his skin gratingly, before rolling over onto his stomach. Alex pauses as he re-enters the room, taking in Mike's back and shoulder with a grimace. There's slight welts across his back from the steel cage visible even at this distance and he shakes his head, walking closer.

Bruising from the shoulder injury is still obvious around the once white gauze and he grimaces, carefully peeling it away from Mike's skin. The tape is easy to remove, having been on there so long, but it doesn't keep Mike's breath from stuttering as his skin tries to follow the bandage. "Sorry," he mumbles a couple of times until finally the wound is revealed, still mostly raw and oozing anew from the removal of the bandage. He shakes his head, rolling his eyes upwards. They were all busy but the trainer's thoughtless ignoring of the wound grates at him. _I wonder how much of that has to do with Mike and Truth's rampage a few months ago?_ Referees and other backstage techs tend to act professionally around Mike now, but some hold grudges for longer than others.

"How is it, doc?" he asks sarcastically, face half pressed against the pillow as Alex carefully presses an anti-bacterial cream covered finger against it, covering it in the cold medicine.

"I think we should let it breathe for awhile, it's never gonna heal at this rate. Mind sleeping on your stomach for a little while?" He's so comfortable, though a little cold with his shirt off, that he barely manages an answer before drifting back off to sleep, his shoulder already feeling a bit better. "I'll take that as a yes," Alex chuckles softly, before sprawling out next to Mike.

His own bed is just a few feet away but he's not all that tired at the moment, heart still racing after that rude wake up call to Miz's flailing around in his sleep, calling out fretfully. There's only a couple of hours until their flights, he's fine right here, keeping an eye out for any further nightmares. It will also help him keep Mike from rolling over in his sleep and making his shoulder hurt worse. He smiles fondly down at his former NXT pro and sighs. "It'll get better, Mike. You'll see..." He's not sure how much worse it could get, after all.  
-

Mike's shoulder feels a little better on New Years Eve, so he does the expected party thing while wearing crazy glasses and ridiculous hats to ring in 2012, somehow keeping his act up the whole time- no weakness is shown, and when people ask about Truth, he brushes them off, acting like he'd never even heard of the other man. He stays for about another hour after the new year is rang in before sneaking out of the building, taking in deep breaths of the warm LA air. Even though he enjoys partying as much as the next person, he'd had a long week of touring for WWE and silence is especially golden right now.

Despite feeling tired and worn, his house is _really_ the last place he wants to be at the moment so he drives around for awhile before stopping by his favorite beach, drawn by the soft waves lapping against the sand, the stars twinkling overhead peacefully. He's not alone, a few others lingering around, probably after the state organized fireworks or something, but none of them bother him so he trails the wet sand barefooted, his dress shoes in hand, content to just breathe in the salty air.

His peace is briefly disrupted when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Frowning, he tugs it out and makes a face, looking to the right. "Really?" he asks blandly, rolling his eyes as he wanders back up the beach and drops down next to John Morrison, whose arms are crossed over his knees as he stares up at the sky, an amused glint in his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"The party I was at kinda got stifling. I was on my way home when I just wanted to... listen to the ocean for a little bit. So... here I am. What's your excuse?"

Mike grimaces at him before nudging him in the shoulder. "Great minds, I guess. When did you leave the house?"

John's face tightens for a split second, his friend only catching sight of it for a second before he turns stoic once more. "It felt wrong being there alone so I didn't hang around for too long."

Mike sighs, scribbling in the sand with his finger. He had hated himself for having to run out and leave John alone to go to Smackdown, but there hadn't been much he could've done about it. Even though the trip had been all but wasted, due to Teddy Long's ineptitude. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, not your fault, right? I don't blame you, at least one of us still has a chance at getting what we want in the WWE." Silence follows this and John looks over, sensing yet another downward change in Mike's mood. "...Right?"

"You're still not watching, right?" he asks softly, his eyes fluttering shut as the soft night wind grows a little stronger, fluttering through their clothes.

"No... I hear things sometimes but for the most part... why?"

"Truth's back." He watches out of the corner of his eye as John's whole body stiffens, remembering the man who'd cost him so many months at the tail end of his time in the WWE, had possibly even been the cause of his downward spiral that eventually gave Laurinaitis the perfect excuse to release him. "He's out for revenge, and I just don't know what to do. I get the feeling Laurinaitis will be absolutely _no_ help but... I have to try to do something." He presses a hand to his mouth, tugging at his bottom lip fretfully. "I just... have a bad feeling about this."

"Do you think Laurinaitis is allowing all of this because of me, for some reason?" Morrison asks after a few moments of strained silence, his eyes locked on the sand beneath them. "Because he knows we were... friends...?"

"I don't see how it should matter to him, but who knows what goes through that idiot's head. Y'know I arrived at Smackdown last Friday and Teddy didn't even know I was _coming?_ Who the hell doesn't know when the Miz is going to be on their show!" His eyes flash, only cooling when John laughs slightly. "Oh, find that funny, do you?" He's only fake angry though, breaking down into a smile of his own after a few moments of glaring at the man next to him. "I'm sorry about Christmas. If I had known everything was so screwed up, I would've hung out a little longer with you."

"Hey, it's fine, really. No point in you being unemployed too, right?" There's a bitterness in his tone that makes Mike pauses, his eyes widening, but John's face softens when he looks over. "We're ok, Mike. Really. Don't worry about it. Crap happens, yeah?"

"Yeah..." They sit in silence for awhile before Mike nudges John once more. "Hey, Happy New Years, man."

He nudges him back, chuckling. "Happy New Years, Mike."

2012 is uncertain for them, WWE in a very strange, tense place at the moment for Mike, and John still trying to figure out what he wants to do now, but both men can only hope that it will end on a better note than 2011.

Sure enough, Laurinaitis does absolutely nothing, in fact leaving Miz open to yet another attack from Truth as he places him in a match against Sheamus. To him, it explains Smackdown the week before perfectly, proving that all of that madness had been Laurinaitis' doing. He's seeing red and Alex is dogging him to the titantron after he gets away from the Bellas, his lips turned downwards into a vicious snarl. His placating words wash over Mike like white noise and he barely even looks back before he attacks Sheamus prior to the bell even rings, trying to finish this early. Except all he manages to do is anger the Irishman, his chest nearly collapsing as the large, pale man slings forearm after forearm into him, drawing the breath from him with each go.

How he gets away, he's not sure afterwards, his chest stinging and throbbing as he runs back into the crowd to get away. But the escape is faulty, Truth behind him and mocking him as he quickly speeds back to the ring- right to the still waiting Sheamus. The last thing he sees is the black edges of Sheamus' boot before he hits the ground, slumping against the barricade wall. His shoulder and chest throb anew at the abuse, consciousness slipping away from him as Truth's voice rambles on overhead. A moment later something wet and cold slams into him, plastic crinkling against his face as water drenches him, brings him back to long enough to register the horrible pain from his cheek, jaw, shoulder and chest.

Finally he slips fully into unconsciousness, the last thing he sees being Truth standing over him, a maddened grin on his face.


	82. chapter 82

That split second glance of R-Truth's face before he had passed out haunts Miz for the next week, leaves him gasping awake along with all of the other nightmares he tends to have on a weekly basis, his hands clenched in the sheets of his bed as he tries to reorient himself to reality. _This can't go on,_ he thinks morosely, pressing his face against the soft downy pillow. _I have to figure out a way to stop this before Monday..._

He spends the weekend dwelling over it, barely concentrating on anything else as he goes over one plan and another, none seeming like a good way to get Truth to stop targetting him. "Dammit, dammit, dammit," he grumbles, forcing his suitcase out of the trunk of his rental, wheeling it inside to the Texan arena. His only idea is to go to Laurinaitis _again_ and try to straighten things out. He's well aware of what Truth can do to careers when he really wants to and he does _not_ want to go down that path, protective of his livelihood especially after seeing what had happened to John Morrison. A quick conversation later with the worthless interim GM and he quickly knows what he had suspected anyway- what anyone on the roster probably could've told him.

He's absolutely no help and refuses to get him protection, and so he reluctantly goes from man to man looking for anyone even possibly welcome to the idea of helping him. But his prior actions while with Truth has made everyone hate him all the more and even money won't sway them, reactions varying from Mason Ryan laughing right in his face to Rosa Mendez shouting at him angrily before dragging her boys away. He slumps against a trunk and scrubs at his face. "Dammit. What do I do now?" he mumbles, before looking up. At the other end of the hall, the Bella twins keep talking in circles around a flustered Ricardo Rodriguez and he tilts his head curiously, thinking.

_Time to go another route with this then,_ he decides with a solemn nod. Standing up straight, he marches down the hall and all but attacks Ricardo physically to get what he wants, which is the younger man going out to the ring and distracting R-Truth long enough for Miz to get in his own attack, take the man out before he can get at Miz yet again. He stands at the gorilla position, slipping his _Be Awesome_ hoodie on over his dress shirt before basically pushing the ring announcer out onto the ramp, his conscience grating at him as the dark haired man walks nervously down the ramp, eyes flickering to and fro. Mike watches for a few moments until Ricardo is safely into the ring before going out the side entrance to the audience, getting into place for his future run in.

Ricardo's insults are questionable and weak, obviously half-hearted and anxious, but it does what it needs to- Truth comes out and somehow talks the other man into singing La Cucaracha. Why exactly it happens, Miz can't tell from his position but Ricardo slaps the mic out of the demented man's hands and almost immediately starts calling out for Miz. The former world champion sighs in exasperation and quickly makes his way through the audience but it's not enough as Truth sweeps Ricardo, slamming him face first against the mat. By the time Miz hits the ring, Ricardo isn't moving and Truth is open to attack, Miz's advantage only held for a few moments before Truth takes back over, tackling him to the mat before Mike succeeds at getting away, quickly running back through the audience to escape.

He senses more than sees as Truth lunges through the crowd after him, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he runs even quicker. _He's gonna catch me,_ he thinks desperately, finally hitting the backstage area and taking off at an even wilder run, now that there's less to dodge. He's just turned a corner and ran past a couple doors when the third to the left opens, his legs working faster than his brain as he turns and enters it. As soon as he's safely inside, the door slams behind him and he groans, worried about who could possibly be inside the pitch dark room with him. _Kane_ is loose, after all.

"Relax," Alex hisses, standing in front of the door. "It's just me. Be quiet for a minute."

Mike nods, rolling his eyes at himself as he realizes that A-Ri can't see him in the darkness. They're still standing in those positions when a mumbling, running Truth goes past, his ranting on something about Little Jimmys not liking cockroaches _or_ spiders drifting into the room. As soon as he's passed, Alex presses a button on his phone, lighting the room up enough that they can see each other without alerting anyone on the outside that someone's inside. Mike squints a minute before looking up at Alex. "Hey, man. Thanks. I wasn't sure I was gonna get away for a minute there."

"Sure. But, Mike, you know if you need help, you could've gone to me?" He looks hesitant and sounds even more so and Mike sighs, shaking his head.

"Listen, Truth already took Morrison out... I'm not involving you in this too. Throwing Ricardo in his path wasn't the best idea I'd ever had, especially considering it wasn't that long ago I had a hand in sending him off a ladder into a table. But he wasn't under Del Rio's watchful eye tonight and I knew it'd be easy enough to force him to do it... So I took advantage of that." He takes a couple steps away, the glow of the cell phone reflecting off his back as he scrapes his fingers through his short hair nervously.

Alex stands quietly, watching him for a moment, before sighing. "Hey, Mike. I'll be right back, ok? Don't leave this room until I'm back to make sure the path's clear, alright?" He nods vaguely, slinking further into the shadowy corner as the door slips open, filling the room with light from the hallway briefly before Alex leaves, shutting the door behind him.

How long he stands there, he's not sure, but finally the door opens once more, Alex whispering, "Mike?"

"Yeah."

"Path's clear, come on, man." Mike tugs on his sleeves nervously as he follows Alex down one hallway and another, frown growing as they head _away_ from the exit. "We're going to check on Ricardo first," he explains. "Make sure he's alright, then we'll go to the hotel. R-Truth hasn't been seen by anyone since leaving the ring, but that doesn't neccessarily mean anything."

He nods grimly, pushing open the trainer's office door. The room's empty of everyone but the middle aged man that only a few weeks ago had done only the bare minimum in fixing up his own injury. "Ricardo Rodriguez around?" he asks when the trainer finally looks up.

"No, he left." He stares for a moment before turning his attention back to the papers on his desk.

"How was he?" Alex speaks up, sensing that the trainer is less likely to answer Mike decently or satisfactorily.

"Aggravated his neck injury a bit, but he should be fine in a few days. He'll need to be examined by his rehab specialist but I don't foresee any major issues."

Alex smiles and slaps Mike's shoulder as he relaxes a little, releasing a deep breath. "Thank you," he tells the trainer before leading his former mentor out of the room. "Come on, let's go get some rest before the morning flights, huh?"

"Sounds good." Once they arrive at the hotel room, Mike lets Alex have first crack at the bathroom, sprawling out across his bed as he waits. He hasn't moved an inch when his phone goes off five minutes later. "Hello?" he asks without checking the ID.

"Honestly, Mike, what do you have against Ricardo Rodriguez?" Morrison chuckles from the other end. "The one night I actually have a minute to check in, I see you've sicced Truth on him? Really?"

Mike rolls his eyes, leaning against the pillows with a sigh. "He's an annoying guy." He grows somber and shakes his head. "I don't have anything against him, actually. I just... needed something to distract Truth and he was in the right place at the right time... or, well, wrong place at the wrong time, depends on how you look at it. If he hadn't pissed him off, he wouldn't have gotten hurt. But," he continues after a moment, "the trainer says he'll be fine, so that's something."

"Yeah." John pauses. "And how are you doing this week?"

"I'm alright." He is still sore from the last two weeks worth of beatdowns but not having a match tonight had helped some, despite the hits Truth had managed before he had gotten away. "You?"

"I'm good." For perhaps the first time since long before Morrison's firing, he thinks he honestly is telling the truth. "I'm doing some improv." Mike blinks, surprised, unable to get a minute to say anything as he continues to talk. "I'm also wrestling a one-night show in Manila next month."

"How do you feel about that?"

"I... it's weird, and I'm not sure if I'm ready mentally for it right now but I'm getting there- I should be good to go in time. It's just sometimes I wake up in the morning and my first thought is WWE, if I have anything on the agenda, and then I remember I don't... I miss competing, you know? I don't miss Laurinaitis and I don't miss the travel or the backstage politics, but I miss actually getting in the ring and doing what I'm good at. I think this event is just what I need... Keep me from getting ring rust. When I signed onto this thing, it hit me... I've decided I'm not going to let Laurinaitis to have the final word. I'm not done as a wrestler, far from it. I just need to figure out where to go from here."

Miz nods grimly, remembering how it had felt when he had been fired for those few weeks, how he and Truth had fought so hard to get their careers back. "I'm glad you're not giving up, John. I honestly hope you can get to a point in your career where you're happy again, no matter where that takes you."

"Thanks. And hey, good luck figuring out a way to get Truth off your back. If anyone can, it'll be you."

"Yeah, that's the plan. I just need to figure out... a plan for the plan." His weak chuckle fades into a yawn that he just barely covers the phone from, Morrison laughing lightly in his ear.

"Yeah, well... you sound pretty wiped so I'm gonna let you go, Mike."

"Alright, John. 'Night."

"Goodnight, Mike."

He drops the phone by his head and sinks further into the pillows, a slight smile on his face. He's asleep by the time Alex gets out of the bathroom and doesn't hear a thing until the alarm goes off six hours later, the first nightmare-free sleep he'd had in what feels like months.


	83. chapter 83

Despite some of Truth's hold on him snapping, his paranoia and anxiety fading enough to allow him to get a few decent nights' sleep, Miz still wants payback. For himself, and Morrison, and everything that had happened before, and will continue after if he doesn't do something about it. He takes a deep breath, pacing in the hallway before a monitor where Truth's voice is blaring from, showing randomly edited pictures from Disneyland as he mocks an increasingly irritated Wade Barrett. Alex watches on from where he sits nearby, a frown on his face. "Mike...?"

"What?" he all but snaps, not stopping in his repetitive movements.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm waiting," he mutters. "There has to be a..." He trails off, abruptly losing interest in explaining himself further, before walking towards the gorilla position with absolutely no warning. Alex watches on with a frown, turning his attention to the monitor. Sure enough, only a few minutes later, Mike rushes out and attacks Truth. Yet again, the demented man gets the upper hand, however briefly, as Wade roughly attacks Truth and works on double teaming him with the former world champion. Miz is relieved at the assault that's just beginning, finally getting some revenge on his former tag partner, when Sheamus runs out and screws it all up, working with Truth to send both him and Barrett tumbling out of the ring.

He's just starting to regroup when Teddy Long's music hits. Everyone looks up, confused and uncertain why exactly the Smackdown general manager is out on Raw. He's almost expecting a tag match to be made but instead Teddy throws a wrench in Mike's idea, throwing them all into an over-the-top-rope challenge to prepare them for the Rumble. They all brawl for awhile, adjusting to the match stipulations of no submissions or pinfalls, until Mike sees his first opportunity with Wade, Truth and Sheamus all clustered around the ring ropes, struggling. He lunges for the group and pushes Barrett the rest of the way over, stumbling back to get space between him and the other two immediately afterwards. _Every man for himself,_ he thinks over and over as he attempts to regain control over the match, not taking the time to think that maybe eliminating Wade was short sighted, getting rid of his only potential ally too early, leaving him in the ring with two men who had made it well known that they hated him. The rest of the match slips through his fingers quickly as he tries to eliminate Sheamus and fails, unable to correct his stance as Truth lunges in and tosses him over, eliminating him. A minute later, the Irishman hits the floor across from him.

He ignores everything around him as he turns and glares at Truth, pure hate seeping from his veins. He had been scared previously, yeah, unable to separate what had happened with Morrison against what could possibly happen to himself with Truth's targetting him, but with the Rumble inching ever closer, this match had awoke something inside of him. _I'm tired of running,_ he thinks before spotting a flash of something out of the corner of his eye. He's just turned to face it when Sheamus' boot meets his face _again_ , everything going dark as he hits the floor hard.

When he comes to again, he's on his side on a cot in the trainer's office, breathing slow and steady as he blinks at the dully lit room growing clearer around him. He can hear the loud voice of Zack Ryder from across the room as he gasps through the pain inflicted by Swagger not even an hour previously. He sits up, holding his head and sighing loudly. He's still working out what exactly had happened when a hand rests between his shoulderblades, causing him to jerk and his headache to ratchet up all the more. "Ugh," he groans, not needing to look to know who it is.

"Sorry," Alex whispers, shifting to sit down on the cot next to him. "How do you feel?"

He gingerly tilts his head from right to left, grimacing as his neck pops in response. "What happened?"

"Sheamus kicked you on the outside of the ring, knocked you out." Alex takes a deep breath, remembering the split second capture the cameraman had caught of his face after he had hit the ground, his blank, wide eyed stare and how still he had been when the trainers had brought him back to this room. A quiet, still Mike is always so unnatural and frightening... He shakes his head, looking ahead as Zack, sitting across the room from him, tries to jerk away from the trainer's prodding fingers along his ribs and back.

Mike grimaces, rubbing his hand through his hair. "That explains a lot. My whole head is throbbing." Zack snaps at the referee, trying again to get away from yet another examination and Mike cringes away, gripping his head.

Alex sighs, standing. "Let's get out of here, huh? We'll go to the hotel, get some rest. This'll look better in the morning. Alright?"

"Works for me," he grouses, making his way slowly to his feet. He blinks through the dizziness as Alex leads him to the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" the trainer calls out to them before they reach the door. "I'm almost done here, I'll be with you in a second."

"That's fine," Alex calls over his shoulder, pushing the door open. "Just focus on Zack, I'll keep an eye on Mike." Before the trainer can say or do anything else, A-Ri pulls him out of the room and leads him down the hallway, hands on his shoulders to guide him as he wavers.

"Thanks," he mumbles, relaxing into the soft seats of the rental car a few minutes later as Alex adjusts their duffels in the backseat, preparing to drive them to the hotel. "Damn Teddy Long... I don't know who's worse sometimes, Laurinaitis or him." They sit there in silence for a moment. "I never thought I'd kind of miss the Anon GM..."

Alex chuckles, pulling out of the arena parking lot. "Yeah... Well, he screwed with us a lot but he never fired any of us... I guess he had too much fun trying to outmaneuver us."

Mike sighs, his voice faint as he nods. "Yeah, that's true. HHH and Laurinaitis make him look like the most decent person in the WWE."

Alex nods. "Who do you think he was, anyway? We never did find out. HHH took over and he seemingly just faded away, we don't even hear anything about him any more."

"Who knows, it might _have_ been HHH..." Mike shrugs. "I wouldn't put anything past him, after what he did in October."

"Or Laurinaitis. I mean, really, HHH takes over, the Anon GM fades away, barely two months later, HHH is gone and Laurinaitis is put in charge. For all we know, he went after HHH's position so much _because_ HHH had taken his away."

"That's a weird thought," Mike shrugs. "I don't even know if Laurinaitis could pull something like that off. He can barely run WWE as it is, right now. From behind a computer screen... well. I've seen his tweets. He can hardly do that much sometimes."

"And Cole could barely read them, so they made the perfect team." Alex grins as Mike chuckles, relaxing into the seat a little more.

"Yeah. Well, I guess it's just another one of WWE's many unanswered mysteries. We'll probably never know for sure."

"Probably just as well. It had its good points, after all. It could've been worse."

"Yeah," Mike nods vaguely. He knows that Alex speaks the truth. Worse would've been not having a chance at the WWE title, not having fixed things between himself and John before one or the other of them had gotten fired, not being NXT pro twice in a row enough to meet and get to know Alex. He would've been much, much worse off without that period of his career.


	84. chapter 84

Last week had been the beginning of a breakthrough for Miz, as he slowly began accepting what had come and would come after. His whole career had been a struggle, to get noticed, to be taken seriously... to become world champion. With the Rumble looming, the last thing he wants to do is focus on R-Truth and all of that nonsense right now. He's working on some media scheduling for the lead in to the Royal Rumble when Alex walks into the locker room, pale and a little shaky. The pen he's holding slips to the tip of his fingers as he peers up at his former protege, frowning. "Alex? What's wrong?"

He shakes his head, turning the TV on as the last bit of commercials cycle through, Raw returning. Cole and Lawler both sound subdued so Mike looks away from his paperwork, sitting up straighter as they reair footage of Kane totally descimating Zack Ryder from minutes earlier, throwing him back and ribs first into every surface possible before eventually chokeslamming him straight through the stage onto the concrete below. Memories of another sobering beatdown flashes through his mind as he watches, remembering that it was in that same area of the ramp that he had ended Morrison's WWE career only a few short months earlier. Except that that had been this side of planned, everything from the pipe shot to the final Skullcrushing finale designed to _not_ seriously injure John.

Kane's attack on Ryder is vicious and determined to leave him out of action for awhile, if not permanently. He shakes his head- Ryder is far from his favorite person, the kid anywhere from obnoxious to annoying depending on the day and Miz's mood, but it's still sobering to watch this play out, even in a condensed recap. He looks up at Alex, whose face is shadowed in the faint glow from the monitor and he stands, resting a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Hey, you ok?" Despite his own feelings about Ryder, Alex and he had tagged a time or two in the past, and Mike knows that Alex considers the Long Island Iced Z a friend. With Morrison gone, both are a little limited on those anymore so he understands as the former NXT rookie takes a shuddering breath, frowning at the TV.

"Not really," he admits lowly, eyes downcast. Injuries had been on the uprise in the WWE lately, and neither of them had been safe either- between Alex's hip and Mike's knee, shoulder and various other minor things. With each passing week adding more people to the injured list, tension in the locker room grows- everyone growing more and more uncomfortably aware with the knowledge that one wrong move could cost any of them at any time, their livelihoods at risk almost every time they step into the ring. Despite it all, competition and determination to make it to the top of the mountain keep them all coming back, no matter what.

Sighing, Miz kneads his shoulders a few times before releasing him with a slight shake. "Hey, Alex, I have to go do an interview. I'll be back in a little bit, alright?" At Alex's nod, he nods and heads for the door. "Take it easy, man. I'm sure Zack'll be alright." The interview is going smoothly enough, his thoughts slowly tunneling into a simple thing- his former tag partners. None of them had lasted, none of them had reached a very high level after allegiances with him, and he ignores the uncomfortable guilt niggling at him as he mentions Morrison in that group.

He's about to wrap up and return to Alex when Truth interrupts, dressed in some lame attempt at business attire, claiming to be a research analyst or something equally as ridiculous. Mike zones out as Truth drones on, like he had done many times during their partnership. He's just started to snap back at the other man when Laurinaitis storms in, his voice almost sending Mike to sleep- until he announces a match between the former tag partners for later in the evening... with the loser being #1 in the Sunday's rumble match. He pales and storms off, slamming into the locker room that he had vacated minutes earlier.

Alex looks up at him, surprised. "Mike?"

"Were you watching?" he snaps, throwing himself down on the bench across from him and glowering angrily at the floor.

"Yeah, I saw-"

"I wanted this to be over with, I wanted to turn my attention to the Rumble... but does it happen? Of _course not!_ And why? Because Laurinaitis thinks that Truth deserves to face _me!_ " He angrily runs his fingers through his hair over and over and over, tugging slightly with each pass. " _DAMMIT."_

Alex shakes his head, leaning forward. "Mike, Mike! Man, come on. Losing it like this won't help you any. You can't lose your focus or do something stupid because you're so angry. You don't want to be stuck with the #1 slot in the Rumble, do you?" Mike shakes his head grimly. "Then focus, alright? You need to be on top of your game for this..." His voice drifts slightly and he sighs. "Look, I just... want you to be careful; I can't take something else happening tonight, to anyone else."

Mike's features soften slightly as he takes in the worried look on the younger man's face. "I'm gonna be fine, Alex. I just want this to get over with, I want to beat him and make him _beg_ for the #1 slot, and then move on to the next stage of my career. Such as winning the Rumble and moving on to main event Wrestlemania. Again. Everything's gonna be fine, especially after this match."

But famous last words are killer, and despite his fighting as hard as he can and even holding the advantage for awhile, Mike loses. He stumbles to the back, sweaty and hurting and beyond aggravated. Alex meets him at the door to the locker room, looking sympathetic and worried. "You ok?"

"I'm fine," he snaps, pushing into the room. "Dammit." He throws his discarded wrestling shirt to the ground and stomps on it, his control slipping more and more with each passing second. He slaps his open fists against his thighs as he grabs some street clothes from his bag. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yea- yeah, sure, man," Alex agrees quickly, wide eyed. With no matches or segments tonight, he hadn't even bothered changing into his ring gear. "Let's go." Despite usually being meticulous with his appearance and how he carries himself, Mike pulls on a shirt and pants over his trunks before slamming through the locker room door to the exit, dragging his bag with him carelessly. Alex bites his lip, grabbing his own bag before rushing after him.

Alex drives as Mike angrily flips through his texts, reading various tweet alerts and other notices he's gotten during Raw. Everything fades away as he catches sight of one of Morrison's tweets from earlier in the evening. "Ah, hell," he groans, rereading it with a worried grimace.

_first surf session since hurting my ankle... and squashed by the ocean- #TypicalMonday_

"What?" the younger man asks, looking over with a pensive frown. "What's wrong?"

"Morrison," he mumbles, hitting a few buttons on his phone until it rings in.

Two rings in, he answers. "I'm _fine,_ Mike," he says before Miz can get past opening his mouth. "I didn't reinjure anything, I just got thrown around a bit."

Mike pauses, momentarily relieved at the sound of Morrison's voice, before chuckling. "Y'know, if I _hadn't_ read your tweet and just called to talk, that would've been a weird conversation starter."

"Yeah, well, I know you too well for that," John says, his smile bleeding into his words. "You never call just to talk."

He snorts. "Which is what happens when you're the-"

"Most watched superstar ever," he says along with Mike. "But seriously, I'm fine."

"Your ankle doing alright?" He presses a knuckle to his forehead, sighing. He had tried hard to protect Morrison late last November, but he had still walked away with a bad enough ankle injury that he had had to have rehab for it for weeks. How it had happened, Mike's still unsure, the whole match a blur of emotion and regret.

"Yeah, I'm pretty much a hundred percent now. Rehab's done, now I just have to get into ring shape for that event in February."

"Knowing you, that won't be too difficult," Mike comments, remembering all of the time John used to put into keeping toned no matter where they were at or what was going on at the time.

"Yeah, probably. So, getting ready for the Rumble?"

He grimaces, leaning against the cold window, a headache growing behind his eyes. "Well, I guess you could put it that way. Laurinaitis put me in a match where if I lost I'd be the #1 entrant." They pause, and Mike knows that Morrison more than likely already has guessed where he's going with this. "I lost." He doesn't mention Truth, not wanting to talk about the other man anymore than he already has, or remind Morrison of his own downward spiral in the weeks, months leading up to his firing.

"That sucks," he says slowly. "I'm sorry, man."

"It's alright. I'm not giving up." He takes a deep breath, not sure where his failing confidence ends and the false bravado he had been clinging desperately to for awhile now begins. "I _will_ be champion again."


	85. chapter 85

The week drags after Monday Night Raw. There's media event after media event, an interview here, photo shoot there. Mike gets a slight reprieve in the form of distraction when he hears a familiar name mentioned on Friday Night Smackdown, media schedules and paperwork slipping out of his fingers as he looks up to find Alex Riley sharing a ring with Brodus Clay and trying to dance. "What the...?" He slaps a hand against his face, peeking through his fingers. The mortification only grows when A-Ri's attempts at dancing lasts longer than the actual match, which ends mercifully quickly, Brodus defeating Alex in nearly record time. "Lord, Alex," he mumbles, almost relieved that their allegiance ended before this time. _Though what's worse, that or being involved in that horrid rap with Truth week in and week out? I guess I can't judge... too much._

Finally it's Sunday morning and he and Alex are pulling into the parking lot of the arena. He takes a deep breath, looking up at the tall building as Alex parks nearby. They sit in silence for awhile, both lost in their own thoughts.

Finally Alex turns and smiles slightly at Mike. "You ready?"

"Yeah," he says slowly. "Are you?"

He nods and they both take another minute to stare up at the walls. "Ok, let's go then," Mike finally urges, pushing the car door open.

"Right behind you." They get their things and enter the building, immediately sweeped up in the excitement. No matter how disenchanted people may get, there are some pay per views and events that bring along a certain energy, the Royal Rumble being one. Wrestlemania is the only thing that can beat it; Mike sighs as he absorbs the sensations infused in the air, realizing with a slight pang just how he had missed this feeling, something that had been missing since around his firing and had only disappeared even more with Morrison's release.

It gets him through the rest of the day, until it's time to enter the ring as the #1 entrant for the Rumble. He's shifting around, rotating his wrists and stretching as time ticks by, the blank titantron teasing everyone in attendance about who the second person will be. A breath later and _Say it to my face_ vibrates through the arena. His expression doesn't change even though his breath catches slightly, his chest tightening as Alex heads down the ramp, a determined look on his face.

Former pro/rookie team examine each other for a moment before Mike glances at the titantron, the clock that flashes on there. Ninety seconds between opponents isn't a lot of time to work with, so he peers uncertainly at his former partner. Alex nods subtly, quickly grabbing at him. _Do what you have to, Mike._ The power struggle between the two of them go back and forth for only a few seconds before Mike gains the upper hand. A blink later and he's throwing Alex over the top rope, taking a deep breath as the younger man hits the mat outside.

He glances from Alex to the titantron, tracking as the seconds tick down to zero. They're still frozen in these positions when R-Truth's music hits, A-Ri hesitating until Miz nods discreetly at him. He looks from the top of the ramp, where Truth is mumbling to thin air, back to Mike before nodding back, his lips twisting into a grimace as he heads back up the way he came from. _I almost wouldn't be surprised if Morrison heads down fourth, just to continue throwing former tag partners in my face. More schenanigans from Laurinaitis? This almost seems more like the Anon GM's style..._ He's ready, though, and by the time Truth enters the ring, it only takes a few minutes before Mike tosses him back out similar to how he had gotten rid of Alex. The ring's already begun to fill up by then, four other men surrounding him. He's about to figure out who to go after next when something snags his ankle, sends him down to the mat roughly.

Truth doesn't go down without a fight, not completely. He grips Mike's ankle tightly and drags him out of the ring under the bottom rope, laying him out face first on the floor roughly. His smirk is the last thing Miz sees for a bit, drifting away in a haze of pain and exhaustion from a week's worth of sleep deprivation and promoting this event. When he comes to, the rumble is thankfully still going on overhead and he awkwardly props himself up on the side of the ring, peering blankly inside. _Is that... is that Ricardo Rodriguez?_ he grimaces, thinking he's seeing things. Blink, and blink again, but the dark haired man is still in there, struggling with Santino. _I have seen it all now,_ he thinks, as Ricardo is eliminated, Socko and the Cobra then meeting in the middle of the ring. _Time to get things back on track._

He does hold his own for awhile, but manages no other eliminations. He is eventually caught by, ironically enough, another former tag partner, the Big Show, and sent harshly over the top rope with Cody Rhodes. "Dammit," he grimaces, making his way slowly up the ramp.

Alex is waiting for him in the locker room, a slightly sympathetic smile on his face. "You alright?" He steps back, letting Mike through to his duffel bag to find a towel to wipe the sweat still trickling down his face away.

"Yeah," he says simply. He had hoped to maybe get up to where he belongs with this match, but with the way things had been going lately, the fact that the stats were against him from the minute he lost that match to Truth the week before, he's not exactly surprised. His biggest comfort is that, no matter what, he had lasted the longest in the match over everyone, and had eliminated R-Truth after weeks of being on the losing end against him. "I'm fine." For once, it's the truth.

Apparently his showing in the Rumble had also caught other eyes and he's given another chance, getting placed in the Elimination Chamber with Kofi Kingston, Chris Jericho, CM Punk, R-Truth (Of course) and Dolph Ziggler. _I'm far from done,_ he thinks even after his match against Kofi leads to yet another losing effort. _I'm not about to give up... not now, no way. I've done too much... too much has been done for me... I_ will _be champion again._


	86. chapter 86

**John Morrison defeats Shelton Benjamin to become inaugural WWFX champion**

Miz stares blankly at the mobile web browser, a miniature picture of his former tag partner with the title flickering on the screen, surrounded by a flood of confetti and looking happier than he'd seen him in a really, really long time. As happy as he is for his friend, he can't help the jealousy that also wells up within him. He's dedicated himself to winning back the WWE title but there Morrison goes, wrestling merely one time and walks off with a title- granted it's some barely known indy federation and not even close to being in the same league as the WWE or World Heavyweight title, but _hell_ if it doesn't even look better than the title belt that never quite recovered from Cena's influence, still "boasting" the spinner design from years ago, even if the picture he's looking at is grainy.

It's Saturday morning and he has some media to get to before the weekend's events but for now, he settles back against the cheap hotel pillows, fumbling around for his cell phone. Finding it, he hesitates only long enough to check the world clock on his phone- **Manila, Philippines: 8 PM-** before dialing. Leaning back and closing his eyes, he listens to the ringing noise with a slight frown. _He's probably out celebrating,_ he thinks, preparing to hang up before voicemail clicks in.

"Hello?"

He chokes slightly, sitting up straighter at the familiar voice. "Oh. Hey." He can hear the sounds of the Philippine nightlife in the background but there's soft mumbles and other distorted noises before quiet reigns a few moments later. "Morrison?"

"Yeah, hey, sorry, I couldn't really hear where I was at, so I had to find a quiet corner. What's up?"

Mike smiles a little, grimacing as he brushes a hand through sleep mussed hair. "I just heard the results of your match last night. I, uh... congrats." He wonders if he sounds as awkward as he feels, his teeth working over his lip, hoping that he at least sounded sincere because despite his negative feelings about his own career and envy towards Morrison not being held down by WWE's system anymore, he _is_ honestly happy for the other man.

"Thanks. It feels good, you know? I can't remember the last time I felt good like this after a wrestling match."

Miz closes his eyes, sighing softly. _I wonder how much of that I was a catalyst for..._ "I'm glad, man. Regaining your passion for something is always a good thing."

"Yeah." An awkward pause later, John clears his throat. "So how are things going for you? I heard you're in the Elimination Chamber."

"Yeah, I am." He takes a deep breath. "I'm not done going after the WWE title. I want it back, you know?" It may feel like a tarnished goal, after everything that's happened recently, but it's any given competitors' dream and he can't see any other way to spend his career; he's had one taste of gold and all he can focus on is achieving that accomplishment yet again.

"Sure," Morrison agrees, sounding a little weird. Before Mike can think about it too much or say anything, he continues talking. "Maybe 2012 will be both of our years, huh?"

"Of course it will be," Mike nods tiredly. He wonders if he sounds as false as he feels.

That Monday, he's working on wrapping his hands up in wrist tape when Alex drops down on the bench next to him, dressed yet again in street clothes. Mike doesn't blame him, no point in wearing out his wrestling gear needlessly when he never has a match, Laurinaitis seemingly content to overlook the younger man week in and week out. He feels bad for him, but with his own issues, he can't do anything to help him at this time. Ever since his firing months back, he'd had a strange sensation of walking a very thin line himself, despite decent showings in the Rumble and various title shots before and since. Especially with most of the staff still unwilling to look him in the eye after the various beatdowns he and Truth had orchestrated against them months ago. "Did you hear about John?"

"That he won that title belt in WWFX? Yeah. That's great." He watches Mike's lack of reaction and frowns. "Isn't it?"

"Sure it is, he sounds happier than he has in a really long time. I guess getting fired was the best thing for him right now."

A squirmy feeling creeps up Alex's spine as he stares at him. "Um, Mike-" Their conversation dies away as both hear Mike's name on the TV, Jericho going on and on about how everyone in the locker room is a Chris Jericho wanna-be, Mike's frown turning nearly murderous.

"He did _not,_ " he snaps, standing up. "Did he call me a wannabe? Really?" They listen to the rest of the promo, unsurprised when CM Punk interrupts. The silence that follows _is_ surprising, however, as Punk just smirks at Jericho, slowly dropping the mic to the ground and leaving the way he came, effectively turning the _trolling_ , as it were, around on him. "So this is captivating TV now, I guess," he mumbles, finishing with his wrist tape and tearing it off quickly before leaving to prepare for the six-pack match.

His focus is off from the start, he can tell, the match not flowing as smoothly as he'd like. He can't tell for sure but it feels like everyone's just a little bit off but everything feels so much worse for him until finally he's thrown out of the ring. He's struggling to get to his feet, barely getting a minute to catch his breath, when Truth flies over the top rope towards him, just grazing him as he instinctively reaches out for the other man as he falls. He topples off balance and hits the floor, staring up at the skylights while struggling to catch his breath as the action continues on around them.

He tries to continue on after Truth's dragged out of the match by worried trainers and referees. _Funny, they barely looked twice at me after my shoulder injury..._ It doesn't last very long, however, as his lack of focus eventually costs him the match while Punk and Jericho's rivalry grows, Jericho stealing a victory from Punk. He immediately trudges to the back, cringing as Eve's annoying screams echo through the arena from the titantron feed. "Come on, let's go," he snaps at Alex, quickly grabbing a shirt and throwing it on, followed by some jeans. "I want to get out of here."

"O-ok," the younger man agrees, quickly grabbing his things and following him. After they arrive at the hotel, Mike drops right into bed and stretches out, disinterested in doing anything. "Hey, do you want something to eat from the bar downstairs?" He shakes his head and Alex cringes worriedly. "Ok, I'll be back in a few minutes then. If you change your mind, call me."

"Yeah, sure." He rolls over, away from Alex's line of vision, and releases a deep, shuddery breath, overly aware of the other man's gaze on his back. "Just go, Alex. I'm fine."

Flushing, Alex leaves quickly. As soon as he's out of the room, he pulls his cell phone out, leaning against the hotel door. It only rings a couple of times before clicking in. "Hey, John. I know you probably didn't watch Raw tonight, but..." He pauses, biting his lip. "Oh, you did? Yeah... I think, um, think he needs help. This isn't good, you know? He's been running himself ragged, and..." He stops, closing his eyes in relief. "Oh. Ok, yeah, sure. I'll make sure he does that. See you soon, then." He sighs, clicking the phone shut, glances worriedly back at their room once more as he heads for the elevator.


	87. chapter 87

John Morrison watches quietly, shuffling through a pile of looseleaf papers, as Raw kicks off with a debate. He frowns at the TV, shaking his head. He definitely doesn't miss the fluff of the WWE; the steady stream of competition, though tiring after awhile, is something he hungers for at times, but these random, pointless talking segments were always the bane of his existence. His phone beeps mid-way through Truth's ramble about spider stew- and isn't that something, after months of doing nothing but beating down everyone and anyone in his way, he seems to have inched back to his old self. Obviously still insane, but not the person capable of attacking his friends over a title shot, at least. Or so it seems. He's not sure he trusts it, but since he's out of the business, it doesn't really matter anymore. However, it does leave Mike and, to a slightly lesser extent, Alex in his scope...

Shaking these thoughts from his head, he picks the phone up and scrolls through to his texts. _I'm going to be staying with Mike for the next few days, so everything's ready on my end. How about yours? -A-Ri_

A week ago, Alex and Morrison had begun bouncing ideas off of the other how to best make Mike just _relax_ for a bit this week. With WWE in California this week following the short overseas tour, and no live event shows prior to the Elimination Chamber- giving the guys a brief break before the final pay per view leading into Wrestlemania- there seems no better time to make plans such as these.

_Will be ready in time, see you then._ He puts the phone down, running a hand through his hair, tucking it behind his ear before he turns his attention back to the TV in time to see Jericho get hit with Kofi's finisher. Despite having had months to adjust to life post-WWE, it's still weird to think that the things he's watching on TV are happening in real time only a few hours away, with him not having anything to do with it.

The show rolls on, pingponging between the Cena and Kane drama- he cringes as Zack witnesses his so-called _broski_ and love interest kissing; despite the many problems they'd had, especially when Morrison had been fired and Zack had turned around, using cheap effects to make it seem Morrison had been killed on his show, he still feels bad for the younger man- and the elimination chamber matches that had been announced early in the show. He only half pays attention until Miz's match, which goes surprisingly quick. Miz taps fast to the anaconda vice, despite Morrison's trained senses immediately locking into Punk babying his arm early in the bout. An injury this close to the Elimination Chamber match this Sunday could be the turning point in the match, be all the advantage someone opportunistic enough could need to walk out the new WWE champion leading into Wrestlemania. Like Mike.

He leans back, barely listening as Cena rambles. He taps a pencil against the papers before him, sighing slightly. He's more relaxed than he's been in a long time, so it's hard to watch WWE and see just how stressed and tired Mike looks, due to his fruitless title aspirations and the ridiculous touring schedule. Hard to talk to Alex and hear how disillusioned he is at times after the freefall his career has taken the last year. "Yeah, this should be good for them."

The next day, California has one of its random attacks of _weather_ and Morrison wakes up to a grey, drizzling mess of a day that leaves the natives freaking out and acting like pure lava was pouring from the sky instead of little droplets of water. He makes a face at the sky before going for his phone, an idea coming to him mid-text. _Change of plans,_ he texts quickly as he grabs a few bags and some things from his fridge before rushing out of his apartment.

He's just finished setting up when his phone goes off, almost vibrating off of one of the tables he has it laid upon. _We're here, where do we go?_ He texts some quick instructions back before heading out into the rain to wait, half-smiling as the cool liquid drips down his face. After a few minutes, he finally sees his former coworkers heading towards him, Miz hunched down in a hoodie as he trudges next to Alex, who's barely wearing a thin jacket over his short sleeved shirt. "Hey, guys," he greets them as they join him, Mike looking around with a frown.

"Hey, John. Good job on finding this place on short notice. Stupid weather-"

Mike, interrupting Alex with no hesitation or regret, shakes his head, looking from Alex to John. "What is this? What are we doing here?" He looks around once more, taking in the soft green foliage of the park, the soft babbling of a nearby river that mixes in soothingly with the repetitive sound of rain falling softly around them.

Morrison chuckles slowly, leading them back into the shelter he had rented for the day. Miz relaxes slightly once he's out of range of the chilly, steady rain. "Well, um. The setting is actually supposed to be the beach, but with the weather being what it is, we decided to change things up a little bit. Either way, it was Alex's idea that after the tour to Abu Dhabi and my responsibilities in Manila wrapped up, some fresh air would be good for all of us." He pauses, glancing at the hoodie Mike's still wrapped up in and sighs. "But if it's too cold for you, we could always go back to my apartment or your house, the point is for us all to just relax and decompress a little."

He straightens a bit, shaking his head. "No, John. This is good, it's... peaceful." It's so not his usual scene but he's visibly exhausted and worn ragged from the stress of the past few weeks so when he settles down on a wooden bench under the shelter and glances over at the bags scattered across the table behind him, John and Alex exchange quick grins, moving to join him. "So what all'd you bring?" he asks, pulling the cooler over to him to look.


	88. chapter 88

John's plan for all three of them to relax and recharge a little bit ends early Wednesday when Alex has to leave to handle his NXT responsibilities. They drop him off at the airport before returning to Miz's house, stuffing the leftover food and drinks from the park into the fridge before going to the living room.

"Find something," Miz urges, tossing the remote his way before sprawling out across his couch. He still feels deliciously lazy after the previous day spent in the park, a sensation he usually doesn't allow himself to endulge in much if at all, and even is patient enough to focus on whatever weird thing Morrison ultimately finds to watch.

Still flipping through channels, John glances over at him. "How long is it until Wrestlemania, anyway?"

Miz makes a thoughtful face before shrugging. "Something like forty-five days, I think. Why?"

"Just curious." They stare at the flashing colors from the TV for a few more minutes before John speaks up again. "Bet the locker room's starting to get that buzz going, huh?" He can't help but feel a little odd, this being the first 'Mania he's not to be involved in in years.

"Yeah, I guess." He looks over, catching sight of the slightly worried look on Morrison's face and shrugs, well-aware of how lackluster his response had sounded. "A year ago I knew I was going to be main eventing 'Mania. I don't even have an inkling this year yet."

Morrison sits in silence for a moment, watching the TV for a little while longer before sitting straighter, looking over at him. "Well, nothing's written in stone yet, right? There's still the Elimination Chamber... and who knows what'll happen in the month and a half after that. Never say never, yeah?"

"Yeah," he murmurs. He watches as John resumes flipping through the TV channels, neither inspired to stand and turn a lamp on as the daylight slowly begins to recede, the gleam of the TV lighting the room up to fill the spreading darkness. "Do you miss it?" As soon as the question slips out of his mouth, he winces, unsure what the reaction to such an impulsive question could be.

"WWE? Sometimes," John shrugs easily. As Mike relaxes, glad at not being yelled at, he puts the remote down and sighs. "I miss competition sometimes; Manila was good and easy, but there's just a vibe with WWE that I'm not sure you can get anywhere else. I hate the politics and crap, but... hmm." After a pause, he nudges Mike. "I miss annoying you more often too."

Mike rolls his eyes, chuckling. "Whatever. You still annoy me plenty."

John smirks back, before flipping through more channels. "God, there is _nothing_ on right now..." Mike laughs, absorbing the pure familiarity of the moment, how often they had lived this during their initial partnership.

By the time he has to go back on the road that weekend, Mike is more relaxed than he's been in months, if not years, and he looks ahead to Elimination Chamber. He can't help but be a little anxious because it is one, if not _the,_ of the most brutal matches in WWE history but Morrison's words keep echoing in his mind, a flicker of hope growing as he thinks more about it. With five other men in the match, Punk's chances are fewer; of course Miz's is also but he somehow feels a little more hopeful about his chances against Punk's.

His chances remain looking good up to the final few moments of the match, his heart racing, senses becoming hyperaware as Jericho gets kicked clear out of the chamber, hits the cameraman and is proven unable to continue. It leaves him and Punk left, and he thinks he has it after hitting the Skullcrushing finale, until Punk somehow kicks out, regroups and hits the GTS, eliminating Miz and taking away his hope in one fell swoop.

He stumbles up the ramp, grimacing in pain as he makes his way to the locker rooms. Alex looks up as he enters, smiling sympathetically. "You ok, Mike?"

"I'm great," he sighs, dropping down next to the younger man. "God, I was so close." He leans forward as A-Ri pats him on the back, unable to think of anything appropriate to say to that.

After a few minutes, Alex stands. "Come on, Mike. Let's get out of here. Maybe things will look better in the morning."

By the morning, he doesn't feel a whole lot better about the result from the night before but when they arrive at the arena, the early announcement is that that night there will be a second chance match, the losers from the Elimination Chamber match put in a battle royal for the #1 contendership to Punk's title. His chances are even worse than last night's match, but he tries his best, just to be second eliminated. He stumbles to the back, alternating between annoyed and disappointed, and makes his way to the locker room, feeling deja vu from the night before. Thankfully this time Alex remains quiet, his gaze switching from Miz to the TV and back. They watch quietly until the elimination mess at the end, both men wincing as Wade Barrett begins thrashing around in pain, his arm visibly injured. Dolph and Truth also caught up in the nonsense, Alex glances over at his former mentor. "Guess it's a good thing you weren't out there."

"Yeah," he says with a disturbed look on his face. Injuries come and go with wrestling, always have and always will, but so many competitors had fallen in the past few months that a growing sober feeling passes through the locker room with each one, every guy realizing anew just how easily their careers could get derailed or stopped completely at the drop of a hat.

These thoughts keep playing through Mike's mind and he takes the opportunity the next night to appear on Smackdown, biting through his tongue as he congratulates Daniel Bryan, jealousy bleeding through him as he looks at his former NXT rookie holding that World title up egotistically. He half mockingly suggests they form a tag team when Sheamus interrupts and dares to steal Mike's microphone. What follows is confusing and rushed, Daniel attacking Sheamus as he and Mike exchange words before escaping from the ring. Still angry from Sheamus' various slights towards him in the last few minutes, Miz lunges forward and attacks Sheamus, just to get tossed out of the ring. He lands hard, staring up at the lights dazedly.

He's just struggled to his feet, trying to catch his breath, when Teddy Long comes out and throws him and Sheamus into a match against each other. He's not prepared, far from it, but even so he comes close a time or two, until Sheamus catches him, slamming him hard onto the mat, crushing him. He lays there for a minute, his eyes closed. _Three losses in as many days..._ He punches the mat, wincing. _Something has to give here..._


	89. chapter 89

Thirty four days. Barely even a month. At this time a year ago, Mike's role in Wrestlemania had been cemented for almost that same amount of time. _How things change,_ he thinks grimly, running a finger down his media schedule. Even worse than not being on the card is doing this interview and that radio show, discussing the very show he as of yet isn't involved in at all ad nauseam. He swipes his hand across the table, quickly scattering the loose sheets of paper off of the table and onto the floor before leaning forward, kneading his forehead. "Ok, deep breaths. There's still time," he reminds himself, trying not to completely lose himself in the morose thoughts. _I wonder if this is what Morrison felt like last fall,_ he thinks, shaking his head as he gazes out of the hotel window.

That Monday does nothing to lift his spirits. He's thrown into a Wrestlemania rematch of sorts against Cena with little notice or time to prepare. Agitated, he brings a microphone with him and just simply vents- about his media events, and how hard he's worked this year just to be given virtually nothing for the biggest show of the year. Realizing he's whining in front of a sea of people who could probably care less about his complaints, he declares that he'll prove himself Wrestlemania worthy and drops the microphone, heading for the ring. He holds his own off and on, Cena's offense equally as fluid. He thinks he might have a chance until he's twisted around into the STF, his neck and back protesting the uncomfortable angle until he slams his hand down repeatedly, tapping out.

Cena leaves and he remains in the ring, staring blankly ahead as the obnoxious theme music echoes through the arena, his anger and disillusionment growing with each passing second. He shakes off the referee's hand, grimacing as the other man continues talking to him, keeping his distance a bit. "Miz, you have to get out of the ring, the next match is coming up."

"Shut up," he huffs, standing in the middle of the ring and feeling like a petulant child as he crosses his arms, refusing to acknowledge anything else said to him. He demands for, and is given, a microphone after a minute, and begins loudly demanding someone from management come out and grant him his Wrestlemania match _now._ He's still there, waiting expectantly, when HHH's music hits, the referee looking as confused as he feels. A strange sense of hope fills him as he watches HHH nod as if he agrees with all that Mike had been saying prior to this, his lips twitching up into a smile as he waits to hear who his opponent will be. It all goes to hell the minute HHH actually enters the ring, though.

He's kicked roughly in the gut before pedigreed into the canvas, the referee quickly returning to check on him. He's dazed and embarrassed that he had actually believed HHH would give in that easily, his gaze turned towards the ramp as the COO leaves as quickly as he'd come. He pounds his fist against the mat, gritting his teeth. "Dammit!"

Alex is waiting for him, as always, in the locker room, as he stumbles inside, looking sweaty and miserable. "Mike-"

"No. Don't," he cuts the kid off with a snap, grabbing his clothes roughly. He doesn't even bother taking his wrestling gear off, just roughly pulls the street wear on over it.

"Where are you going?" A-Ri asks, eyes wide and voice subdued as Mike stomps towards the door, barely glancing over in his direction once the brief time he'd been in the room.

"I need some air," he huffs, clenching his fists at his side. "Just... drive yourself to the hotel, alright? I'll see you there later." And just like that, he's gone, leaving an agape Alex behind. He slams his way through the exit door, taking in a shuddering breath as the cool February wind strikes his bare arms. Briefly he regrets his decision but ultimately carries on with it, marching through the dark evening streets, winding this way and that through the streets of Portland.

The hotel is only a few blocks away from the arena, the bright sign heralding it visible from almost any angle downtown, so he's not that worried about getting lost or into much trouble, especially with all of his things back with Alex at the arena. He stops at this thought, suddenly uncomfortable at how he had treated his only remaining friend in the business, shaking his head. "Smooth, Mike," he mumbles, trudging along a sidewalk. "I'll apologize later, it'll be fine." He buries his hands into his pants pockets and sighs, looking up at the night sky that seems to stretch on forever and ever overhead.


	90. chapter 90

Alex is deeply asleep when Mike returns to the hotel room hours after Raw that night, too wiped out and sluggish to actually say or do anything other than stir slightly as the older man pokes around the hotel room, considerate enough to stay quiet as he gets ready for bed. A-Ri's eyes flutter briefly before he drifts back asleep, comforted by the soft sounds of Mike's shuffling across the room.

When morning hits, the unrelenting sun gleaming down across the beds, Alex sits up groggily, rubbing his face. He's about to turn to Mike's side of the room and say something when he realizes that the other bed is empty. Mike's things are gone. He stares, uncomprehending, before standing. "Mike?" He looks in the bathroom, even checks out in the hall. Both are empty. He ducks back into the room and stands in the middle of the floor, uncertain what to do next. Yes, early flights are commonplace in the business, they all work themselves ragged and deal with outrageous travel schedules, especially during Mania season, but no matter what was going on, Mike's never just ditched him before. Of course they live on opposite coasts so sometimes they barely see each other between events, but yet...

He sighs, closing his eyes. Of course Mike's lack of a Wrestlemania match was eating at him, and understandably so, but this is very unlike his former mentor. He frets, picking up and thumbing through his phone. Random tweets overnight from coworkers and friends, a couple texts that he had left unread while at Raw the night before, but nothing from Mike. He grimaces, clicking the phone shut. "Ok... ok. He just had an early flight and didn't want to wake me. Things are fine." Speaking it aloud doesn't help his tension. "Dammit, dammit..."

By that Monday, Alex's still not heard anything from his friend. His anxiety is growing as Raw comes closer and closer and he still hasn't seen Mike. "Crap, what's going on with him?" he asks thin air, scrubbing his hands through his short hair.

"You talking to yourself?"

He jerks at the sudden voice, turning to the laptop set up on the hotel bed before him, surprised to see that the _Skype connection_ screen had finally stopped cycling through, gaining permission to connect. "Oh. Uh, hey, John."

Morrison smirks, tipping his ever present sunglasses down as he peers at the younger man. Based on what little he can see, Alex thinks he's currently at something to do with his improv comedy aspirations, grateful that even after all this time, John will still drop his own responsibilities to deal with his and Mike's dramas. Which in the end is almost always Mike's drama, but that's neither here nor there right now. "Well, you look like crap. I'll ignore the Lil' Jimmy moment I just came in on for now, what's going on?"

Riley rolls his eyes, adjusting his position on the bed so he can see John better. "I haven't heard from Mike since last week."

Morrison freezes, turning to look fully into the screen as he loses interest in whatever he's doing off to the side. "Wait, really? I thought he was just dodging me, and that's nothing new, but you too?"

"You've tried calling him?"

John shrugs. "Yeah, I texted him, called a couple times. I know he's busy with media, especially around this time of year, but I was a little surprised he hadn't gotten back to me."

"Especially considering he had no problem tweeting a crapload while he was in Russia..." Alex sighs, picking at the frayed hotel bedspread. "I just dunno what to do, John. He's not talking to anyone, and the more time passes that he doesn't get a match, he's distancing himself more and more."

John sighs, looking troubled as he pulls his sunglasses off fully and settles down before the laptop. "I'm not sure there's a lot we can do to help him, hell he might not _want_ us to try to help at this point in time. I mean, the only thing that probably _would_ help would be a Wrestlemania match and neither of us are in the position to do anything about that."

"I know, I just feel like crap that he's struggling and all I can do is sit back and watch, if that." He shifts and then freezes, hearing a keycard in the door. "Uh, John, I think Mike's-" His voice dies away as the former world champion enters the hotel room, dropping his bag on the floor and kicking it towards the spare bed closest to the door. "Here," he finishes lamely, looking over the laptop at his friend. "Hey, Mike."

Mike stares at him strangely before dropping onto his bed, crossing his arms under his head and staring at the ceiling. "Hey." Raw is in a few hours so they have a little bit of time to get settled before venturing out to the arena, but this is the latest that Alex has ever seen his friend arrive for a show.

Alex looks worriedly at the computer screen, but Morrison simply shakes his head. _Not now,_ he mouths, holding his hand up in a quick wave. Giving up, the younger man clicks the laptop shut, killing the webcam feed. He turns to look at Mike, his lips tightening. He wants to ask so much, figure out a way to help the visibly miserable man before him, but there's nothing he can do or say or think that will fix this. Both of their careers had gone into nonstop freefall once the whole power shift between Laurinaitis and HHH happened, the only slight plus being that they actually still _had_ careers unlike Morrison, but whereas Alex's loss of momentum had only taken him out of sight of his US title aspirations, Mike had fallen straight from the top and never fully recovered, shaken all the way to the core of his once untouchable self-confidence.

The strangled silence continues until they leave for the arena, Alex surprised when Mike allows him to drive, his expression remaining stoic even as he throws the keys over to the younger man. When they arrive, Mike grabs his things from the trunk and heads for the arena without waiting around like he usually does with the stance of someone just wanting to get this over with. Alex has to hurry to catch up with him, wanting desperately to finally talk to his former NXT pro, but when he finally manages it, the older man is standing frozen in the middle of the hallway, staring blankly at the night's agendas. There are various scribbles with segments that the talent wanted to be shown that night, mostly having to do with Rock and Cena, or Shawn Michael's appearance- _of course,_ Alex thinks with an annoyed grimace- but it doesn't take long to realize why Mike is looking like he's just been kicked in the head. **The Miz vs Big Show** is scrawled across the bottom, leaving no question that there's still nothing decided for Mike regarding Wrestlemania.

Miz doesn't even look over at Alex before shouldering his bag and storming down the hallway to look for a locker room to change in. Alex hesitates, unsure whether following him right now would be the best idea. Based on the board, he has nothing to do tonight- not that that's anything new- so he simply drags his own bag into the room Mike's just entered, quietly plopping down on the bench across from him. Nothing is said as Mike roughly pulls on his new t-shirt, barely bothering to adjust it so it settles properly across his shoulders before kicking his bag away and getting to work on his shoulder pads and wrist tape.

"Mike-"

"No. Don't," the aggravated man snaps, quickly tying his boots up. "Just don't." He's gone, storming through the locker room door with enough force to almost knock it off of its hinges, almost pushing an entering Curt Hawkins off balance, before Alex can snap his teeth closed again, wide eyed and a little horrified at the reaction just saying one word had caused.

"Watch where the hell you're going," Curt snaps, lifting his cane warningly. Why exactly he still brings that with him everywhere he goes, Alex isn't sure, but as Mike slaps it away and glowers at Curt, Alex wonders if it might suddenly have use, should Miz snap here. But as quickly as the tension appears, it dies away and Mike storms off, purposely shoulder checking the other man out of the doorway so he can get through unhindered.

"Dammit," he grimaces, unable to sit still. He leaves the arena, breathing in the crisp March air as darkness descends across Boston. He wanders around the parking lot for awhile, wishing that Morrison was still employed by the WWE. He tries, he really does, but his and Mike's relationship is different enough that he doesn't know how to help, what to say or do to ease some of the burden or if he even should. Whereas Morrison and Miz had been basically equals up to their original tag team split, Alex and Mike's had always had a bit of a mentor/protege undercurrent to it, leaving him uncertain how to proceed in some circumstances. John had apparently been there since the early days, when other people would barely look twice at Mike or even allow him into the locker rooms, leaving him to prepare for matches in the hallways. He would have a much better idea how to handle this situation, but Alex has no clue. He feels like a horrible friend.

He's not sure how long he's stayed outside, leeching off of the arena's wifi, reading and responding to emails he's backlogged on, when his phone vibrates in his hand. Morrison's name flashes across the screen. _Mike's match is on. Prepare yourself._ He reads it with a slight frown before heading inside the arena to see for himself what the Shaman of Sexy could possibly mean. By the time he makes it to a monitor, the match is over, Mike still sprawled out after the aftermath of one of Big Show's punches. He winces. "Oh great..."

He decides to give Mike some time alone following the match, trying not to worry even as he goes the rest of the night without seeing him. Once Raw ends, he quietly collects his things and heads for the rental car, wondering if he's going to have to wait for his erstwhile traveling partner or if Mike's been the one waiting for awhile, his temper growing with each passing second. _Maybe that, if nothing else, will make him talk to me, even if it's just to bitch me out,_ he thinks.

All expectations aren't met, however, as he makes it to where the car had been parked and freezes. It's gone. The parking spot is empty. He gapes at it for a long moment, shaking his head. _What the..._ He's about to go yell at security to demand what happened, though he already has his suspicions, when he hears someone walking towards him, each step followed by a rasping thud of something hitting against concrete. He turns to find Zack Ryder heading his way, a slight smile on his still flushed face, probably replaying earlier with Eve. Alex tries not to dwell too much on it, too deep in his own drama and issues to get involved in Zack's romantic woes right now. "Hey, man."

"Hey, bro." Zack seems to become more aware of his surroundings as he stands next to Alex, peering down at the empty spot where the rental car had once been. "I found this note on my stuff, thought maybe you'd know what was up?" He pulls out a hastily torn sheet of paper from his jeans pocket, holding it out so Alex could read.

The younger man pales, pinching his nose as he skims it. "Damn," he mumbles. Mike's messy handwriting fills the sheet of paper, ordering Zack to give him a lift back to the hotel. Alex isn't sure how to take the note, that Mike couldn't come to him to just tell him that he wants to leave, but could actually bother _to_ think of someone he'd be willing to take a ride from _and_ leave them instructions to _not_ leave him behind. He sighs, shaking his head as he looks up at the Woo Woo Woo Kid. "Well, then. I guess I'm tagging along with you." He looks uncertainly down at the cane Zack's using for support and hesitates. "You sure you're ok to drive?"

"Sure, bro. I got myself here ok, don't worry. Unless you want to drive?"

He considers it for a brief moment but shakes his head, anxious to get out of the parking lot and away from his overwhelming thoughts. "Nah, I believe you. C'mon man, let's get out of here."

Zack's grin is quick and blinding in the overhead lights. "You know it, bro."

Alex chuckles slightly as he follows him, only slightly distracted from his worry over Mike. _There has to be a way to make him feel better about the situation... I just don't know what, or how._


	91. chapter 91

Friday night Smackdown. Alex would ordinarily be at home, relaxing on a sunny Florida beach or something similar to that, but after reading a tweet from Mike saying that he'd be at Smackdown that week, he had decided to make the trip to the Mohegan Sun after all to show support to his former mentor. With all that Mike's been going through, he figures it's the least he could do.

"I didn't expect you to be here," Mike comments, grimly tying up his boots as Alex watches from the opposing bench.

"Last minute decision," he shrugs with a smile. "What's your match tonight, anyway?"

He rolls his eyes, frowning as he continues getting ready. "Teaming with Cody Rhodes and Daniel Bryan against Sheamus, Big Show and Randy Orton." He picks viciously at his tangled laces, grumbling under his breath as he only makes it worse. "You know I really shouldn't have to go through all of this just to get a match at Wrestlemania, I defeated John Cena last year and this year nothing? It makes no sense."

Alex nods, leaning forward. "No one ever said Laurinaitis was smart. If he can't see that you deserve a Mania match, well..."

"You know, it's strange," Mike mumbles, only half listening to him. "My career was better when the Anon GM was behind the scenes, screwing everything up." He checks the clock, quickly wrapping his wrists up in tape. "I should go. I'll meet you back here later, alright?"

"Sure man, good luck." He has a few minutes before Mike's match starts, so he wanders around the Smackdown hallways, saving hi to a few people he knows before ending up at the monitor near the gorilla position. Settling in on a trunk, he watches on as Mike and Daniel work most of the match, Cody doing his best to avoid Big Show. By the end of the match, Cody has run off to avoid Big Show, and Sheamus and Daniel's fight has spilled into the audience, leaving Mike alone to contend with Orton. An RKO later and it's all over, A-Ri cringing as the replay shows it all over again.

Mike glowers over towards him as he walks through the curtain, pushing off the referee as he tries to help him. "I'm fine," he snaps at the older man. He shrugs him away and joins Alex, hopping up next to him on the trunk, sighs. "Well. I guess I know how Morrison felt when he was left to deal with Mark Henry alone last year now."

The younger man, after an awkward moment, nudges him. "Sorry, man."

They sit quietly for a few minutes as the show rolls on around them until finally Mike stands up. "I'm gonna get my stuff and then we can go back to the hotel. I'm tired."

"Alright." Alex watches him leave before fishing his phone out of his jeans pocket. He taps his fingers against the surface of the trunk as it rings through to voicemail. "Hey, John, call me back when you get a minute," he urges, rolling his eyes before hanging up. Moments later, Mike returns with his bag, unaware of the attempted phone conversation he'd just missed. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah."

Later on, Mike is about to doze off when Alex's phone goes off, thankfully on vibrate so Miz doesn't respond to it ringing. Alex attempts to act normal as he holds the phone to his chest and ducks into the bathroom, feeling ridiculously like a teenage girl trying to hide a conversation with the resident bad boy from her parents. "Hello?"

"Hey, Alex. You called?"

"Yeah," he nods, quietly pushing the bathroom door shut behind him. "I was wondering, do you have plans this Wednesday...?"

After another failure of a Monday Night Raw, his attempts at even asking Laurinaitis for a Wrestlemania match failing as he loses via submission to CM Punk, Mike is setting up for his USA Network live chat when there's a knock on his door. He groans, kneading his forehead. "Who... now... why?" he grumbles, still aggravated after some minor technical difficulties with logging in on USA Network's character chatter website. Brushing his hands off on his shorts, he heads for the door and stares as John waits on his doorstep, smirking with a paper bag in hand. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, a certain someone thought you'd like some company for your Psych debut," he grins, waving the bag at him. "I brought snacks."

"Oh, fantastic. Let me guess, Alex?" he mumbles drily. John pushes past him and he gapes after him as he quickly scatters the sack of food and drinks across the coffee table, coming uncomfortably close to knocking his laptop off the edge. "Oh yeah, great, make yourself at home. Sure, why not."

"Hurry up, Mike, it's about to come on," he urges, ignoring him and dropping onto the couch as he opens a bag of popcorn. The show is already on and right from the start, he starts cracking up.

"Oh my God, shut up," Mike groans, sitting down as a clip of him winking at a girl shows, his very first close shot no less.

"That's no fun," he responds, grinning. "I know this is supposed to be a comedic kind of show anyway but something tells me you're gonna be the funniest part of this episode for me."

Miz glowers at him and sighs, "Are you going to talk through all of this episode?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Oh, God, why did Alex encourage this?" he groans, ducking down against his couch cushions as John snickers next to him.

"I'm not surprised you're in an episode about a reality show," he sighs, burying his hand in the bag of popcorn, undeterred when Mike slaps him away, trying to get the popcorn away. "Are you the murderer?"

"John, I swear, if you don't shut up already..."

They watch for a few minutes in silence when John speaks up again. "I can see why you and James Roday get along."

"Ugh, I hate you," he sighs, leaning forward to check the laptop on the first commercial. "You're about as annoying as some of these questions."

"That wounds me," John comments, leaning back against the couch to wait through the commercials as he watches Mike deal with the chat on .

"Hank's sarcasm is about as well received as yours, John," Mike comments a few minutes later as he finishes typing, returning to lounging on the couch to watch a bit of the show.

"That pale guy looks like he's related to Sheamus."

"Oh my God, you're seriously not going to shut up this whole hour." He rolls his eyes at Morrison.

"Did you expect anyth-" He comes to a sudden stop midsentence and peers at Mike. "Did you seriously just call your arms Federico and Pepe? It sounds like chihuahua names!" He starts to snicker.

Mike groans, burying his face in his hands. "My God, I forgot how annoying it can be to watch TV with you."

They fall silent as the "hearts" are handed out on the bachelorette type show, John freezing as more than one thing is revealed about Mike's character- his name and the fact that he has a girlfriend. "Wait, your character's name is Mario?" He begins laughing anew, rolling his eyes as the scene carries on with Miz attacking both main stars on Psych, leaving them laying before picking up a flower vase to hit James Roday with. "Where's Luigi when you need him, huh? Is the girlfriend named Peach?"

"Don't start," Mike warns him but it's too late- his character is eliminated from the reality show and immediately hits himself in the head with the vase, knocking himself out. "I mean it, _don't start."_

"That didn't look much different from your usual matches," John chokes out, laughing so hard that eventually no noise comes out of his mouth as he leans against the side of the couch in an attempt to catch his breath. "Oh my God."

"I'm gonna shut this TV off, I swear to God," he hisses, glowering over at him.

"That Juliet girl looks more vicious than you do," he gasps, struggling to calm down. Mike's expression following this just sends him over the edge again. "Ok, ok, I'm sorry. Dammit, I needed that laugh though." He sits up straighter, wiping his face. "You should guest star on more shows."

He rolls his eyes, refocusing on his live chat as Morrison munches through the bag of popcorn through the rest of the episode. Once it concludes, Mike sits back, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow at John. "Well, are you done laughing at me now?"

"Oh, c'mon, man. If people laugh at this episode, doesn't it mean you did what you're meant to do?" Seeing that Mike's still unimpressed with his answer, he slaps him on the arm. "Come on, chill out. This Wrestlemania thing is really getting to you that badly, huh?"

His face darkens even more as he nods. "Of course it is, John. God... I just... can't believe they're ignoring me, when last year I main evented Wrestlemania. I just don't know what to do."

John watches him for a moment before leaning forward. "There's always the Laurinaitis vs Long match but... if you did get a place on it, would you really want to fight for Laurinaitis' team? He is the one who's pretty much ignoring you, right?"

Mike nods. "Yeah. And I don't want to fight for Teddy's team either but... The card's filling up and there's only so many things I can do from here on in."

"Well, do what you do best. If people are ignoring you, then be louder than everyone else and gain notice. They won't give you a spot on the card? Make your own. It's far from ideal and not at all what you really want, but it's better than nothing, right? If someone gives you trouble over it? Sic Federico and Pepe on them."

"Oh God, shut up," Mike hisses, trying to glare even as his lips twitch tellingly.

"Hey, you're about to smile. Come on, man. It's funny. Just admit it."

"Ugh you're so annoying," he sighs, finally laughing. "God, if anyone says that my live chat tonight sucked, I'm so blaming you." He pushes John over and grins as his former Dirt Sheet co-host sinks against his couch cushions, smirking.

"Another thing you're good at doing, blaming me for everything," he cracks.

Mike's eyes narrow as he glares once more at him, finally releasing another laugh. "You're so stupid. So when exactly did Alex call you anyway?" he asks, stealing the popcorn from Morrison as the conversation slowly eases into less weighty subjects.

Wrestlemania is still looming, pressing on Mike due to his lack of time on the card, but for tonight, he lets it go and focuses on spending some much needed time catching up with Morrison and what he's been up to the past few weeks.


	92. chapter 92

Mike smirks as he heads for the arena entrance, spotting Alex sitting outside, totally distracted with his cell phone. The most must-see WWE champion of all time rolls his eyes as his twitter addicted friend doesn't even look up at his approach, not pausing midstep at all before he bumps into Alex's knee, startling him into almost jerking clean off of the trunk. _Wonder how long he's been waiting... and who for,_ he thinks despite already knowing, smirk easing into something a little more sincere. "Hey, man."

Alex relaxes as he realizes it's Mike standing before him, shaking his head while he pockets his cell phone. "Hey. I didn't see you..."

"Obviously," his former mentor comments, moving to enter the building and unsurprised when the younger man scrambles to follow him, as always. "What were you doing out there?"

He doesn't need to look to know he looks sheepish as he mumbles, "I was waiting for you. Erm, did John come by last week?"

"You mean for Psych?" Pausing in the middle of the hallway, Mike turns to stare at him, keeping his face blank. Alex nods, suddenly looking uncertain. "Yeah, he came by." He clings to his stoic reaction for as long as possible, his resolve cracking further as the younger man shifts anxiously, suddenly looking apologetic. "Do you _know_ how annoying it is to watch TV with John?"

He scratches his cheek, his whole body tense as he waits, unsure how to react. "Umm, yeah, I mean, we have a time or two. Uh, was it a bad idea to invite him over? I mean, you were probably busy, I should've checked or-"

Mike waves his hand, cutting off the fretful babbling like he'd taken a sharp knife to it, leaving Alex wide eyed and slack jawed. It gets harder and harder for Miz to not just crack up, put him out of his misery already. "Really, I don't know if I should smack you or thank you," he says, barely holding onto the last shreds of his solemn gaze, lifting his hand. Alex glances down at it, his gaze turning a little darker as he waits for whatever will come next, not breathing as Mike finally loses it, grinning so wide his face almost hurts. "Oh, man, your face," he says with a chuckle, slapping Alex fondly on the cheek. "Thanks for inviting him over, I really did need the distraction." Nodding, he turns on his heel and continues down the hall, leaving the speechless man behind for a few minutes until his brain catches up with what just happened. His smile grows as the footsteps behind him finally pick up again, Alex mumbling in annoyance until they arrive at the locker room.

"You're a jerk," he says once he catches up, shaking his head as Mike's glee only seems to grow.

"You've known that for a really long time by now, Alex," he says simply, pushing the locker room door open. They set their things down and Mike wanders around, preparing his ring gear for the night ahead, his good mood slipping as he looks ahead, to Wrestlemania once more. Most of Alex's recent responsibilities have been on NXT or Smackdown lately so he doesn't move to do anything, sitting back to watch his former mentor instead.

"So what are you doing tonight?" he inquires, leaning back and stretching out, careful not to get in Mike's way as he wanders around the room.

"I'm not sure, I have to check the board to see if there's a match listed for me for the evening," he says slowly. "If not, I think I'm gonna try to get on Laurinaitis' team one more time."

Alex nods, eyes shining with sympathy. "Good luck, Mike." When the former champion leaves a little bit later, Alex sits up straighter and turns on the monitor. The show will start soon, but until then he flicks through channels, looking for something to fill the silence. When his phone finally shows that it's a couple minutes after eight, he turns to the USA Network and shakes his head as it starts with Chris Jericho once more attacking CM Punk's family.

Finally it's revealed that Mike will wrestle Sheamus and Alex cringes slightly, wondering why exactly Mike hasn't returned to the locker room since leaving to talk with Laurinaitis. _He's probably trying just to get his thoughts straight, focus on what's ahead,_ he thinks, leaning forward as commercials end and Mike is shown in the ring, mic in hand.

Gone is the Mike who took great joy in mocking Alex earlier, replaced by a man desperate and stubborn to get a place on the Wrestlemania card. As he begins recapping the last few weeks, explaining that if he wins tonight, Laurinaitis has promised him a place on his team, Alex can't help but dwell on how tired and stressed out Mike looks, all of the trips he's taken lately to promote Wrestlemania, not to mention Psych and everything else, eating at him, along with how hard he's been fighting to get or earn a match on the biggest show of the year. Sheamus apparently gets tired of his rant and interrupts it, the match starting before Mike even seems fully ready.

Despite Alex's best hopes, it all ends quickly with Sheamus the victor, leaving Mike once more with no Wrestlemania prospects. Alex aches for him, shaking his head grimly. "Damn."

The trip back to the hotel a little later is quiet and tense, Mike not saying a word as he holds out the keys to Alex, silently ordering him to drive. It thankfully only takes a few minutes to go from the arena to where they're staying, Miz's tired blue eyes glaring out of the window, taking in the dark streets as they blur past. Even his walk is despondent, Alex making sure not to look anyone in the eye as they walk together through the hotel lobby and into the elevator, which thankfully only has a couple people inside of it.

He watches with a frown as Mike jerkily unlocks their hotel room, stomps over to his bed and immediately collapses face down on top of it, his bag slipping from his fingers to the floor next to the bed where it lands with a soft thud. Sighing, he goes to the bathroom and changes clothes for bed, unsurprised that Miz doesn't feel up to doing anything tonight- like the past few weeks. He's about to go drop on his own bed and just watch TV until either sleep overwhelms him or things are better, but he changes his mind as soon as he leaves the bathroom, his gaze dropping back on his unmoving friend.

Though he knows it might end with him really getting punched this time, he stalls by first moving Mike's bag to the end of the bed so neither of them will trip over its many straps in the middle of the night, before returning to Mike's side, dropping to his knees onto the rough, thin carpet next to the bed. "Mike?" he asks tentatively, resting a hand between the other man's shoulderblades. No vocal response and Mike doesn't try shrugging him off so, bolstered slightly, he leans closer. He had been considering this for awhile and, well aware that the simplest miswording could leave him knocked out on the floor of this room, he treads carefully. "Would you, ah, like to spend Wrestlemania week at my house?"

Mike stiffens beneath his hand and he holds his breath, hoping that an angry response won't follow, but soon enough the older man turns his head so they're eye to eye. "Why?" he asks, voice scratchy. "I'm just going to be a moody bitch that week, you won't want me around. Hell, it'd probably be easier on you if I weren't around _now_."

Alex sniffs dismissively, smiling. "I'm used to you being a moody bitch, Mike." His teasing eases as Mike frowns at him, holding his free hand up to stall him from saying whatever's on the tip of his tongue. "Look, you've had me over to your house in California so much, but I never get the chance to do the same for you. Just, lemme, please? I haven't managed to have many guests over since I moved because of all the traveling and everything, it seems fitting you'd be one of the first to come see my new place." When Mike still doesn't jump at the chance, he starts kneading at the tense muscles between Mike's shoulders. "Please?"

"Ugh, dammit," he groans, visibly giving in already. "You gonna cook me breakfast too?" He chuckles slightly when Alex's eyes widen in horror, wincing over how badly most breakfast foods he's ever tried cooking comes out in the end. "I'm kidding." He sighs, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, fine, if you're sure. It sounds good, man."

"Great." Alex grins, standing back up. He brushes his knees off, making a face as he returns to his own bed. "This'll be fun." _I'll at least do my best to keep him busy if he still doesn't have a match by 'Mania..._


	93. chapter 93

After another worthless showing on Smackdown the Friday before, Mike's still stewing over everything with his phone in hand as he and Alex enter the arena, his former protege keeping an eye on him as he presses viciously against the touchpad. "Hmph, I take back everything I said about Bryan a few weeks ago," he grouses. "He's still the same egotistical idiot he was when I first tried mentoring him, trying to make everything about him, when I'm the most must see superstar ever!"

Alex wisely keeps quiet, his face blank as Mike shakes his head, glowering down at the screen like the small piece of technology has been the thing that wronged him. "Guess it's a good thing he didn't accept creating a more permanent tag team with you then, huh?"

Mike scoffs. "Even if he had, it wouldn't have lasted long- I would've overshadowed him from the start and he would've joined the many other partners I've had over the years, as a failed venture." The silence that follows is awkward and a bit tense as Alex slows, waiting for what just slipped from the former champion's lips to catch up with his brain. It doesn't take that long, considering, Mike slowly putting the phone down to look over at the taller man. "Er, ... Sorry, I didn't mean that like it sounded. We weren't... I mean, you know. If not for the Anon GM we probably would've been a team for much longer. I, uh, meant the others-"

"Like Morrison?" Alex offers, torturing his friend further. As Miz looks even more horrified and tries to backtrack further, barely able to get anything past his stutters, he finally cracks, laughing aloud.

Mike's expression immediately changes to one of anger and he shoves Alex. "I hate you," he huffs, rolling his eyes.

"Payback for last week, man," he returns, unsurprised as Mike hides once more behind his phone. When his phone vibrates in his pocket, he chuckles slightly, unsurprised to find that the culprit is a tweet from the man next to him, who pointedly ignores him as he reads it. "So planning something tonight, huh?"

"Yep." Mike glances his way, smirking slightly. "Does that surprise you?"

"Hmm, nope, I can't say it does."

A little before Raw starts, they go their separate ways, Mike explaining that he has a few things to do before the show so Alex goes back to the main locker room to watch the show. Team Johnny, as it happens, has a shaky start to the evening as Team Teddy gets the advantage when Santino defeats Otunga, and Alex wonders where or when Mike will make his presence felt this evening- with there being two slots left in the GM match, he figures it'd make most sense for Miz to attempt to get into it, but considering that he doesn't like Teddy _or_ Laurinaitis, he's not so sure what side he'd take. Though, considering a Mania match is the biggest goal they all struggle to obtain yearly, he wouldn't be so surprised if it didn't really matter to Mike which team he was on, just as long as he _was_ on a team.

Sure enough, he's barely finished thinking it through when Santino has Laurinaitis cornered, setting up for a Cobra Strike, when another person runs into the ring. There are too many people in such a small place for a good camera angle so it's hard for Alex to catch a clear sight but when they lock in Santino for the Skullcrushing Finale, he knows. Sure enough, once things have quieted down, Laurinaitis lifts Mike's hand and welcomes him to Team Johnny, after screwing the name of his own team up and almost placing Mike into Team Teddy. Alex rolls his eyes at the gaffe, leaning back against the cool metal of the lockers to wait for his former NXT pro to return.

It doesn't take that long, considering, and as Mike sinks down on the bench in front of Alex, he smirks down at the back of his head. "So, clear up some confusion for me... which team are you on again?"

Miz glances behind him and groans, rubbing his forehead. "I know, he's an idiot... but for a spot on Mania, well. I didn't see any other way around it. I'm just glad he finally wisened up enough to put me on the card _now._ "

"I'm glad for you," he responds, licking his lips anxiously. "Hey, uh. Since you're now on the card, um... I was just told I have a match on Superstars and with our Axxess schedules and everything else, I don't think we'll have the time or need to go hang out at my house, after all."

"Yeah, I was going to talk to you about that. I have some early morning media in Miami before the press conference on Wednesday, so I need to be there by tomorrow night."

"Sure man, I understand." He's a little disappointed but had expected as much when Laurinaitis had changed his mind earlier. To keep Mike from seeing the look on his face, he leans over to sort some things in his bag that had gotten disorganized while he was rushing around to prepare for the last minute media appearances he had put in with Zack Ryder this morning.

Mike sighs before leaning over and nudging him. "Hey, Alex."

"Huh?"

"I have an idea." He grins smugly as the younger man looks up at him, curious.

The plane lands at a ridiculously early hour the next morning and Alex stumbles off of it, half asleep and not sure where to go next. He's about to grab someone else's bag off of the baggage claim when Mike finally joins him, more used to being awake at such an obnoxious time of day. He takes over, smoothing over tensions with the true owner of the bag, an older woman who looks like she wants to smack Alex with her purse, and collects both of their bags at the same time before dragging Alex off to where the taxis are lined up, waiting to transport people from the airport.

"C'mon man, we'll get to your house and you can sleep and then we'll take it from there, huh?" Mike urges with a chuckle as he drops their bags into the taxi, Alex already sinking into the backseat.

They had agreed that spending Tuesday morning and afternoon in Tampa made sense after all, so they could just drive the rest of the way to Miami Tuesday night, but the Red Eye wasn't something Alex was accustomed to, especially so soon after the trip to Puerto Rico and back for a live event, and he was definitely feeling the effects.

Mike smiles slightly as he drops down next to Alex and finds him already fast asleep, leaning against the car door. Chuckling, he pulls his cell phone out and sends a quick text to pass the time as he waits to get to Alex's house. _Hey, Morrison, doubt you caught it last night but I finally received my Mania match. Not that I doubted it, but you know._ He pauses in typing, glancing over at the still deeply asleep A-Ri, who is somehow undisturbed by the numerous potholes the taxi driver keeps going over. _I know you and Alex were trying (2/2) to distract me the past few weeks so... I guess, I just wanted to say thanks._ He finishes typing just as the taxi pulls up in front of Alex's house, his lips twitching up into a smile for the first time as he thinks about all of things he needs to do before Mania. It feels good to _finally_ know what's ahead, his goal achieved. All that remains is proving once more why he's the most must-see WWE Superstar of all time.


	94. chapter 94

Wrestlemania week always goes by in a blur- with various autograph signings and parties, charity events and golf outings, the weekend bringing about Axxess dates, Hall of Fame and of course Wrestlemania itself. They're all so busy that it's hard to keep track of time, so Miz barely has a minute to do much more than check his phone. It's not until he's off of the red carpet at the Hall of Fame that he has a little bit more than a minute to sit and take a breath, to think.

He's relaxing in his designated chair, enjoying the buzz around him, when Alex drops down next to him, looking excited and a little in awe of their surroundings. "Hey," he greets him, smiling at the younger man's expression. "What's up?"

"Hey," Alex says finally, shaking himself out of his stupor long enough to finally acknowledge his former mentor's presence. "Um, I was wondering. Have you heard from Morrison this week?"

Frowning, he thinks back through the ridiculously busy last few days. "Well, uh, I texted him late Monday but... no, I guess I haven't heard back. Things have been so busy, I hadn't really thought that much about it. Why?"

"I was bored a few days ago and called him, but he didn't answer and I haven't heard back either. It's not really like him." He pauses, staring ahead at the red drapes covering the stage. "Hopefully everything's alright."

Mike leans back, stretching his arms over the backs of the surrounding chairs. "Well, you have to think about it from his perspective. This is his first year without being involved in Wrestlemania. Maybe he just kind of wants to distance himself from it a bit, you know?"

"That makes sense," he says reluctantly. "Well, I guess I should go before someone realizes I've taken their seat. See ya later."

Chuckling, Miz nods. "Ok, see you." As he walks off, Mike pulls the phone out of his pants' pocket, fingering the screen thoughtfully.

More media events start Sunday off, Mike content to push Wrestlemania and his role on Team Johnny as much as he can. He's not thrilled with the match, after weeks of being jerked around by the interim GM but he had fought so hard, and so long for a match on Wrestlemania, now that he has one he's not exactly in the mood to quibble about it, even if it means he'll be helping Laurinaitis gain control of both brands.

Arriving at the arena is unlike anything he's ever felt before- every Mania has a special vibe to them, crowds form early and so the buzz starts earlier and simply grows louder and louder with each passing minute up to the event itself. He's in a locker room with the rest of Team Johnny, ignoring Ziggler's loud bragging and Vickie's equally as loud agreements from across the room as he prepares for the match, physically and emotionally. _I can't lose tonight. I won't. This is my big chance to turn things around, and I will prove my value... I have to._

The match itself is back and forth, all of Mike's focus on when he can get in and show his abilities, his anxiety rising with each cover. The worst case scenario would be that someone would hit a pin early on and he'd not get a chance to do anything, but finally he gets tagged in and faces off with Santino, who manages a Cobra strike on him. Despite being aware of what's going on around him, he can't move due to that stupid move, internally thrashing around angrily at letting such a worthless wrestler as Santino get the drop on him, but being on a team _does_ have its merits as Dolph Ziggler comes to the rescue, breaking up the pin.

Zack Ryder gets tagged in then, and Miz, still out of it, is open for a Broski Boot from the Internet champion, but it never comes as Eve enters the ring for whatever reason and fist pumps with Zack, distracting both him and the ref long enough for Miz to recover and get to his feet, still a little numb and tingling from the Cobra. Once she's out of the ring, Zack turns around and Mike hits a definitive Skull Crushing Finale, cementing the win for his team. As they celebrate outside of the ring, it doesn't even matter to him that his win means there will be double the power and camera time for Laurinaitis now, just relieved that his losing spree is officially broken as of this evening.

He's still on a high as he makes his way to the back, surrounded by the other members of his team. Alex is off to the side, watching with a hesitant smile as he slowly breaks away from the others with some vague excuse that he barely remembers a few minutes later as he joins his former NXT rookie. "Hey."

"Hey. Congrats on the win. How does it feel?"

"It feels good... not that I think there was any doubt I'd be the deciding factor tonight," he smirks, his natural confidence and cocky attitude slowly returning to him.

"Of course not," Alex laughs, relieved to see that old spark in his mentor's eyes again. "So now what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to Disneyland!" Mike says with a straight face, cracking up a minute later as Alex laughs once more. "But seriously... I'm not sure. The only bad thing about my win is that it means Laurinaitis has all the power now. After weeks of not letting me on his team, I almost feel like he doesn't deserve it but... it is what it is. At least I broke my losing streak, you know?"

"Yeah, that's a plus," A-Ri agrees. "Laurinaitis as GM is going to suck for us all but... I guess there's always NXT."

Mike makes a face, smirking. "I'll leave that to you." His smirk only grows as Alex rolls his eyes, nudging him. "Come on, let's go to catering and celebrate my win. What's on the menu today anyway?"

"I think it's spaghetti and lasagna. Probably going to be the last time for that, Santino being in charge of the menu and all."

"Thank God, if I see macaroni salad on the menu one more time, I swear to God..." As they eat, The Rock vs Cena match begins, their co-competitors clustering around the monitors to watch as it carries on.

"It wasn't that bad." He forks up some spaghetti and waves it mockingly at the other man, who looks disgusted.

"You really worry me sometimes."

"That's my job, to disgust and/or ignore people." He continues eating as Mike rolls his eyes, their focus turning back to the match. "So who do you think should win?"

"I don't like either of them," he muses, biting into some garlic bread that is _almost_ appetizing. "But I guess The Rock is the lesser of two evils. You?"

"Don't hate me, but I kind of want Cena to take it."

Mike coughs around his bread, shaking his head. "Why?"

"Well, similar to you, I don't like either of them very much either but at least Cena is here, you know? Day in and day out, he's present. Rock's been here, what, six times this past year if that?"

"But then you think Rock's more rested and probably healthier too. With Cena being here every week without a break he doesn't get the chance to recuperate, right?"

Alex pauses midbite, raising his eyebrows. "Logic in wrestling, I think I like it."

"Oh shut up," Mike laughs, nudging him. Once they finish eating, they clear the table and join the group of people clustered around the nearest monitor, watching in silence as Rock indeed gets the better of Cena when Cena gets overly confident and fails at a People's Elbow attempt. As mutters and mixed exclamations echo around them, Alex shakes his head. "See where cockiness gets you, Mike?"

"Oh, haha," the former world champion mocks back. "It's just because Cena sucks at anything other than his boringly repetitive good guy act. There's a time and a place for everything, and that wasn't it, is all."

Alex shrugs. "Well, at least it's over with now. Hopefully soon we won't have to hear anything else about it."

"Famous last words," Mike sighs, somehow sensing that none of them would be that lucky.

A few hours later, Alex is sacked out in bed, fast asleep, but Mike can't shake the remaining rush from Wrestlemania. It's late at night, nearing 2 AM, but even so he's wide awake, still taking in the fact that he _wasn't_ the weak link of his team, that his career honestly feels like it's on the upswing again. Sure, one victory isn't even close to a sure thing, and he can't get overconfident and fall into the same trap that Cena had hours earlier, but for now, he allows himself a few minutes just to take it all in and revel in the fact that tomorrow he'll be walking into Raw a winner.

He scrapes his fingernail along the screen of his phone, taking a deep breath. Despite the hour, he presses #4 on his speed dials and stares at John's name, frowning slightly. They hadn't heard from Morrison at all, and even though he had justified it sufficiently for his own mind yesterday, now that the show's over and he has time to really think, he has a bad, niggling feeling that it's not as clear cut as what he'd told Alex the day before. No matter what, Morrison would at least text one or both of them back and not just outright ignore them for days. Taking a deep breath, he presses send and listens as it rings in. Four rings later, it clicks over to voicemail and he sighs, pressing the screen against his forehead as he half-listens to John's voice urging him to leave a message, unsurprised considering the hour.

"Hey, John. It's late so I'm not surprised that this went to voicemail. Hope I didn't wake you, just wanted to check in, apparently Alex tried calling you a few days ago and he hasn't heard back... well, you know how he worries," he says quietly, not wanting to wake said man up. "And, uh, yeah, I'd like to catch up too, y'know. Haven't heard much from you after the Psych episode thing..." Feeling foolish, he clears his throat. "Anyway, um. Talk soon." He hangs up and collapses back against his bed, sighing. _What is going on with you, Morrison?_

The next day, he and Alex enter the Raw arena, amazed by the buzz from all of the techs and other staff members wandering around the hallways. "Still hyped up after last night, I guess, huh?" Alex asks, smiling as Mike dodges one of the rushing seamstresses.

"I'd say so." They make their way to the main locker room, where the buzz is almost even more ridiculous, probably even more so because of the smaller area.

"Hey, man, Laurinaitis is calling for a meeting just before Raw starts," Mark Henry tells his fellow member of Team Johnny, casting a suspicious glance at Alex.

Mike hums slightly. "Alright. Should be interesting."

"Oh yeah," the World's Strongest Man agrees before wandering off. Mike and Alex exchange glances before they too go their own ways to get ready for the event, Alex's name for once on the taunting expanse of white board that had all but ignored him for way too long against mysterious newcomer, Lord Tensai.

"Good luck," Mike whispers as he collects his new shirt and other wrestling gear. The meeting is held a little later, Laurinaitis not saying anything overly surprising, though he "rewards" CM Punk for interrupting his speech with a match against Mark Henry, and Santino against Dolph ZIggler and Jack Swagger for the US title.

The first hour of Raw goes by smoothly, though Mike thinks the reaction from the locker room could be heard all the way to Mexico when Rock declares that he'll be heavyweight champion again in the future. As Alex goes off later on to prepare for his match, Mike nods encouragingly to him and settles back to watch, a niggling worry causing him to fret as Tensai's music begins to play.

This lingering feeling sends Mike to the gorilla position, worrying his lip as the strange wrestler gets into the ring, intensely staring over at Alex while they wait for the bell to ring. The match only lasts a few minutes but it feels like a lifetime to Mike as the large wrestler takes his sweet time working Alex over, hitting him with elbows and splashes, slowly wearing him down until he can barely stand. Finally he falls limp and hits the mat hard, unable to respond as the referee checks on him again, demanding if he wants to continue. There's no visible response or reaction and Mike's heart sinks as the match is called, Tensai declared the winner. But it's not over there as Alex struggles to his feet, Mike silently begging him to stay down even though he knows there's little chance of that.

Sure enough, Tensai returns his focus to the injured man, blowing something onto his hand before scraping his fingers against Alex's forehead, digging his fingers in just above his eyes. Alex struggles for a minute but finally sinks down to the mat, Mike's breath stolen from his lungs as the young man doesn't move at all. "Oh God," he whispers, struggling to hold himself back from outright running to the ring to stop this.

_"Do you ever get mad at me for not coming out to help you in matches sometimes?" Alex asks one night, staring up at the hotel ceiling. "Like I used to? I mean, since the Anon GM is gone, we don't really avoid each other any more but I wonder, does my still keeping my distance from you during matches bug you?"_

_"Huh?" he blinks, a frown spreading across his face. "No, not really. I mean, I don't really think that much about it. We're both in different places in our careers than we were a year ago, I don't expect you to run down and pull the save. Besides, and don't take this the wrong way, but I'm having enough of a credibility issue lately, that wouldn't help that much, I think."_

_"Makes sense, I guess."_

_"What about you? If you ever needed help, would you want me to do something?"_

_"Honestly? I think you summed it up better than I ever could. I want to prove myself on my own, that was kind of the point of our split anyway, right?"_

He presses a fist to the metal uprising around the titantron area, taking a deep breath. The memory of that conversation, the conviction on Alex's face is the only reason he hasn't run out yet to pull Alex to safety. "I'm sorry," he whispers as finally Tensai leaves, allowing the referees to do their job to help Alex. He shifts anxiously, turning his back to the curtain as the large man and his Japanese companion marches through the hallways to a locker room assigned specially for Tensai.

"Alex," Mike whispers, quickly turning to look back through the curtains as referees and trainers check Alex over. Mike's worry only grows as minutes pass and he still hasn't moved. "Ok, screw this," he mutters, quickly pushing his way through the curtain. As he makes his way to the ring, ignoring the fan's reactions, referees begin calling for a stretcher. "What's wrong with him?" he snaps, sliding into the ring. "Alex, hey, can you hear me?" He rests a hand on the side of Alex's face, frowning at how clammy his skin feels. "Alex!"

"Miz, we need room to work," the trainer tells him grimly, bustling around as he prepares Alex for transport. His words go ignored, however, as Mike digs his knees into the mat, running his hands through Alex's short hair. "Ok, stretcher's here, move, move!" This does break through as Miz slowly stands, watching as Alex is carefully lifted out of the ring, his hands hovering around his head.

_Did I make the wrong choice? Should I have helped?_

By the time they get Alex to the trainer's office, he still hasn't stirred. "I'm not seeing anything seriously wrong," the trainer hedges, the on-site doctor also concurring. "If he doesn't wake up, soon, though, we'll need to transport him to the hospital for a more thorough examination." Mike sits with him for as long as he can, waiting and watching and talking to him.

"C'mon, Alex, wake up..." He leans forward, running a hand along Alex's forehead, remembering how hard Tensai had gripped him there. "If you don't, they're going to send you to the hospital and we all know how much you love those places." There's no response and he sighs, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Alex's arm as he waits. "C'mon."

After a few minutes, he sits up and grabs his phone, dialing the long-familiar number. Ring, ring and ring again and he feels like throwing the device through the window, only refraining as Morrison's voicemail once more clicks in his ear. "Yeah, you know... I don't know what your problem is. I don't know why you're not answering my calls, or Alex's, or our texts, or what's going on with you. Right now, I don't really care. What I _do_ know is that Alex is sitting in front of me, unconscious after a match, and you can't be bothered to answer the phone to check on a friend of yours. I thought it was Wrestlemania," he snaps, disappointment in his voice. "I thought you were just distancing yourself from it for your own wellbeing, and that was fine, but Mania's over now and you have no need to ignore us. So what is it?" He takes a deep breath, pressing his fingers to his temple. "Never mind, I don't care, it doesn't matter. If you want to know how Alex is doing, you call me." Hanging up harshly, he leans back towards Alex. "It's ok, A-Ri. We don't need him."

He has no choice but to leave a little later for his match against Zack Ryder. His distraction over Alex's condition leaves him open to attack and Zack holds the upper hand for awhile, but one wrong move and he has it, taking the advantage and quickly hitting another Skull Crushing Finale on the Long Island Loudmouth, pinning him. All he wants to do is get back to the locker room and check on the younger man, see if he's awake yet. He's tearing off his wrist tape as he goes through the hallways, slamming through the trainer's door in time to hear Alex's voice. He freezes and watches as his former NXT rookie blinks up at the doctor, still looking disoriented but aware of what's going on around him. "Oh my God," he whispers, smiling as Alex's gaze shifts to him. "You're awake." He rushes over to the cot and stares down at him for a minute. "You idiot, you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"What happened?"

"Tensai beat you down really good, and I'm not sure but he had some kind of mist on his hands and I think that's why you were out for so long."

"What time is it?"

"Almost eleven," Mike whispers. "It's been almost an hour."

"Crap," Alex mutters after a pause. "That long?"

"Yeah." They stare at each other awhile until Mike shakes his head, eyes downcast. "I, uh, I called John and he still didn't answer."

"Did you do something to make him mad?" He looks amused as Mike glares at him, affronted.

"I never do anything, he's just sensitive!" Alex laughs for real at this, before grabbing his forehead. "Headache?"

"Yeah, I'll be ok though."

"'Course you will." Mike pats him on the arm, thinking. _As much as I may hate the way Morrison's acting right now, I can't just leave it alone completely. I need to know what's going on, why he's ignoring us. It's so not like him. Luckily, after tonight, I have a few days to spend in LA, until Smackdown._ "What do you say we go back to the hotel and let you rest awhile?"

Alex sighs. "Sleep, _real_ sleep, even in a hotel bed, sounds really good right now." Mike nods, smiling.

As soon as he's off the airplane the next day, he gets in line for a taxi. Instead of giving the impatient driver his own address, he instead gives him Morrison's. The drive seems to take an age but finally they arrive, Mike quickly paying and getting his bag from the trunk. As soon as he's at Morrison's door, he considers using the key but hesitates, not sure that's the right move after days of getting ignored. Sighing, he knocks instead, adjusting the bag across his shoulder as he waits.

A minute later, the door is pulled open and John looks out at him, eyes widening as he realizes who's on his doorstep. "Um. Hey, Mike. What..." Before he can say or do anything else, Miz pushes past him and drops his bag on the carpet on the rug leading from the door to the kitchen entrance. "Uh. Yeah, sure, come on in."

Mike sighs, turning to face him. "Well, you're not dead or in any way incapacitated. So what's your problem?"

"My problem?"

"Alex and I have called and texted you all week and you've not responded once." He glares at him. "Even when Alex got hurt and I left you a voice message, still nothing. What's your issue?"

"I don't have an issue," he shrugs, brushing past Mike and making his way to the living room.

"Sure you don't. I'm not leaving until you talk to me," he announces, following him. As he drops down onto the chair across from where Morrison is sitting, he crosses his arms. "I know something's up, you _never_ brush both of us off, especially when one of us are injured." They stare at each other, Mike's eyes blazing with anger, contrasting against Morrison's dull, emotionless gaze. After awhile, anger slowly changes to worry and Miz shakes his head. "What's wrong, Johnny?"

"Just... is Alex alright?" he asks quietly, glancing at his hands.

"He's fine, he's at home. I drove him there myself before I had to go to the airport for my flight. Whatever Tensai used on him wore off completely within a few hours. It was just scary for awhile." Mike watches him for a minute before trying again, fighting to keep his temper. "Will you talk to me now? Tell me what's going on?"

John grimaces. "I thought.. I, well. I didn't think it'd hit me that hard, not being involved in Wrestlemania this year. But, uh, it did. And watching last Monday... trying to see if you'd get a match on the card..." His voice drifts off as he fiddles with a loose string on his shirt, visibly uncomfortable. "It's stupid and it's selfish but all I could think while watching Laurinaitis give you a slot on his team was _why?_ Nothing against you," he explains quickly as Mike glares uncertainly at him. "It's not... I was supposedly fired for my win-loss record not being up to Laurinaitis' standards. And I know that was probably just an excuse to get rid of me, but..." He stops talking, unable to think about what else to say, how to word it to not make things worse between them.

"You were angry because I had spent months losing and then I help Laurinaitis once and he puts me on Mania," he concludes for him, unsurprised when John doesn't deny his words. "What Laurinaitis did to you after our match sucked, John. It... I don't blame you for feeling angry and needing to distance yourself from us, me, for awhile. If you want me to leave right now, I will, and I'll leave it to you for when we talk next. I don't want to make your post-WWE life harder than it probably already is..." John doesn't say anything and Mike sighs, standing. "Alright, I'll see myself out. You know how to contact me."

He's half the way to the door when Morrison finally speaks. "Mike, wait." He freezes and turns around as John wanders around his couch, picking a couple of slips of paper from a side table. "Take these."

"What are those?" he asks, doubtfully looking down at them.

"Tickets to my improv show tomorrow night. I want you to come, see what I've been up to."

Along with the invitation lays an apology, Mike realizes with a small smile. "I wish I knew sooner, I could've brought A-Ri along."

John sighs, nodding briefly. "I'll invite him the next time he's in LA. So... you gonna come?"

"Sure, I need payback for the Psych thing, don't I?"

Morrison blanches. "Ugh. I'm going to end up regretting this, won't I?"

Mike grins. "More than likely, yeah."

"Great. Well, I _guess_ I'll survive."

"Maybe." Chuckling, Mike slaps him on the arm lightly, not wanting to overstay his welcome. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you."


	95. Be The Change

Also, there are six different point of views here because I wanted to A: try something different and B: tell stories of different people from their individual perspectives. "Scene change markers" will be used to mark when we go from one person to another.

I shouldn't feel like this. I know it, deep down inside, but I just can't help it. I'm brash and cocky to the point of annoying people until they all start avoiding me. Only some can still stand me, ones who are as vocal and ostracized for it as I am.

Mostly because I've gone from being kicked around at the bottom of the pile to slowly and steadily working my way up, proving myself more and more competant with each passing day. And even though I feel much more secure in my position with the company now, it's not enough.

And I think, and I ponder, and I determine who all the blame lays with- the fellow wrestlers who could've brought about change, real change, if they had just stuck to their guns months ago and not trickled back in like puppies desperate for a treat at the smallest hint of things being different- not better, far from it, but just a shift from one bad to another.

HHH, obviously. He's one whose ego wasn't like anyone else's, is just... _different_ because dammit, the one in charge shouldn't think he's better than everyone else, taking away large chunks of TV time, and I know in this business it sounds weird because all general managers or authority figures eventually fall into the ego trap but even they only take it so far, their focus still on the bottom line, keeping the board members happy. HHH never seemed to care about anything but his own stock, and it was ultimately his downfall.

Laurinaitis, well. He's such a patsy even when he's trying not to be that it's difficult to consider him capable of being worthwhile enough _to_ have something pinned on him, but without him, the state of WWE wouldn't be what it is right now. I'd be world champion, more likely than not, without all of these variables. Maybe even US champion still too.

But for now, all I can do is inspire a little _change_ of my own... in the form of revenge. Whoever said it's a dish best served cold had obviously never met me.

XXXXXXX

No one thinks that much of it, at first. It starts the Monday night after Wrestlemania, when Raw is just beginning, a commotion coming from the exit that somehow distracts from the redhot crowd whose noise is vibrating all the way back here. Alex Riley is only standing a few feet in front of me and we exchange glances, mine curious and his a bit worried, before heading in that direction. Raw is known for random crimes- some of which people have gotten away with in the past without their roles in it being justified or identities revealed in the slightest. This appears to be the beginning of another of those mysteries, a crowd of people growing as we watch on.

Mason Ryan, of all people, is trying to force himself to his feet away from the cool, ruthless concrete and not getting very far. Despite it all, his pride enforces all and he shakes off the referees roughly, not allowing them to assist him even in the slightest. Even with blood pouring down his face, possibly from the steel chair laying a few feet away, bent almost in half from repeated blows, he wants to stand on his own power but it isn't possible as he strains and struggles, growling and moaning every time his battered form loses its strength and hits the floor once more.

Finally there's a barked command over my shoulder and I glance that way to find CM Punk standing at the door, anger in his dark eyes. So much had happened in the past nine months, I come this close to forgetting that once upon a time Punk and Mason were friendly when New Nexus were still relevant. Whatever Punk had commanded, it causes the younger man to comply, reluctantly allowing the referees to help him to his feet and away from all of the prying eyes scattered around the parking lot.

As they leave slowly, I overhear one of the referees ask, "Did you see who attacked you?"

Mason shakes his head, muttering, "No."

I purse my lips, grimacing. Agendas can be a dime a dozen in the WWE, some as paper thin as the NXT guys' developmental contracts, but it doesn't mean they can't be worrisome. Whatever, whoever, could fell a big guy like Ryan, well...

XXXXXXX

I don't notice it at first. Or, well, maybe I do observe the little strange moments here and there. When he can't look me in the eye, oddly silent. When he disappears at random times not to be seen for hours at a time. I start to wonder if he's dating someone he knows I would disapprove of or find detrimental to his career, but that doesn't feel right. Over the years there has been this girl and that that makes me cringe when I hear of it but I never go out of my way to lord over his decisions. I handle the business, he handles his personal life, and we get along well. He's young and charming, handsome, so it's no wonder various girls fall over themselves to spend time with him.

I lean back in my chair and listen blankly as the TV drones on behind me, some inane midday reality show that only really serves as back ground noise to keep me from feeling completely alone as I work through some scheduling snafus, shaking my head over the insane travel that he goes through week by week. How he keeps his head above water, I'm unsure. My own travel schedule is very quiet compared to his and still, I get sick of airports and hotel rooms.

It'd be enough to break some people, I think.

XXXXXXX

My first inkling that something's off comes by chance. Since my release, I don't watch WWE all that often but I just happen to be bored and desperate for something other than my own thoughts to focus on, so I find myself turning to USA Network. Cody Rhodes vs Santino is just wrapping up when the commentators get their serious voices going and the cameramen start rushing around, trying to get into position.

At first all that's visible is a large group of referees and trainers clustered around a prone form, but when the camera gets even closer, it's obvious that it's Sheamus leaning against a wall, unconscious- there can be no confusing the skin tone of the large arm visible in the melee. A dented steel pipe is found nearby, the area obviously the scene of an intense struggle and I bet that the other guy didn't get off so easy either.

The Irishman's body is limp, his eyes not even flickering as the referees call his name and carefully pat his face, briskly going about their jobs despite knowing if he comes to with them manhandling him like that, the first thing he'd do is send them scattering like bowling pins. But more time passes and the ginger doesn't even shift once, the referees immediately growing more worried as the trainers start taking over, barking orders to move him for examination.

I wait until Raw ends, grimacing as the show fades to black without one glimpse of Miz or A-Ri, which means at the least that Mike was probably on earlier, before I'd turned to USA. _Saw a bit of Raw earlier- what's going on with the random beat downs?_ I text Mike a little later, trying to give him time for the post-event cool down that he's always done for as long as I can remember. There had been another, the commentators had explained after Sheamus had been put on a stretcher, still unresponsive. Mason Ryan had been taken out earlier but his injuries had seemed slight in comparison to Sheamus', Jerry claimed soberly.

My wait is short, as I'd begun flipping through channels just a minute earlier when my phone lights up once more, Miz's name flashing on the screen. I press the neccessary buttons to access the text and read it with a curious quirk of my eyebrow. _You know as much as I do, no one's seen who's behind it. Seems random._ Which is obvious- I've been gone for nearly six months by this point but even I know at first glance that the two men targetted have nothing in common.

XXXXXXX

A week has passed since the two attacks. Tensions are running high with each passing day, everyone dwelling on when or if the mysterious attacker would strike again. No one knows who's next, or why, or by whose hand. It's insane and with guys like Mason Ryan and Sheamus both taken out of the equation, everyone's realized no one's safe. It's a sobering thought; even in a business like this, you expect most of the crap to happen in the ring. Or at least for the assailant to show their face so people know what to expect, where it'll be coming from. But instead we have some madman running around with his target set on who knows next. Old paranoia from months past tick back to life within me and I can't help but wonder if maybe, possibly, Kane is behind all of this.

When news moves through the locker room that Sheamus is still unconscious in a hospital near his Florida home, the mood turns from sober to hypervigilant, no one willing to go to suspiciously quiet parts of the arena alone. Even the most distrustful heels begin going in groups or, in moments of desperation, joining a nearby face to go to this place or that. Allegiences or hatred seems to matter very little as the the majority of the roster groups together to keep something like Sheamus from happening again.

I'm wandering around with my former friend, Curt Hawkins, well aware that if the mysterious attacker should come out of nowhere, it'd be me or Curt and, no matter what my reaction would be, Curt would duck and run at first chance, leave me behind to lose another chunk of my career to injury and who-knows-what else. However we pass through unharmed and stand by catering, watching as groups of people go here and there. "You know, this is one way to determine who might be behind everything." Curt looks at me, surprised, as I had made it a point to not talk the whole time we walked together. I shrug slightly and push on, the idea warming on me as I explain my thoughts. "Depending on who exactly it is, the guy who attacked those guys won't feel the need to constantly be walking around with someone. He might follow along with it for awhile, but eventually he'll slip up and it'll be obvious who's behind it."

"True," he mutters, looking about as surprised as he sounds that I've suggested such a thing. I ignore him, quickly leaving his side once we enter the catering hall, trying not to show the niggle of offense I take to his amazement that I'd actually thought it through so thoroughly.

We're still there and even exchange looks when Santino Marella rushes in, Trent Barreta by his side. They both look frantic and desperate, Santino dramatically grabbing onto the nearest superstar to the entrance, who happens to be Mark Henry, just to get slapped off. He spins around a bit before Trent steadies him, quickly holding a hand up. "The mysterious attacker has struck again!" he declares loudly, looking around to ensure he's achieved everyone's attention. "Big Show," he just manages to get out before the whole room erupts, everyone looking unsettled at this. The only thing more worrisome would've been if this mystery person had gotten the drop on, say, Kane or Undertaker. With how things are going, who knows what'll happen next.

XXXXXXX

Mike grimaces next to me as we trudge through the hallways, glancing around at any noise in the halls surrounding us. Everyone is jittery, uncertain of what to do. The person attacking people is smart, has yet to be spotted by any of his victims. Even Big Show, who had regained consciousness faster than the ones prior, hasn't been able to say who he thinks was the attacker. Sheamus remains unresponsive, with doctors tightlipped and worried about his recovery.

We ordinarily would've stayed in the locker room until Mike's cue, but tension's at an all time high with the nervousness, everyone watching everyone else for some hint, clue of who's behind all of this. All I really know is it's not me or Mike. Anyone else is kind of fair game. Friendships in this business are generally fly by night, with everyone out for the next big break, or title match. It's sad, but true.

Shaking my head of these thoughts, I turn back to him, nudging his arm slightly. When his attention is back on me, I smile a bit. "So what do you think the motivation is? Why attack these guys? Why not more? Others?"

Mike looks thoughtful, shrugging. "I'm not sure. You think there's a pattern?"

I flush slightly, realizing how goofy it all sounds once the words have left my mouth fully. "I know, it might be a little silly but I can't help wondering. There has to be a reason, right?"

"There usually is," he comments, taking it easy on me. "We'll probably find out eventually. Don't worry, everything'll be fine."

I'm not worried about myself, to be honest... It appears the person is going for big buzz, heightened stress in the locker rooms. It's obvious he's making a statement by targetting the biggest, toughest guys in the business. I'm far from being in the range of Big Show or Sheamus so I figure I'm going to be fine. Hope so, anyway. "I know," I say calmly, not noticing the strange look Mike gives me.

XXXXXXX

It pisses me off when I look at the downward trend of my own career in comparison to some of the others', a lot of whom don't deserve it as much as I do. Politics and favoritism leaves a lot of us floundering. CM Punk claimed he was working on change last July but all I see now is the same tired old reteric with some remixes here and there.

The champions may be different, but the story remains the same with Cena and Rock, HHH and Undertaker taking the bulk of the attention at Wrestlemania. I want things to be better, I want what I feel I'm deserved. Being stuck here, like this, it disgusts me.

It won't last. I can't allow it, for my own sanity.

XXXXXXX

Three attacks in a week's span. Of course things were more chaotic and strange when Nexus was at its prime, whole rings full of competitors falling to their practiced anarchy, but this is different. No one knows who's behind it, the victims aren't found until the culprit is long gone, and tension rises with each passing day. It doesn't help much that Sheamus, _Royal Rumble winner_ and _World Champion_ is still unconscious, recuperating slowly from the head wound caused by the mysterious person.

The whole situation is weird, strange thoughts keep spinning around in my mind, only fueled by a ridiculously active imagination, and for a wild moment I feel like I'm back to partnering with R-Truth, paranoid and twitchy at any strange noise nearby.

Alex sits down close to me and I gaze over at him, raising an eyebrow. My suspicions grow louder as he continues on with his pre-show rituals, seemingly unaffected by the tension in the room. How that's possible, I have no clue.

We're still sitting there, distracted by our own issues and thoughts, when someone slams into the locker room door, pushing it open hurriedly. Everyone's eyes lift to find Trent Baretta leaning against the frame, gasping for breath, an eerie repeat of yesterday's house show. "There's been another attack," he chokes out, pale and a little shaky.

Like people curious after a car accident, over half of the locker room clears out as most go on out to see who's been the unlucky one this time around.

I watch, unimpressed and continuing to pick at my boot laces, trying to tighten them properly, when Alex stands next to me. "Are you coming?"

I look up and over, thoughtful. _How long had he been gone earlier...?_ I don't want to think like this, but Alex's comments, his recent attitude, makes me wonder. "No," I refuse, shaking my head slowly.

He almost trips mid-step at my refusal and if I wasn't so conflicted, I'd have found it funny. He looks confused and worried as he turns to stare at me. "Are you ok, Mike?"

I try to look more relaxed, less tense, but I don't know if it works as he hesitates. "Go on ahead, Alex. I'm fine." I guess this works because he slowly turns on his heel and leaves, my shoulders sinking as soon as I'm alone in the room. _It can't possibly be, not him..._

I know his career is low right now, so is mine. So are a lot of people's, but whoever's doing this has to be a special level of crazy. I don't want to believe that he's capable of such things.

But this business can bring out the worst in people... never say never, right?

XXXXXXX

"Do you think there's a pattern?" William Regal's accented voice echoes through the hallway, somehow easing my nerves as I pass by clusters of superstars, whispering amongst themselves.

The fourth attack is discovered a little later that night, so soon after Big Show's attack. Randy Orton is the one found this time leaning against the wall near an elevator, where he had struggled away from his attacker. No one can tell what the weapon this time was, Orton keeping his back to most of the crowd whispering and gaping at him.

"What are you looking at?" he screams, shaking off the referees as they try to ease him down to a nearby trunk for a quick examination while waiting for the trainer. This is enough to make us all disperse, none wanting to anger the unstable man any further.

My boys are off who knows where so I wander alone for awhile, pensive and worried. So far none of the attacks were against women but we feel the tension just as much as the guys, if not more. I stop by catering long enough to grab a bottle of water before walking back off, carefully looking around before I continue on. Even though time has passed, things are still subdued. I'm still alone.

I've been here long enough to see almost every kind of emotion in the locker room, but nothing like this. The uncertainty, the fear of who's next. My trained eye tracks the superstars wandering around, taking in how stressed and overworked they all are, Wrestlemania season just now starting to wind down. It's not a stretch that the attacks could be caused by any one of them, but there's something just avoiding me, something I think I know or have pieced together but my subconscious is keeping just out of reach.

It annoys me.

XXXXXXX

I still can't bring myself to watch WWE full time- the current management grates at me, not to mention witnessing my former dream going on without me leaves me cold even after all of these months. So, curious after all of the attacks, I turn to the Internet for further news. Places like Twitter aren't great places to get news because fans either get frantic or make disturbing comments around times like these, but it's the quickest way considering I don't want to bug Mike for updates about things like this all the time.

I'm thinking about this, swiping my finger over my phone to control the mobile browser when it flashes that I'm receiving a call. Making a slight face at my interrupted newsgathering mission, I answer. "Hello?"

"I need your help," Mike says quietly.

I sit straighter, frowning ahead. That one sentence, the tone behind it, tells me a lot. "What's wrong?"

"I think it's Alex. I think he's in trouble."

"What do you mean?"

"I think he's behind the attacks."

Time stops as I stare blankly ahead at the beige wall of my apartment, unable to wrap my mind around the prospect.

XXXXXXX

It's selfish but I can't help but be relieved I haven't been targetted yet. After months of being sidelined because of drama that really had nothing to do with me, the last thing I need is more time off. I fully intend to take my career back, regain my lost momentum from late last year. I have to, there's no other way. I refuse to go back to being overlooked, underutilized, all of the depressing things that led me into taking control of my career as best as I could to make some changes in the first place.

Still thinking about what I have to do next, I'm barely watching as I turn the corner and immediately gets barreled into. I fall back into the wall, still a little off-balance as my back spasms slightly in protest to the rough hit. "Watch where you're going, bro!" I chide, looking up to find myself eye to eye with Dolph Ziggler.

We avoid each other somewhat now-a-days, our old friendship shattered past all fixing after my eyes fell hungrily on his title belt months ago, but worry still wells up within me. Something feels wrong about this, the look on his face unnatural in the overhead lights. "Are you ok?" It slips out automatically and his response is about as immediate, his lips tightening as he glares at me.

"I'm fine," he snarls, pushing past me. "Next time, don't get in my way."

I'm not fussed by his tone, his attitude or anything else. We've been enemies for long enough that it'd seem almost normal, if not for the glimpse of his face I'd seen before he caught himself. Something's wrong here, obviously, but it's not my place anymore so hopefully Vickie or someone can do something to fix things before they get worse.

XXXXXXX

Ever since Randy Orton's attack, Mike's attitude has changed around me. He seems almost hesitant to talk to me, fretful and worried after each word uttered. I want to ask what's going on, why things have changed so suddenly, but nothing's really been the same since Morrison left. We spend as much time together, if not more, but neither of our careers are fantastic right now and a lot of it is spent in silence.

Wrestlemania excluding Miz until the very last minute didn't help with the tension at all and I drop my chin down on my fist as I consider the past couple of shows, the attacks, their aftermaths, the strange way Mike's been acting recently. For a moment I ponder if he'd have any reason to attack those taken out, but immediately chuckle. _Yeah, right._ It makes no sense- Mike isn't the same man he was when partnering with R-Truth.

I have no idea who could possibly do it, but things around the WWE have been tough for many people with the various changes in management and the bar being risen higher on a nearly weekly basis for title opportunities or match time. I just hope whoever it is-

... My thoughts stutter to a stop, breath seizing in my throat as I hear a loud crashing noise from down the hallway I'm currently standing in. I frown and look around uncertaintly, seeing only a few tech people lurking around. The show is still hours off so things are quiet, the calm before the storm.

Curiosity always killed the cat so it's with some hesitant footsteps that I inch forward, hand to the cool wall as I make my way through the shadowy expanse, holding my breath the closer I get to the sound. It's quiet but anyone knows that that doesn't necessarily mean anything.

I'm about to turn the corner when I hear a soft thud and murmured warnings, whispers and hisses, some soft and some loud enough I could hear them all the way back at where I started. I peek at first, then, unable to believe what I'm witnessing, I fully turn the corner to get a better glimpse of what's going on.

I try to backtrack once I fully take the scene before me all in, get out of there but it takes too long, I'm too jittery all of a sudden. My shoes squeak against the tiles and the jig is up. There's a hissed curse behind me and the next thing I hear is running footsteps, no time for me to decide where to go or how to get there before the person behind the attacks stands before me, his maddened eyes flickering this way and that. I'm backing up, for once intimidated by the situation I find myself in but I stumble and hit a trunk hard, sitting down on it with a startled gasp as my old hip flexxor injury makes itself known once more.

His grin is cocky and self-assured as he walks closer to me, a steel chair in hand. "Well, well." He breathes loudly through his nose a time or two before the light glints against the swinging weapon. I feel a sudden, sharp pain by my temple and everything goes dark.

XXXXXXX

I think it's gone too far. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I want to stop, I do. But I'm so far in, I don't think I can. Alex Riley is sprawled out on the floor before me, his eyes fluttering slowly, and I just can't wrap my head around it. I can't stop staring at the small drips of blood that splattered across the floor as I struggled to get the large man into this building. At the beginning, it was so simple- just a few beat downs, get my point across, stop the incessant thoughts. Clear my head enough to get some sleep, get in the ring and try again... and again... and again to get what I deserve. I want so much from this business, I hunger and desire it all, but it keeps avoiding me.

Now I worry I may never see it because somewhere deep inside I know I've gone too far- probably from the moment I stalked Mason Ryan down that shadowy hallway last week. Looking back on it, I'm not sure what I was thinking. It all might not have gone to hell if this kid had just minded his own damn business, hadn't gone snooping and saw me raise a chair against the already semi-conscious CM Punk, preparing to add another serious injury to what had already happened to him this week.

But what's done is done, I'm here and he's here and neither of us are going anywhere for a long while. We both have appearances, should be at the arena for Raw, but I can't risk it. Let them wonder where we're at, they'll never find us. I'm still capable of at least assuring _that_ much, at least...

I get jittery as more time passes and the kid doesn't move, my hands tangling in the folds of my hoodie. It's chilly here, the spring weather as uneven as my moods, my teeth worrying my lips as I wait and listen. I try to convince myself that this place is secure, abandoned, no one will look here, but no matter what management does, this kid is liked by quite a few people. It'll be noticed when he's missing, especially by his former NXT pro. If anyone would agree with and maybe help my cause, I would imagine it'd be Mike the Miz Mizanin, at least until I had had no choice but to keep Alex Riley quiet. There are very few lines that Miz would consider uncrossable, and this would definitely be one.

I pace back and forth in front of him, watching as he twitches and struggles, barely conscious and unable to understand the thick ropes knotted around his wrists whenever he gains a moment of clarity. In one of these moments, he gazes up at me and I recognize the look in his eyes of dawning confusion and horror as he whimpers and strains against the binds, lips peeling apart, painfully dry. I consider briefly getting him something to drink, the thoughts slipping through my fingers as he speaks for the first time since I dropped him here. "You," he gasps, tracking my movements with his eyes. "Why?"

He's becoming too aware- awareness will lead to fighting, will lead to the risk of escape, will lead to my identity being revealed. I can't have that, not now, not ever. It's with no small amount of uncertainty and regret that I lift the steel chair once more and aim it at his midsection. There's already deep welts along his back and arms from where I'd hit him earlier and one on his neck where I hit a little high by accident in moments of desperation to keep him quiet, so I know it won't take much. One solid strike across the ribs and he gasps, wheezing. I'm glad I'd decided not to tape his mouth up as he struggles to breathe through the agony, choking and whining slightly. Our eyes lock once more as the pain overwhelms him and he drops to the ground, out once more.

I slip to the floor and stare at him, regretting that I had had to do it. It's too quiet here, my thoughts are too loud. I finger my cell phone, considering once more calling someone. The impulse passes and I drop the device to the floor, kicking it away from Alex just in case.

XXXXXXX

I take my suspicions and cell phone outside. Not only has Alex been acting a little odd lately, but now he's just plainly missing. I'd asked around, been to the usual places- locker rooms, catering, I even checked in with the seamstresses, since he goes to them sometimes for suggestions on his shoes, or a new jacket, or just anything that strikes his fancy. No one had seen him for the past hour, so now I head outside. I call him once but lose my nerve, hanging up quickly. The next call I make is to John Morrison. He had basically laughed in my face the last time I suggested Alex was behind the latest dramas in WWE, but I need someone who knows Alex to listen and he's the only one whose opinion I trust that fits the bill.

"Hello?" he sounds breathless and I glance at my watch. His latest tweet had said he was doing more things for his fitness DVD sets, so I feel briefly bad for interrupting him, but it doesn't last long because if Alex is in the middle of all of this in one way or another, some things are just more important.

"I need your honest opinion without you laughing at me for once," I tell him, not even bothering with niceties.

He sighs and I listen as he drinks quickly from a bottle of water, waiting impatiently. "Fine, what now?"

"Alex-" I cut myself off as he groans, the crackling static raising my ire. "Stop it! Just friggin _listen,_ " I snap at him. Not even waiting for him to say or do anything else, I plow forward. "Alex is missing. I went all around the arena, and still nothing. You know as well as I do this isn't like him."

John pauses, then sighs. "You're right but I'm not sure what you want to do about it. Do you think he's off attacking someone right now?" He sounds honestly doubtful of it and I kind of hate him for not being suspicious of my former protege as well. Or maybe I hate myself _for_ doubting the kid, I don't even know anymore. The general emotion around the locker room's been so tense and paranoid lately that it's easy to fall into that trap, and I wonder if maybe I'm looking in the wrong place too, if maybe Alex's comments have been innocent and just easy to misinterpet.

"I don't know," I shrug. "He doesn't just disappear, man. That was never his thing." It comes off sounding a little more bitter than I intend and we both pause awkwardly, the quiet continuing on as we both wait for the other to say something. "Listen, I just want some suggestions. You're not directly involved, maybe you can point out something I've been missing."

He sighs. "I guess I can try. Who all's been attacked again?"

I think for a moment, frowning. "Hmm, Mason Ryan. Big Show, then Sheamus. Randy Orton was the latest-"

Morrison makes a soft humming noise, weighing the details he does know, when I hear a sound by the arena exit, a sense of deja vu as I recall the first attack. I look up quickly, breathing a soft breath as Alicia Fox and Tamina come out of the building, talking softly amongst themselves as they wander towards the parking lot. Morrison's saying something but I'm too focused on them, to be precise their conversation as it grows louder upon them leaving the building's shadow.

"I can't believe someone dared to attack CM Punk," she's saying as the other diva nods next to her. "At least it wasn't too bad..."

"Yeah," Tamina responds as she gets into the car. "The way he was talking, it sounds like the attack was interrupted. I wonder by who, though..."

I choke, unable to shake the feeling that something's wrong. "Morrison," I finally bite off, breaking into his nonstop questions. "Stay on the line. I gotta check something." I don't even wait for him to agree, just holding the phone tightly as I take off at a rush for the arena. It's not hard to locate Punk- and what fresh hell is this that I actually _want_ to talk with him?- because there are so many people surrounding him, the buzz ridiculous. He looks fine, if a little groggy and I suppose with after the attention he had required the week prior after Chris Jericho's attack that it makes sense why the trainers and EMT surrounding him look so worried. I shoulder my way past all of them and press speaker phone so John can hear as well. "Punk," I greet him brusquely.

"What do you want?" he snaps, squinting up at me in agony.

"Did you see who did this?" He doesn't vocalize his answer, just shakes his head. "How about who interrupted it?"

He hesitates, pressing a palm to his forehead. "I didn't see, no. But... I remember hearing... someone mutter _Riley."_ He looks up at me, an eyebrow raised silently as if to ask _Isn't that yours?_

My mouth goes dry immediately and I'm turning on my heel before I can even think through it. I don't even bother shutting off speaker phone as I hold the phone up. "John, did you hear that?" I demand, running back the way I'd come to the exit. I have no idea where Alex might be at, where I should go, what I should be looking for.

"Yeah, I heard it," he confirms, sounding as troubled as I feel. "Mike..."

"I'm gonna find him, John. Whatever's going on..." My mind's working overdrive trying to think this all through. Alex is a big guy, it'd take a _lot_ for someone to drag him away unseen, or without raising some kind of red flag in someone. Where Punk had been found was a relatively busy part of the arena, right outside of the main hallway, so there's just no way. I'm outside now and I turn in circles, wishing desperately that we were close enough to California that Morrison could come help me but for now phones would have to suffice. There are two possibilities right now and I don't like either one. "I need you to do something."

"Sure, what?"

I rattle off a quick hospital name, relieved that I had remembered that much. "This is the hospital Sheamus is at currently. Find the number, call it. Tell them you're with WWE, and need some information on his condition." I don't even give him a minute to ask the million questions I just know are cycling through his brain, immediately plowing on. "I need to know what to look for here, and he's the only one who may actually know. His attack was a lot vicious than the others were, there has to be a reason, right?"

John sighs. "I'm on it," he says finally.

I hang up before his words have stopped echoing in my ears. "Alright, Alex, hang on. I'm coming," I mumble into the night air. If I'd been wrong this whole time and Alex wasn't behind it...

XXXXXXX

I happen to be nearby when Punk's discovered and even though I can't care less about the Straight Edge Superstar, I hang around. There's a crowd here and crowds are good, less likely for there to be another attack and me to get caught up in it. Not that the attacker has targetted women, far from it, but I still can't help feeling vulnerable and scared whenever I'm alone in the hallways. Punk's uncoordinated and weak, his intense eyes darting here and there before they stop on me, a strange look on his face as he takes me in. I feel skittish, unsettled by his intense stare.

I hear footsteps running and quickly step back, just avoiding The Miz running into me at full speed. He rushes right up to Punk, quickly talking with him, a cell phone in hand, and everyone stands by awkwardly, uncertain about what these two would have to discuss. Whatever it is, Punk looks annoyed and in pain and Miz looks determined and worried. By the end of it, he rushes off, looking even worse than he did when he arrived.

The crowd slowly disperses and Punk stands with some help from the trainers and lingering EMTs. I'm about to leave as well when he's helped past me. There's a squeech of rubber soles on tile as he digs in, bringing the forward motion to a halt, his gaze once more on me. I ring my hands, missing my boys all of a sudden, when he leans in closer to me. "Tell your little loser that this is far from done." His skin turns ashen and I slip backwards, a little afraid he's going to collapse or throw up on me, but the trainer's hand is sturdy against his back, soon getting him standing back up straight and pulling him away, to the trainer's office.

I shake my head, shuddering. _It can't be, it cannot be..._ I refuse to believe that either Dolph or Jack would be capable of such pointlessness, unable to face that either of _my boys_ could do such malicious things, would be so willing to throw their careers away. It just all seems so pointless, I can't bring myself to take Punk's words at face value.

XXXXXXX

Leave it to Mike to make me commit fraud, of a sort. I can't even claim that I did it because I'm a colleague of Sheamus and wanted information- I haven't worked with WWE for months now, and before that, he and I never got along anyway. But I'm worried about Alex too, so I place the call. Anyone who's ruthless enough to put Sheamus in the hospital with a head injury bad enough to leave him unconscious for a week definitely needs to be dealt with.

The nurse I talk to is very forthcoming, in fact surprisingly so. I don't even get to the fraud part, I just ask about Sheamus O'Shaunessy- God, what a mouthful, no wonder he doesn't go by it in WWE. I've seen his first name alone get butchered a million times over all around the Internet, imagine what people would do with his _full_ name- and she immediately tells me he's been awake for a few hours and just been moved out of ICU to a private room, before forwarding my call right on. I stare at the phone in surprise at just how _easy_ that was.

"Hello?" the familiarly accented voice greets me and I gape again, surprised at just hearing it. By the reports I'd read online and things Miz had told me, the Irishman was down for the count and probably would be for a very long time. "Anyone there?"

I swallow, shaking my head at the things being friends with Mike makes me do, but it's for Alex, so I finally speak. "Er, yeah. This is John Morrison," I say awkwardly. I haven't spoken to anyone other than Mike, Alex, and a select few others since Laurinaitis fired me, so this is strange. The last person I thought I'd ever talk to again was definitely Sheamus.

"Oh," he sounds surprised too. "What's crackin', fella?"

I almost want to laugh, he sounds so _normal_ , and I decide it must be the head injury that's making him not just hang up on me from the start. "Well, um. I've been talking with The Miz." I hesitate, wondering if he's following me alright- I really don't know how bad his injuries are and I'd rather not muddle things up by talking too quickly or confusing him somehow.

"Yeah?" He sounds like he's understanding alright so I continue, painstakingly explaining the situation. As soon as I get to the part of what's happened to Punk and Alex, he cuts in. "Ha, Punk. Best I could guess, he knows as well as I do what's going on here."

I press the phone against my forehead, breathing thoroughly. I do _not_ miss the drama and childish politics of the WWE. "Oh, do you now?"

"Sure, fella. Neither of us would want to fess up and let someone else get revenge, right?" It makes sense in that sick, WWE-type personality where only revenge, title belts, or pure unbridled anger fuels everyone's motivations. "But ya say he's got Alex Riley held up somewhere... I guess if you leave some for me after I get out of here, I don't mind telling you so Miz can get the kid out of there."

"Sure, whatever you want," I say, so relieved that I'd agree to almost anything. "Who is it?"

XXXXXXX

Being champion is like a drug. You get a small taste, a brief period of time where the weight of that gold on your shoulder or across your waist becomes as commonplace as breathing. It's a weird feeling, to know that you've finally reached this goal. From this point on, no matter what you do, your name will be in the record books- some of which go on for longer than most guys currently wrestling have been alive- and you'll never be forgotten, in one way or another. People will go through the list of names, see yours and be like, _Oh I remember that guy._ Not always a good thing, depending on the kind of champion you end up being, but it's the way of things.

So sometimes I think I can understand the people who let the power get to their heads, who become all about the gold and slowly lose the fun factor of this business. There are some who are just naturally that way, and then there are some who vow to never get warped by their own success, but it happens anyway, time and loss leaving them cold and bitter towards whatever may remain. I had gold briefly and lost it, but I was too injured for weeks afterwards to really dwell on it. Other stuff had fallen through the cracks with me a long time ago, though. I was so busy with what ended up being a painfully pointless flirtation with Eve and equally as pointless friendship with Cena that I had forgotten all about _before._ When I was struggling just to get five minutes on Superstars on a regular basis, much less to appear on TV. The ECW days, when it was more about having fun and learning more about my craft than just getting notice and success and... everything.

Back when I had friends also in my position, trying and failing to get over in this business. Not that I've lost all of them, no, but the road to my goals had definitely taken some away from me, bitterness and childish insults leaving us unable to even be in the same room for five minutes without wanting to punch each other in the mouth.

I miss those days, the _before_ days, when it wasn't all so complicated and bitterness didn't overwhelm everything else. When I could just hang out with guys and not drag our careers into every little thing. Not that I regret the brief taste of success I had found, far from it, but I do at times wonder if the price I had to pay, considering the aftermath and how fleeting it all ended up being in the end, was even worth it.

XXXXXXX

I'm writhing around, trying to get off of the hard floor, desperate to find something warm and comforting, anything to take the pain and fear smothering me away. My ribs throb, my back and arm feel raw somehow. There's no traction no matter how hard I try to stand and I realize my shoes are gone, my socks slipping and sliding across the slick tiles.

"Sorry," a somewhat familiar voice says over my head. "I didn't want to take your shoes, but you kept trying to kick me. I had no choice. I had no choice in any of this, to be honest."

It's dark and I can't really see but that voice keeps eating at me, I'm struggling to remember where I've heard it before and oh God it sounds so familiar but I just can't place it. I want, need, Mike, Morrison, someone to come help me. My head feels like it's been put through a grinder, bits and pieces of memory here and there but nothing substantial enough to actually break through for longer than a few moments.

"Sorry," the voice continues. "No one's going to come help you." I stiffen, realizing I'm talking aloud. "Don't worry about it, this won't last forever." It's weird, he- whoever it is- sounds sympathetic, almost compassionate.

"Let me go," I groan. "Please..." A hand rests on my hair, pulling my face up off of the floor. It's too dark to see, even when I squint I fail at recognizing my captor. Not that it'd do me any good either way, my being too weak to even hold my head up off of the ground for more than a few seconds. " _Please_."

"I can't do that, not yet." He continues talking as I breathe heavily. "You shouldn't have turned the corner, you know? If you had just stayed in the main hallway, none of this would've happened... I would've stopped, my need for revenge sated, and you would've gone back to Mike and everything would be good right now. But nope, you had to be curious and nosy and... here we are."

His bitter, horrified words jostle something within me. A split second glance of the last thing I'd seen before I passed out earlier returns to me, my breath hitching as my questions fade away, suddenly unimportant as I think up brand new ones. I stare up through the shadows and murmur incredulously, "Why? What'd those guys do to you?"

He shifts, leaning forward, and I peer up at his bright blond hair, feeling nauseous. "They were weak," he explains, sounding surprisingly calm. "Do you remember the walkout? Could you imagine where we could be right now if they had just... held on a little longer? Maybe tried other things, instead of just dropping it all at once? There might've been real change... after all of CM Punk's blathering about creating change, he couldn't even show up? Cena couldn't show up, or anyone that could've actually raised some eyebrows?"

My dizziness fades slightly and I lean back, trying to get away from him. "That was months ago, why now?" I can't help but ask, oddly obsessed with the way his hair gleams even in the overwhelming darkness.

"Because I'm sick of not being noticed!" he cries out, voice echoing in the room. It's so loud and repetitive that I start feeling even worse, the room spinning before me. "I work so hard so much and it gets me _nowhere_! I deserve titles and accolades and..." He kicks the wall and I wince again, the sudden sound hurting me even more.

I lick my lips, about to take a chance here. "Of course you do, but even if this did get you notice and you received all of that, would you feel good about it..." I pause, unable to decide if this is a good idea or not. "Dolph?"

His whole body grows rigid, his hands tightening at his sides. As he turns to look at me, no longer standing in the shadows since it's clear I know now, I see it in his face: he's scared, possibly shocked himself with what he's done. "I had hoped you'd forgotten that," he says quietly, a small, demented smile flickering across his tanned face.

I start to wonder if I'll ever get out of here in one piece.

XXXXXXX

Now that I know he knows, I see no point in being as careful. I begin to pace near where Riley is sprawled out, mumbling to myself. None of this is going according to plan. Not that there was much of a plan, to be honest. I just wanted payback, I guess. A little revenge towards the roster that had so blatantly failed at getting one _simple_ thing accomplished that could've helped the whole business, instead of just individual players in it.

There had been a brief period where I thought, even after losing the US title, that it wouldn't matter. That no matter who was in charge or how things were being run, my ability would get me over better than anything else and I would get what I deserved. But more time passed and less things happened that were deserved or made sense, and I grew more bitter and less interested in simply being the _show off_ people were used to to get what I wanted. Lists had been made, I recalled things in the past that I had allowed to slip through my fingers, I began waiting and tracking and patiently, oh so patiently, keeping an eye on the results that followed each attack. Management didn't do anything, of course, because they didn't know who to look at.

But that changed with Sheamus- it wasn't supposed to go that far, I just wanted to knock him out, like I had the others, but he gained the upperhand long enough to tear the hoodie clear from my head enough to reveal my telltale hair. The fear that my mission was ended before it'd really begun was choking and all oppressing, so I did the only thing I could think of. I didn't expect him to be unconscious for so long but in the end, it worked out in my favor. Management took notice then, for sure, but I didn't let up just yet, taking pleasure in felling Randy Orton. I would've gotten Punk too, if not for the former NXT rookie still squirming around at my feet, looking wide eyed and miserable as I pause to stare at him coldly.

He watches me, his breathing speeding up as I swipe at his foot, kicking it out of my way. He sucks in a whistling breath and shakes his head. "What are you going to do now?"

I don't even bother hiding the smirk on my face as I kneel down so we're face to face. "I haven't decided yet."

XXXXXXX

Morrison calls awhile later and simply breathes on the other end of the line as I ramble on, telling him about my conversation with Punk after I'd gotten off of the phone with him. I know I should shut up and listen to what he has to tell me but talking has always calmed me down and dammit I've been backwards and forwards through this place a thousand times already so I need to do something. It's when I finally reach the end of my verbal rope that Morrison clears his throat, something he used to do a lot when we were originally tag partners to gain my attention whenever I needed to shut up so he could speak for a moment. I click my mouth shut and wait for him to speak.

"I talked with Sheamus," he finally says. "He saw who did it, probably why he was beaten up worse than the others. He didn't tell anyone because he wanted to get some payback of his own, but when I told him what was going on with Alex, he agreed to let us have first crack at it, as long as he gets an opportunity later." I make no promises but wisely keep my mouth shut so Morrison won't stop talking, leaving me in suspense as to who the attacker is. "Mike, it was Dolph Ziggler."

Whatever else Morrison says from there, I tune out as I realize that a man I'd walked by a thousand times over the past few weeks is currently holding Alex who knows where, doing who knows what to him. It had always been a subconscious niggling in the back of my mind since I hit that last Skull Crushing Finale on John months and months back but this is the first time I have to say it, as I turn in a circle, trying to think. "I wish you were here to help me," I say into the phone and whatever Morrison was saying quickly gets cut off.

"I wish I were too," he says sincerely as I close my eyes, pressing the phone against my forehead. "But listen, we can figure this out even over the phone. You just need to find a couple people."

I know what he's going to say before he's going to say it but my mind is working in circles so... "Who?"

"Vickie Guerrero. If anyone knows Dolph, it's her. Go to her, ask what she thinks."

"She won't want to help me, she'll just be out to defend him and his actions."

"Listen, no matter what I think about Vickie, she's always had Dolph's best interests at heart. He's basically the teacher's pet in that whole scenario. What he's doing now, you and I both know, it's tantamount to career suicide. She'll know it too, and will do anything she can to stop it. Go to her, Mike. Explain everything, she might know where he's keeping Alex."

I nod rapidly. "Alright... alright. I will. John?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

XXXXXXX

I haven't seen Dolph all day today. It worries me. Jack has been around, as he always is, determined to regain his US title belt, come hell or high water, but without Dolph, things seem empty. Bleak. I have a strange feeling, one that's been dogging me for awhile now. I'd managed to ignore it everytime I looked at Dolph, taking in his focused, calm visage, but I have no idea where he is and that, more than anything else, is worrying me. Punk's words are rolling around in my mind, making everything ten thousand times worse, and God I'd give anything not to believe them, it is _Punk_ we're talking about after all. You learn in this business to trust next to no one, but there's just something about it sticking with me...

My thoughts are finally derailed when The Miz skids to a stop in front of me, panting and looking completely wild, his piercing blue eyes locking onto mine. I step back when he corners me, still trying to catch his breath. I consider putting him in contact with my trainer when he finally starts to talk. "I need your help," he gasps, obviously having run a fair distance just to locate me.

"Mine? Why?" I ask, startled. Only Dolph and Jack ever pay any attention to me, my voice enough to startle everyone else away for the most part.

"Your precious Ziggler's been the one attacking everyone," he forces out, frowning down at me.

I laugh uproariously, unable- or unwilling- to take the prospect seriously. Even as I laugh myself out, that weird niggling feeling returns once more, leaving me almost nauseous. Both Miz and Punk coming up to me and trying to make me doubt Dolph. We've been through a lot the last few years, something like this won't work on me. "Of course he has! And Jack's going to bring back the Swagger Soaring Eagle. What else have you heard on the dirt sheets, Miz?"

"I'm not lying!" he snaps, suddenly nose to nose with me. My laughter dies away as he glares at me, more serious than I think I've ever seen him, even during the middle of his scrambling to get a Wrestlemania match. "Ziggler has Alex Riley, ok? He tried attacking Punk, Alex saw it happening, and now he's gone!"

"What proof do you have?" I ask, although I can tell. Call it woman's intuition if you wish, but I just know. He's telling the truth.

"Sheamus woke up, said he saw Dolph and that was why Dolph attacked him more brutally than the others. Punk probably recognized him too, since Alex interrupted the attack. This is all falling around your boy, Vickie. Are you just going to sit here and let it pass or are you going to help me so you can help him?"

I stare at him, slowly accepting his words, as bitter as they taste going down. "What do you think I can do?"

"You more than anyone would know where he would go to hide out, feel safe. Where is that place _here?_ " He motions around the building, obviously indicating the town, and I swallow.

"If you're going to get Riley out safely, we're going to need some help." I hate what I'm thinking but Swagger's distracted with this Santino nightmare and there's only one other guy I can _maybe_ think of that would be easy enough to convince to help out, for one reason or another.

XXXXXXX

I tap my fingers against the table, waiting and listening intently. The TV is muted, the screen showing some random mess of a Cena scene, looking like one of the thousand other Cena segments everyone has seen over the last five years or so. My eyes keep flicking back and forth from the TV to my phone and if I dare to look away for longer than a couple seconds, I'm compelled to lean forward and check to make sure I haven't missed any calls, no matter how ludicrous that thought is. Not for the first time since last November, I wish I was on the road, with the guys I had come to know as friends, something close to family, helping out like in the old days when these random crisises happened.

But instead I'm stuck in my half lit apartment, sitting anxiously on my only somewhat comfortable couch, biting my lip till it bleeds. I'm about to say screw it all and run out to my car when my phone goes off, the loud ringtone (My old WWE theme, Ain't No Make Believe. Couldn't quite bring myself to change it, even after all this time...) shocking and abrasive after the silence I've been subjecting myself to for the past hour or more. I frown at the offending device and answer it, not even waiting to check who exactly was on the other end. "Hello?" There's a pause and I think if it ends up being a telemarketer or some scam at _this_ hour, I'd probably throw the phone out the window.

"John?" someone finally says and the voice doesn't register for a long moment. "Uh, are you there, bro?"

That's all it takes for it to click. _Zack._ "Hey, man, sorry, was expecting someone else," I say, taking a deep breath as I pinch my nose. "What's up?"

XXXXXXX

I can't stop glancing back and forth, my eyes darting from Vickie to Miz uncertainly. Why exactly they've come to me, of all people, for help, I'm not sure. After the past few months, I can't help but feel suspicious. "Miz is here," I say into the phone, Mike's phone, trying to ignore how tense everything feels as I turn away from their piercing gazes. "He says... well, he says that Alex is missing, bro. And that Dolph's behind it?" The words feel wrong as they slip past my tongue- despite our more recent falling out, I knew Dolph better than I knew pretty much anyone else in the WWE. Something bad has to have happened for Dolph to go this path, something we all missed. Considering how possessive Vickie is of her boys, I just can't guess what exactly that is but a niggling feeling deep in my gut keeps reminding me of the circumstances around Dolph losing the US belt to me, how that could've been a harbinger to all that had come since- like this, his attacking other superstars for some unknown reason. If so, I had unknowingly become the catalyst to a lot of pain, similar to how John Cena had been the cause of Kane targetting me for weeks on end. The very thought makes me sick.

"Yeah," John says into my ear, and despite his usual laid back California attitude, there's a fair amount of tension in his voice as well. "It took awhile for us to figure it out but basically Sheamus woke up and confirmed it all- he spotted Dolph mid-attack and that's why Dolph laid into him bad enough to keep him unconscious for so long."

I shake my head- it still all sounds so wrong, but Morrison, with the various disagreements he and I have had, mostly over my father's hero worship of him, hasn't really ever lied to me, and despite the questionable farewell I'd given him on Z!TLIS due to his firing from WWE, we had moved past it enough for him to make a couple of other appearances on Z!TLIS, making it more funny than bitter to think back on. "Alright, I just... wanted to hear it from someone I trust," I say slowly, still barely able to wrap my mind around the thought that one of my previous best friends could ever manage something like this.

"Sure man. Hey, Zack?"

"Yeah?"

"Watch out for Mike, alright? With Alex missing and me here, you're the only guy he'll have to depend on and if Dolph is as unhinged as it seems, well. I just don't want him to do something stupid and get hurt while trying to get Alex out of whatever situation he may be in."

I glance over at the former world champion and nod, wondering wistfully about how Mike and John had gone from being best friends to bitter enemies back to being close enough to care about each other's well being to this extent. "Sure, bro. I've got his back," I say softly, smiling slightly. There's another pause and I look down. "I'll make sure he calls you when we're all squared away and this is done," I announce.

He sighs. "Thanks, man. You take care too, alright?"

"Will do, bro. Bye." I offer the phone back to Mike and he takes it.

"Do you believe us now?" Vickie asks with her hands on her hips, looking like she would slap me if I refused or delayed the rescue attempt even a minute longer.

"Yes," I quickly say, holding my hands up to avoid both of their impending bitch fits. "What do we do first?" As they begin discussing ways to figure out _where_ exactly Dolph may be holding Alex, I keep quiet for once, thinking. _If Mike and John can rediscover their friendship despite everything that's gone on between them, well... who's to say? Either way, I'm gonna help you out, Dolph._

_XXXXXXX_

I don't know how long I've been here, or if my being missing has even been noticed yet. I think Mike would've noticed by now, especially with his mother henning habits mostly focused on me since Morrison's release, but he's been so distant and bitter since the whole Wrestlemania debaucle that I'm not sure how well I should depend on that. I trust him, of course I do, but there had been times over the last few weeks where I would give him his space to let him get over whatever was going on in his head before venturing a conversation with him. Hopefully those habits wouldn't cause my absense now to go overlooked, or I may be in huge trouble. I'm not sure what Dolph plans on doing, especially if the show ends before this gets resolved, if he would just leave me alone here and go on to the next town. I just want out of this dark, deserted building.

Unfortunately he's smart and takes nothing by chance- he keeps his cell phone with him everywhere, even if it's only a couple of steps from his original position, he makes sure I'm far away from the windows, no matter how tall, dirty or miniscule they are. He even takes great pains to whisper when he talks just to make sure no one should overhear, which makes me think we're still in a fairly populated area. But, based on how sore I already am, and the condition of the last few guys he'd beat down on, I really don't want to take any chances and raise his ire more. I would like to get out of here in mostly one piece and preferably even semi-conscious, if can be.

So I bide my time and I watch and I wait. Mostly I hope, trying to drown out the discomfort and pain I feel with thoughts of what I want to do when I get out of here. _... wrestle a long match and hopefully win, have another July 4th party on the beach with Mike and John, eat a huge steak..._ My thoughts are derailed when Dolph mumbles something viciously. He glowers over at me like I've done something even though I was just sitting in a corner, lost in my own, quiet thoughts. I shift uncomfortably as he rushes over to me, steel rod in hand.

"What did you do?" he hisses at me, grabbing me by my hair and pulling my face towards his so we're almost nose to nose. I hiss, my hair too short for this, my neck twisting at an almost impossible angle as he glares down into my eyes. "Why is this happening?" He slams the back of my head into the wall with such force that all I can hear is ringing in my ears, stars in front of my eyes for what feels like hours upon hours afterwards. When I finally gain some awareness once more, he's pacing before me, steel rod scraping against the hard cement floors with a hideous squeeching sound. "...Why is she with them? Everyone's turning against me... Why is this happening?"

My last thought as blackness takes over is _He sounds beyond desperate._ Even in my addled state, I know this isn't good for me but as I lose consciousness, there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.

XXXXXXX

I can just see them from one of the corner windows, three shadowy forms just visible beneath the overhead street light. No matter how far away they are or what the lighting's like, I will always be able to recognize two of them, at least. One, the woman responsible for resurrecting my singles' career after a spree of bad luck and being overlooked. The other, my former best friend who ended up being a title stealing betrayer. Vickie Guerrero and Zack Ryder, standing together in the parking lot outside of the arena with The Miz, of all people. It's perhaps the oddest threesome I've ever seen and as disturbing as it is, the ramifications of what I've got going on in this building, I'm almost intrigued at why exactly they're together.

I'm not that far away from the arena, obviously, hiding out in an abandoned storage shed just off of the main building. Hiding in plain sight, you know? I hadn't had the time to find a good hiding place, and Riley is a big enough guy that dragging him anywhere while unconscious wouldn't go unnoticed for too long. I'm still not sure how I got him past the arena security in the first place, but luck had been on my side for each of the previous attacks so I guess it's good that it's still holding out so far for this one as well. But I can feel it coming to an end now as those three stand around, talking. Vickie, of course, is always on my side- without me, she loses a sizeable portion of her paycheck, after all- and I used to think I could trust Zack but I've never spent much time with Mike, our circle of friends different for the most part.

For this reason, I pace in front of the window, gaze skittering from Alex to his former NXT pro and back. I want advance notice when- if- they begin to make their move. I won't be caught off guard, not again. And I won't lose my career without a fight. My brooding gaze falls on Alex once more and I shake my head, feeling almost bad for the unaware younger man. "No offense," I mumble at him, wondering how I'd gone so quickly from shooting off rapid-fire promos on Z!TLIS and at live events to holding someone hostage because some questionable scheme for payback went south on me.

XXXXXXX

Zack is looking thoughtful, which is good because it keeps him quiet for once. I turn my attention to Vickie. "So where do you think he might be hiding out at?" Her lips are pursed, eyes flicking this way and that as she takes in the surrounding buildings. "What, do you see something?"

She finally turns her attention back to me and makes a soft hmmm-ing noise, surprisingly much quieter than the persona she puts on for the audience. "There are abandoned buildings around here, right?"

How I'm supposed to know that, I'm not sure but I shrug anyway. "I'd imagine so. Why?"

"If I know Dolph, and trust me, I do-" Something tells me that sentence has hidden meanings no one wants to know about without washing their brain out with some serious bleach afterwards so I wisely keep quiet, allowing her to speak on- "He would hide Alex somewhere nearby, just because the kid is kind of hard to miss. If he tried getting him out of the arena grounds completely, people would probably notice, right?"

I nod, quickly glancing around at the surrounding area. "Alright, any ideas?" She's still looking around and I track her movements, aware that there are a number of buildings scattered around the arena that aren't used; unneeded storage sheds or whatever.

"I guess we should split up and look from building to building." She licks her lips, turning to Ryder with a derisive glance, baring her teeth in a sneer. "Think you can handle that?"

He glares back at her, the old bitterness behind his US title feud with Ziggler leaving them both angry and on the edge around each other.

"No time for this," I snap at them, pushing between them, almost knocking Zack onto his ass as he struggles to regain his balance. "I'd rather find Alex in one piece than stand around and watch you two fight like a couple of toddlers. Now come _on."_

They're still glaring at each other as they separate, Vickie going to the right and Zack going to the left. I go straight, vowing to go in a circle, even planning on retracing the other two's steps just to make sure nothing's overlooked as Vickie is probably working her own agenda and I have my doubts of how observant Zack will truly end up in this whole situation- I only want to find Alex, I don't really care about what's going on with Ziggler, but Vickie as his manager would only want to find and protect her investment in Dolph.

Zack's in an interesting position, I guess, my mind wandering as I walk around the arena, looking for any outside buildings along the way. He's friends with Alex _and_ former best friends, off and on rivals with Dolph Ziggler. I'm not sure where exactly that leaves him but, no matter how much of a question mark I put around his mental falculties after that whole Kane/Eve/Cena mess, I doubt Morrison would urge me to trust him if there's a huge chance he'd leave us hanging for whatever reason.

I sigh, standing on my tiptoes and peering through another set of windows in another visibly empty building. I'm not sure how obvious it'll be if someone _is_ hiding in one of these buildings but I can tell by looking in most of them that they've been empty for quite awhile, covered in spider webs and dust. Too quiet and still to be holding someone for any period of time recently. I shake my head, turning to one that has no windows and my heart skips a beat, a hand coming to rest on the doorknob. I know before turning- it's locked- and I close my eyes, focusing on the cool metal beneath my fingers. _Are you in there, Alex?_

"What are you doing?" a voice asks behind me and I pale, turning slowly. A security guard is standing a few feet away, staring at me oddly, hand on his radio as he more than likely weighs calling for back up.

I swallow nervously. "Well, ya see..."

XXXXXXX

Relieved to get away from both Miz and Ryder, I walk purposely, glancing from building to building as I go. There are a surprising amount of storage sheds and other buildings dotting the grounds, their closed doors mocking me as my hands twitch at my sides. I want, _need_ to find Dolph. We've been together for years, as close as a manager can be to one of the highest rising superstars in the WWE. I gaze out into the distance, counting the buildings I can spot from here to the fence cutting off the sidewalk and street from the arena. There are seven and I square my shoulders, moving to the nearest one. There are windows and I thank God again for my high heels- a joke to walk in, especially outside, but working sufficiently at getting me high enough to see inside. I take a breath, hoping beyond hope that I'll find him in here and that he'll be fine, just letting some aggression out after a rocky few weeks, something I can make disappear easily.

My eyes slip open and I peer inside, frowning. The building is empty. _Oh Dolph, where are you?_ I think, quickly moving away from the grimy windowsill. Shaking my head, I move to the next one. _Don't give up, Vickie. You'll find him._ He started off as just a project for me, I saw plenty of potential in him from the moment I first saw him, yes and knew he just needed a nudge or two to get noticed by others as well, let his true nature shine through, but I now consider him a friend and I refuse to let him down. This whole situation feels so wrong, I just have a feeling he needs me and that it's more serious than just a bad spree of luck.

I glance up at the dark night sky, shaking my head as the stars twinkle overhead, their natural beauty continuing on infinitely despite the various sufferings on the earth below them. _Just hold on, Dolph. I'm coming..._ Turning my gaze back to my surroundings, I walk to the next building and prepare myself for another possible disappointment.

XXXXXXX

Waiting sucks. I've done all I can to help find Alex from my apartment, fingers twitching around the blank phone as I replay my various conversations over the past few hours- with Miz, and Zack, and... I sigh, leaning back against the couch cushions. _Dammit,_ I think. My time in WWE ended pretty badly but Alex and Mike would probably always be two of my closest friends, and even if they aren't, I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to either man. Sitting here, gnawing at my knuckle, I've never felt so helpless.

My glare turns to the phone in my hand and I sigh. "Can't you just light up already?" I grumble at it, rolling my eyes when I realize I've become so desperate that I'm now talking to technology. Huffing, I stand and grab my keys, double checking to make sure that the phone is set to ring _and_ vibrate so I won't miss it alerting me to anything. Long strides take me all the way to the beach and I stand in the evening twilight, taking in the waves crashing against the rocks as the wind rushes around me, whipping my ponytailed hair and baggy shirt and shorts all over the place. Even though weather like this would ordinarily calm me, humble me in the face of pure nature's power, I can't stop thinking about what's happening states away. "Find him soon, guys," I mumble, peering up at the overcast sky.

XXXXXXX

The search is slow. I've already looked through almost half a dozen buildings and I wonder if Miz or Vickie's having any luck, but since I haven't heard any commotion nearby, I'd guess not. One thing with the three of us working together, kinda, is we're all generally loud people so if one of us finds something, the whole city will probably know it soon. I chuckle drily to myself before peering in yet another building, frowning as it too ends up quiet and empty. "Dammit, Dolph, where are you?"

Before my success with Z!TLIS had led me down a path to where we began feuding for the US title, Dolph and I had been close friends, he even regularly made appearances on my show before things became seriously bad between us, our friendship fracturing just because of the gold. Considering how very little an amount of time I actually held the thing, I doubt it was really worth losing that connection over, but on the other hand, Dolph gave up the friendship easily over a title belt too so... maybe we weren't as close friends as I thought we were.

Either way, he _was_ a broski, and Alex _is_ a broski and they both need help now so as the night sky begins blanketing everything, street lights coming to life here and there just enough to light my way, I continue my search. It doesn't take long for me to end up back where we'd split up, gazing around. _One building left,_ I realize, looking over my shoulder at the very building Vickie had been gazing curiously at earlier. I'm not sure if either of them had checked it, we were all in a hurry to get away from each other to avoid bickering further and distracting ourselves from actually getting anywhere in the search that I wouldn't be surprised if none of us had thought right off hand to backtrack and check this one small building.

The hairs on the back of my neck immediately stand up and I just sense it more than actually realize it _\- this is it._ A sharp thrill trails up my spine as I inch towards the window, moving slowly in case someone _is_ inside. Peering inside is hard, there's even less light now that it's mostly dark outside, but as my eyes adjust more, I can see something- a form shifting around inside. I look down and there's another movement, separate from the first. _It has to be Alex._ For once in my life, I keep quiet by slapping my hand over my mouth. _FOUND THEM,_ I text to Mike, relieved that he'd reluctantly given me his number as soon as I'd agreed to help look for Alex. _Where we split up from. Can't miss it, bro._ As soon as I send it and realize I'd called Mike _Bro_ , I cringe, expecting a snarky reply, but nothing comes. Within minutes, running footsteps come my way and I stuff my phone in my pocket, looking up to find Vickie and Mike coming to a stop only a few feet away. Oddly enough, a security guard is lurking behind them, his hand pressed to a radio on his belt.

"Here?" she demands in a half squeech, half whisper that still makes me and Mike cringe.

"Shhhh," he scolds her, eyes narrowed in warning as she opens her mouth to yell at him further. "Are you sure?" he asks me uncertainly.

"I saw people moving around in there," I explain, making a concentrated effort to not call either of them bro. "It has to be, right?"

The security guard frowns at the building, shaking his head. "How? That thing's been abandoned for months, no one used it after brand new storage areas were opened up in the arena. No one has a reason to be in there."

I nod rapidly. _Told you,_ I think, my grin lighting up the area better than the street lights. _I found them!_

"Do you have a key?" Mike hisses at him, almost vibrating with anxiety to get inside and collect Alex. The security guard hesitantly shakes his head and we all glare at him as if it's his fault we can't resolve this issue.

"What do you want from me?" he exclaims. "The building hasn't been used for months, only the arena manager might have a key."

"Ok, we don't have time for this. New plan," Miz says solemnly, motioning me and Vickie closer to listen to his instructions.

XXXXXXX

It's so dark, I can barely see in front of my face. The only thing that tells me I'm not alone is I still hear Dolph shifting around nearby, muttering angrily to himself now and again. Early April evenings currently are a little bit chilly, even though the afternoons are ridiculously warm, and since I'm sitting on the floor, it's seeping straight through me. I don't want to imagine sleeping here, like this, but Dolph doesn't seem interested in releasing me. _Mike, haven't you noticed I'm not around yet?_ I think desperately, trembling despite my best efforts not to. He has me tied up so tightly that even the slightest movement causes the ropes to dig deeper into my skin, making the pain just that much more unbearable.

I'm struggling to keep my breathing even and calm when I hear something softly thudding against glass. I instantly look up at the nearest window and see a shadow falling through the soft light that's streaming from outside, someone peering inside. I can't make out their face from this angle but Dolph obviously can because he hesitantly stands up, shifting closer to the window with his back to the wall.

"Vickie?" he calls out once he's close enough to look outside- apparently whatever he's checking for isn't there if he's actually admitting his presence and addressing his manager.

"Dolph!" she cries through the window, and even though she's still unbearably loud even at this distance, I can hear the worry in her voice. "Are you ok?"

He inches closer, pressing a hand to the dirt-streaked panel. "Yeah, yeah, Vickie, I'm ok." He seems to relax a bit as her hand appears against the glass on the other side, his face leaning against the ledge of the window as he peers out at her. "Are you?"

Their relationship is weird to at least half of the roster, beyond any kind of comprehension, but as I watch them, I can't help but think that somehow they ground each other, make everything just a little bit better for the other.

"Yes, Dolph, I'm fine, but listen, we have to get you away from here. Alex Riley is missing, and Dolph, Miz thinks you're behind it." She sounds even more upset now but my heart soars- Mike knows, and he's on the right track, if Vickie is this worried. "He's been trying to get me to help him... I won't do it, but we have to _go_." I see him glance through the shadows towards me, hesitating, and she tries again. "Please, Dolph, if not for yourself, then for me!"

He shakes his head, removing his hand from the glass and pressing it to his temple like he's got a headache. "This is all so screwed up, Vickie... I don't know."

"Dolph," she beseeches him. "Please. Do you trust me?"

His head shoots up and he stares out through the glass once more at her. "You know I do."

"Then please," she begs, her voice wavering. "Please... come out. I'll get you to safety, they won't find you. We'll come back when this all dies down. Please, Dolph!"

Even he winces as her voice grows in pitch, finally nodding. "Alright, Vickie. I'll... I'm coming out." He doesn't glance in my direction again, quickly walking towards the locked door. Obviously his interest in me has passed; all I can hope is that Mike _does_ have his suspicions about who had me and where and will find me soon. As I listen to the locks being unlatched one at a time is that, I realize that, as bad company as Dolph really was, it was better than being in this cold, dark room all alone.

XXXXXXX

I feel like freedom is within my grasp, Vickie only feet away as I unlock one, two, three locks. I wonder what paranoid soul set this door up, before shrugging the pointless thought away. It had helped my cause, after all, gave me some peace of mind while I tried to think through what I'd do next with everything slowly falling apart around me. I had known since seeing Vickie with Miz and Zack that time was slipping through my fingers, though the fact that my plans weren't going to end the way I would've wanted had been becoming more and more obvious since Sheamus had seen my face. There had been too many mistakes and I had no doubt that Punk knew it was me, as well.

Now, with Vickie coming to collect me, the need to think things through was taken from me, my trust in her regained. I know she'll keep me safe, get me out of this mess I'd caused. Finally the door clicks open and I leave the abandoned storage building, breathing in the cool evening air as I step out onto the hard concrete.

She's waiting for me, her dark eyes gleaming in the street lights. Her arms reach out for me as I turn and walk towards her, lips tugging upwards as I wait to be embraced by the only real friend and confidante I have in this messed up, warped business. "Vickie," I breathe out, only a few steps away from her when her face tightens, her hands dropping a few inches. I barely have a second to comprehend this sudden change when I register a presence behind me, muscular arms wrapping around my neck and throat, restraining me. I struggle, reaching out for my manager. "V- Vickie," I choke, trying to break out of the hold. "Vickie!"

She looks at me sadly, shaking her head as she takes a step back reluctantly. "I'm sorry, Dolph."

XXXXXXX

I'm standing nearby with the security guard as we wait and listen. The plan is fairly simple, not even Zack Ryder able to mess it up. I peek out as Dolph sneaks out of the building, reaching out for Vickie, unaware as Zack sneaks up behind him, smoothly locking in a sleep hold. My gaze shifts to the door yawning open and I nudge the guard, quickly pushing away from our hiding spot behind the fence's gate, dashing over to where Alex has been held for the last few hours. I have no idea what I'm about to find, considering the condition of the last few guys, but it doesn't matter. A-Ri needs me, and that's enough.

The guard is behind me as I rush into the storage unit, waiting impatiently as my vision adjusts to the dark interior. I concentrate with my other senses as the other man pats the walls, looking for a working light switch. _Why didn't we bring flashlights?_ I think, feeling ridiculously unprepared and stupid. "Alex, if you can hear me," I call out into the darkness. "I'm here, Dolph's being dealt with. You're safe. Can you say something?" I hear ragged breathing but I'm not sure if it's Alex or the somewhat out of shape security guard. Shaking my head, I hold my breath and focus on the sound. "Alex, please..."

"Mi- Mike," I finally catch the soft whisper. "Mike, he-help..." My eyes stinging with restrained emotions, I quickly sweep my hands out in front of me, trying to feel my way forward. There are various items of different shapes and sizes scattered around and the last thing I need is to get injured to the point that I can't be help to Alex from this point on, so I take great care not to trip over anything.

I'm still brushing various items away with my shoes when there's a click, exaggeratedly loud from lack of use, and light floods the room, the security guard and I both gasping as our eyes immediately start watering in response. "Crap," I grimace, rubbing my face with the hem of my shirt. When I can finally see again without the lights hurting my vision, I glance around hesitantly.

Alex is only a few feet away from where I'm standing, his own bloodshot eyes locked on me as he struggles to focus as well. My jaw dropping, I scramble towards him and grip his face, staring at him. "Are you ok?" I demand, looking the rest of him over. He looks dirty and tired, his arms trembling as he reaches up to tangle his fingers around my jacket. I realize he's sitting on a cold cement floor and frown, not spotting anything he can sit on until we can move him somewhere more comfortable and warm.

"I, I am now," he grimaces, his voice sounding rough. I wouldn't be surprised if he comes out of this with the worst cold possible. I stroke my fingers through his hair, smiling as he leans into my touch, his eyes fluttering shut. "Mike..."

I sigh, my hand falling to squeeze his. "You're gonna be fine," I promise softly, gently freeing his hand from my jacket. As he groans at the lack of contact, I shrug out of the extra layers and drape it across his shoulders, rubbing his arms briskly through the fabric. "Can you tell me what happened?"

XXXXXXX

"Don't hurt him!" I cry out, my voice not sounding like my own as Dolph's eyes begin losing their focus, his hand wavering as he still struggles to reach out for me.

"I'm not," Zack grunts. "He's just fighting really hard..." He shifts, his face now covered in Dolph's platinum hair at this new angle. "Just let go, Dolph. We're trying to save you from yourself here..." He tightens his hold once more and continues murmuring against his neck. "Come on, Bro. If we were ever friends..."

I'm not sure what gets through to him, if anything, but Dolph's struggles begin to slow only a few seconds later, his breathing stuttering as sleep overcomes him. His arm drops slowly, inches down to rest at his side and Zack eases down with him as he falls to his knees, the Long Island Loudmouth bracing him so he doesn't hurt himself while sinking into the hard concrete. I'm by their side within seconds, cupping Dolph's face as Zack drags him back to rest against his chest, waiting to drop the hold until he's sure he's completely unconscious. "I've got you," I whisper, rubbing gentle circles along both sides of his face. "I promise, you're going to be fine..."

XXXXXXX

I'm still sitting on the beach when my phone goes off, vibrating inside my pocket. I reach for it and blink, Mike's name flashing up at me. "Damn," I whisper, quickly answering it. "Hello?"

Heavy breathing blasts my eardrums for a moment and I'm about to hang up, disappointed at the blind dial that appears to have happened, when there's a faint "John?" on the other end that stops me short.

"Alex?"

"Yeah," the younger man says, sounding exhausted and in pain. "It's me."

I gape at the phone before putting it back against my ear. "Where are you? Are you- are you alright?" I want to ask more, so much more, but he's still breathing heavily and I decide to let him talk while he can.

"I'm... I think I'm somewhere near the arena," he struggles to explain. "Mike's here with me. I'm ok." He sounds anything but ok, my eyes rolling slightly at his old habit of acting fine to counteract Miz and my own ridiculous amount of drama over the past couple of years that we've all known each other.

"That's good," I say softly. "Can I talk with Mike for a second?"

"Sure."

There's a shuffling sound and I can tell instinctively when I have Mike. "Are _you_ ok?"

"Not really," he mutters. "John, thank you. I don't think I would've gotten this far without Vickie and Ryder's help."

I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose, feeling worthless and lame at not being to help them directly. "How- I mean, what happened?"

As he goes into explaining quickly how he, Zack and Vickie all began working together to plan how to distract Dolph long enough to get Alex to safety, I stand and head for my apartment, an idea forming as I listen.

XXXXXXX

Dolph is still pressed against my chest, Vickie pacing in front of us with her hand fluttering against her mouth. For once the three of us are completely silent. She looks shattered, Dolph is still mostly out of it from the sleeper hold I had to ironically lock in on him, and I... I don't know what I am, it just doesn't seem like a good time to talk although my thoughts are running a million miles an hour.

What started this really? Was it my going after the US title that sent him down this path, or something else that none of us could've foreseen? My thoughts are finally, thankfully derailed as Dolph groans faintly, his hair tickling my collarbone as he shifts, eyes fluttering. Vickie immediately drops down next to him, cupping his face once more. "Dolph? Dolph, can you hear me?" she asks, pointedly keeping her voice low and soothing for once. "Can you open your eyes?"

He squirms and finally sighs, looking up at her. "Vickie? What..."

Her fingers tighten against his jaw as she sniffs loudly. "Dolph, what were you thinking?"

He looks dazed and confused as she cries over him, finally sensing my presence enough to look over his shoulder. "Zack?" For a brief moment he sounds more like my former friend than the #heel he had become in recent months.

"Yeah, bro, I'm here."

He shakes his head, growing even more confused. "Why though?"

I'm about to answer when Vickie shakes her head warningly at me so I clamp my mouth shut, choosing for once to just listen. "What do you remember, Dolph?" she asks softly, rocking back on her heels to stare down at him despite not releasing her grip on his face, as if scared to let go of him.

He takes a shuddering breath, frowning up at her. "I think..." He peers around and catches sight of the building just off to the side. "Wait, I... Alex Riley-"

"Miz has him," I offer helpfully, ignoring the warning glare Vickie shoots my way. "He's gonna be fine, bro." I haven't seen him, but I hear Mike murmuring through the door a few feet away so I assume that everything's as alright as it can be on that front, which is a relief for a number of reasons.

He nods distantly, focusing back on Vickie's question. "I remember... wanting change." He sucks in a deep breath. "I, that's all I wanted. I wanted to fix what went wrong."

"What do you mean?" she asks carefully, her eyes welling up with tears once more as he looks wearily ahead, seeming so unlike himself that it leaves a weird, gnawing ache in my chest as well.

"Do you ever think about what could've happened if the walkout hadn't been abandoned so quickly?" he asks out of the blue, startling both of us. "If more people had been involved, had actually stuck around and not just returned to their positions as soon as Laurinaitis was named acting General Manager? He's no better than HHH, if anything things are worse under his command."

"That's why you've been attacking people?" Vickie asks, hands dropping from Dolph's face to flutter against her lips as she pieces the puzzle together. "Sheamus, Orton... Mason Ryan... Dolph, God... They were all people not at the walkout, right?"

He smiles at her, his eyes twinkling under the dark night sky. "Of course you would get it, Vickie. When no one else would..."

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt as there's a commotion behind us, Mike and the security guard slowly helping Alex walk from the building. They all freeze upon realizing that Dolph is awake and staring right at them, Alex paling even further as Miz shifts his grip, making sure the younger man is steady on his feet. "You better have him," he snaps at me, glaring distrustfully down at all of us.

XXXXXXX

My head lulls back as I relax, so _so_ glad to be back home in Florida, the warm evening air brushing against my skin and slowly drawing me back to reality and warming me up after the time I'd spent in that abandoned building in Washington DC.

Mike is driving my car, glancing over at me worriedly every now and again. I can feel his eyes on me, but I'm too languid and stuck in the moment to respond or ease his fussing in the slightest.

The night before and this early morning is stuck in my mind, playing on a loop, despite how out of it I had been for parts of it.

_After Zack had confirmed having Dolph, Mike had moved quickly away from him, drawing me along with him. He pushed me towards an uncomfortable stone square beneath a street lamp, urging me quietly to sit. As I followed his command, he began examining me, tsking over the few visible bruises along my face from the couple of times Dolph had taken the steel pipe to me._

_There's a bump just barely hidden by my hair, probably from when I had been knocked out, and he winced sympathetically when he'd found it, my eyes squeezed shut as soon as his fingers brushed against it. "Sorry, sorry," he whispered, rocking back on his heels._

_He insisted we go to the ER, and I go, mostly to keep him calm, and they confirm what I already knew. Thankfully mild concussion, cuts and bruises, cracked ribs, and small abrasions on my skull from when I impacted the wall. They give me a mild painkiller for the headache and send me on my way with some instructions to Mike on what to look for overnight._

_Neither of us liked staying in DC longer than we needed to, considering, but we didn't have many options by the time we'd gotten out of the hospital. I figured Miz was pleased anyway because it meant he could keep an eye on me in the quiet privacy of a hotel room instead of on a redeye or in an airport. Even so, we barely ended up sleeping a few hours before Mike's alarm clock started echoing through the room, waking him up immediately. I was quick to follow as he carefully shook me awake to explain that the first flight to Florida would be leaving soon._

_After we packed and he fussed over my injuries once more, testing my awareness like we see in TV shows a lot- "You're holding up two fingers, Mike._ Yes _I'm sure, can we go now?"- we finally left, Mike refusing to allow me to carry my things just down the hall to the elevators. To keep the peace, I let him do whatever he had to to ensure we made it to the airport without causing more of a scene._

So now we're here, and I'm already relaxing a little bit, but even though it's _home_ , the same old streets I drive every time I come back from a tour or media event aren't as comforting as they usually are. I'm still tense and watchful, despite Mike's steadying presence next to me. I'm so lost in my thoughts I barely even realize he's staring at me until he asks, "Are you alright?"

Snapping out of it briefly, I blink at him. "Oh. Yes, I'm fine," I say quietly, peering back out of the windshield. "Just... thinking."

"About anything in particular?"

I shake my head for a minute, before realizing that I'd never kept anything serious from Mike before. The disappointed look on his face leaves me uncomfortable and I swallow. "It's just... I... why me? Why those other guys? Why now?" My memories from the night before are scattered; I remember something about the walk out from last October, but none of it really makes sense in the morning light. I need answers.

The car starts to slow and I think for a minute that maybe Mike is pulling over so we can talk but I realize that, no, we're pulling into my driveway, the car idling as he brakes close to the garage and fiddles with the keychain, making it click against the wheel obnoxiously. We're finally really home.

My questions go unanswered as we slowly drag ourselves from the car and collect our things, Mike still unwilling to let me carry much of anything. I frown at his back as I follow him to the door, sighing in exasperation as he puts everything down on the steps and pulls out my keys from his pocket. _So he has those too, and probably my wallet as well._ I grimace at not having my things on me but shrug it off as he unlocks the door, stepping aside so I can go in first.

Paranoia has kicked in since everything last night so I notice little things- like, a line of sneakers I leave by the door are out of order. The scent of something having been cooked recently is wafting out into the hallway, and a light's on. I can see its glow from the living room. I start to worry that someone's here to finish the job- maybe Vickie and Zack lost track of Dolph, or Swagger was in on it from the start, or... My thoughts are halted when Mike walks up behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders. "Alex," he says tightly. "Breathe, dammit. Breathe. You're fine." I wonder when my focus is ever going to return to me as I notice that I'm all but hyperventilating, my hands clenched at my sides. "Look at me," he orders, cupping my jaw as he shifts around till he's standing in front of me. " _Look_ at me." When our eyes finally lock, he smiles hesitantly. "I'm sorry, ok? I should've told you, I thought it'd be a good surprise. I wasn't thinking, obviously. Listen, John's here. I explained where you hide your spare key at so he could get in, since he insisted on coming. I think he got on a flight before we even contacted him to say we had you and you were safe."

I'm surprised- Mike and I have been friends a long while, almost two years, and John and I get along fine, especially in the last six months or so, but for him to actually take time from his own life just to come across the country and see for his own eyes I'm alright? It's humbling and soothing all at once, to know that people care this much about me. Especially in such a cut throat business we're all in.

Mike squeezes my shoulders once my breathing has returned to normal and slips past into the hallway, looking around at the quiet, dark house. "JOHN! Where are you? God, did you get kidnapped or something?" He looks over his shoulder at me, freezing as soon as the words slip loose, but I just smile, used to and unaffected by his usual speaking-before-thinking tendencies.

"Classy as ever, Miz," Morrison groans a minute later as he leans against the doorway to the living room, looking groggy and uncharacteristically unkempt. We've shared rooms in the past, so I should be used to that as well, but I still end up amused by either of them when their hair's not quite _perfect._ His gaze sharpens, his stance more straight as soon as he spots me. "Alex, hey man. You alright?"

"Yeah," I nod, licking my lips anxiously. Despite my profession, I hate being the center of attention like this and just want to go sleep for a few hundred hours, forget the attack, and being held in that dark, dank room for so long... But with how Mike's still fussing, I doubt it'll happen for awhile. Until, that is, I notice the former Dirt Sheet hosts exchanging glances, holding some kind of silent argument that only friends or rivals or, in this case, both could maintain with any kind of accuracy. When they both turn to stare at me, I fidget, nervous. "What?"

John smiles as Mike sighs. "Look, we're all wiped out. How about you go get some sleep, John and I will do the same, and we'll figure things out after that, alright?" When I hesitate further, Mike's eyes soften. "We'll just be down the hall, Alex. You'll be fine, we'll hear anything that happens. In fact, you should probably sleep with a light on, if you think that'll help."

"He's right," Morrison agrees. "You need sleep, A-Ri. No offense but you look like crap."

I roll my eyes at him. "Fine, fine. I don't know what I have foodwise around here but you're welcome to whatever you want and there's menus for nearby places that deliver if-"

"Alex!" both men interrupt me in exasperation, glancing at each other for a moment before turning to face me. "Stop playing host!" Mike orders as John follows up with a much calmer, "Go to bed already, Alex. We'll be fine."

I shrug, too wiped out to argue, and follow their commands, immediately sinking into a deep sleep the moment my head hits my pillows.

When I wake up again, it's dark and I panic momentarily, thinking maybe everything before had been a dream, that I had woke up back in that abandoned storage shed that Ziggler had held me in, but before I can really do or say anything, I freeze as the sound of a door clicking open echoes in the room. "Damn, it's dark in here," Morrison's whisper eases my tension.

"Didn't I tell him to turn a light on?" Miz's equally soft, annoyed, mutter makes me smile a little, comforted even further as I realize it wasn't a dream. There's another click and I can see a soft, yellow glow beneath my closed eyelids as the two men walk further into my room quietly.

"He was probably too worn out to do anything but collapse," John surmises, speaking a little louder now, probably because they're closer to where I'm laying.

"I guess." Mike reaches out and gently brushes his fingers through my hair, hesitating near where Dolph had slammed my head into the wall. "Hey, Alex, you awake?"

I make a face, unsurprised that Mike knows me too well to think I'd ever sleep through all of that, and squints an eye open at them. "What?"

He chuckles, looking at Morrison knowingly. "Told you." He drops down onto my bed, shifting backwards until I scoot over to make more room for him. "We have some stuff to tell you."

"About Dolph?" I ask lowly as John sits crosslegged on the edge of the bed, looking like the smallest movement from either Mike or I would send him toppling onto the floor.

"Yes," he says quietly, Mike nodding.

"I'm not sure how aware you were when we were getting you out of there," Mike takes back over, "but Zack Ryder and Vickie Guerrero had a hand in us even finding you."

"I think I remembering seeing them," I hedge, sitting up a little. "Um. What happened with Dolph anyway?"

"We talked with Zack, Vickie, and both Laurinaitis and HHH," Morrison speaks up. "They all confirmed- Dolph basically snapped, Vickie pushed for it and H and Laurinaitis agreed; he's been admitted to a psych hospital, they're gonna examine him for a few days, and take it from there... but I don't think you'll have anything to worry about for awhile."

I take a deep breath, digesting all of this. Shaking my head, I rub my fingers along my temples, trying to ease the headache that's growing once more. The bed shifts as both men get up, Mike towards the bedside table and John out of the room. "Here, Alex," he whispers when he returns a couple minutes later, holding a bottle of water out to me. Mike holds out a painkiller to me as soon as I have a hold on it and they linger nearby as I take the medicine, sinking back against the pillows to wait for it to work.

"Why though?" I finally ask, keeping my eyes closed so I can ignore the pain easier. "Why did he do all of this? What made him snap?" I can tell without looking that they're exchanging a glance, both reluctant to explain. "Come on, someone tell me or I'll call Zack or Vickie myself."

Mike sighs helplessly before explaining slowly, his voice little more than a monotone. "Dolph's talked... a little... about it all. By what Vickie's gotten out of him, he felt that at least part of his career's slump since losing the US title could be blamed on the failed walk out last fall, that if people had held out a little longer, things wouldn't be like they are right now."

As Mike's voice drifts off, I think quickly, going through the guys who'd been attacked. "The people he attacked... they all weren't at the walkout," I realize with shock.

"Right," John says softly. "So he blamed them. His plan started to fall apart though, when Sheamus managed to fight back and recognized him. Dolph couldn't risk him telling anyone so he took him out..."

"Then when you interrupted his beat down of Punk, it was basically the final straw. What little grip on reality he had left failed, and, well, you know what he did then."

I nod somberly. "Yes. I do." I tense slightly, trying not to dwell on the memories, when the bed squeaks, Mike leaning forward enough to rest his hand on mine and squeezing in a rare show of affection. "But I'm gonna be alright," I say slowly, forcing my eyes open once more to rest on the two closest friends I've gained in this business since first starting on NXT almost two years ago.

"Damn straight," Mike nods fiercely. "We'll make sure of that, Dolph won't dare to get within five feet of you."

"Vickie will probably make sure of that too, to ensure her investment," Morrison agrees with a small, pained smirk. "Zack will probably want to keep an eye out on you too, since I can't do a lot from LA."

Mike looks like he's been punched as John's words register with him, blanching guiltily as he turns to look at his former tag partner. "Sorry, I forgot for a minute-"

"It happens, man. I forget sometimes still too," he says easily, brushing it off despite the tension in his shoulders. "Don't worry about it."

"So," I finally say a few minutes later, relieved that I can now move around a little more without feeling like my head's about to fall off. "How long are you going to make me stay here, Mike?" I motion around my bedroom with a slight grin which grows as Miz rolls his eyes, glowering at me.

"He must be feeling better if he's giving you grief, Mother-hen Mike," Morrison comments, grinning too.

"Bah, you two would be lost without me," the former world champion huffs, glaring at us both with his arms crossed over his chest.

We exchange a glance, both unable and disinterested in arguing the point. "True enough."

When he stops looking like he wants to kick us both out of _my_ house, John ducks out quickly to find something we'd all agree on to order for food since I have literally no groceries that sound at all appetizing around, and Mike scoots up to sit next to me while we wait, leaning against the pillows. "How are you really feeling?"

"The painkillers help," I say honestly, shrugging. "I'm a little rough around the edges, I guess, but I'll be alright in a day or two." I take a deep breath, relaxing as Mike's arm brushes against mine every time he breathes in, the contact helping ground me even more. "Knowing Dolph is nowhere nearby and won't be for quite awhile helps a lot."

He nods slowly. "Yeah, I bet. Look, I... I have something to tell you."

I watch as he nervously brushes his fingers across his arms as if he's cold. "What, Mike?"

He turns to look at me, his eyes tired and a little... guilty? "Look, I really hate myself for this now but for a little bit... I don't know why, exactly, but I suspected maybe you did this. I know it's stupid, but... I don't know, it's hard to know who to trust sometimes, there's been quite a few times in the business where people think they can trust someone just to live to regret it. I... If I hadn't been stupid, I could've started looking for you sooner." He sighs before continuing on, eyes stubbornly locked on the bedding. "I'm sorry it took me so long to find you, I just... wasn't sure where to look for awhile, but once Sheamus woke up, it all came together..."

"Sheamus woke up? That's good," I say honestly, trying to wrap my mind around his other words. I would like to say his suspicions of me didn't hurt, but it does. I hadn't doubted for a second that Mike wasn't involved in this. Even so, I let him off the hook. He had found me in the end, and that's the important thing. "Don't worry about it, Mike, really," I tell him. "I think everyone was doubting everyone this past week, and with the year you've been having, I don't blame you for wondering." Letting it drop, I ponder everything else he had said. Even though most of us don't really know or like each other well, I can't help but feel sympathetic towards the others who have also been attacked by Dolph. "What about Punk?"

Mike's face darkens and he shakes his head. "Oh, yeah, that jackass will be _just_ fine." He stares at me moodily as I raise an eyebrow at him, not understanding his anger. "He knew, ok? He knew who attacked him, who took you, but he kept quiet at first because he wanted to get his shots in on Ziggler himself. If it had been up to him, well... I might not have found you at all."

"Mike, you can't think like that," I finally find my voice, unable to wrap my head around some of the warped mindsets we work with. "It worked out, Sheamus woke up, told you what you needed to know, and here I am. I'm fine, I'm safe, and that's the important part. You didn't give up on finding me, and that means a lot, Mike."

He doesn't say anything for a long while and I start to worry, wondering how HHH and Vince and the rest would react if another of their top stars would have a mental break right now, but finally he nods, licking his lips. "I know you're right. It's just a lot to take in at once, and I wasn't even the one locked in that room for hours with a demented freak."

The tension in the room is finally broken when Morrison returns with three plates, each with a different sized plastic container on top. "Who's hungry?" He smirks as we both light up, hurrying to hand out our portions before we take them from him by force. I have meatloaf and mashed potatoes, while Miz has a cheeseburger and fries. I can't really see John's from this position but it looks- and smells- like a grilled chicken sandwich surrounded by mixed vegetables.

I pause while eating to look at the other two, eyes softening as I once again feel so thankful for being here, for having friends who would go so far to find me, and travel cross-country to see for himself that I'm alright. "Guys? Thanks," I say sincerely once they're looking at me, knowing that nothing I do or say, no matter how many times or ways I try, will ever reveal just how much it all has meant to me. "For everything."

"You're welcome," they say together, smiling at me. I may be delusional but as we slowly return to eating our meals, I can't help but think they have _some_ idea of how I'm feeling after all.


	96. chapter 96

"So how was Morrison's improv show?" Alex asks, not looking up as he works on untangling his wrestling shoes, gleaming in the overhead light.

"Good," Mike responds, only half focused on the question itself as he takes in the younger man's pale skin and somewhat uncoordinated movements. "So how have you been?"

"Been fine," A-Ri sighs, straightening up. As soon as he's eye to eye with Mike, he blanches, his skin turning a light green.

"Seriously, this is fine to you?" he demands, half-grabbing him by the arm and half-tempted to step back and avoid any nausea. "The hell was in that mist?"

"I'm ok," he repeats, desperately clinging to Mike's sleeve. "I just... need to take a minute. Stood up too fast." Despite how clammy and ill he looks, Mike gives it a moment, frowning.

As soon as he's standing straight without a waver, Mike reluctantly releases him, rolling his eyes when Alex looks his way, all _Told you so_. "Idiot," he mutters. "You gonna be alright alone for a few minutes? Last thing I need is you cracking your skull open or something," he mocks.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Alex mutters dispassionately. "What are you going to do?"

"You-" Before he can even finish talking, Laurinaitis comes rushing back, all desperation and stammering attempts at speak.

"Get to the ring, _NOW!"_ he finally barks, gaining some control of himself as he leans against the doorway out of the locker room, inadvertantly blocking the exit for those inside.

No one really knows what's going on until they all finally get out of the room, Laurinaitis realizing a moment later he's holding them up and moving aside before Mark Henry makes him move. They're halfway to the ring when Mike catches up to and grabs Alex, stopping him. "Are you sure you're up for this?" he demands, noticing as the monitor behind them blares on with what appears to be Cena and Lesnar brawling, blood all over Cena's face. "Crap."

"I'm fine," Alex insists, not bothering to comment on the look on Mike's face. It's horrible timing, Alex obviously still feeling the effects of last week no matter what he says or does, but Mike can't very well stop him, especially when Laurinaitis is still hovering around, yelling at them to move faster.

Holding back Cena and Lesnar is impossible, despite the amount of men in the ring, and Mike is fighting to keep the two idiots away from killing each other, his focus still on Alex as he holds up despite everything.

Finally things break apart, leaving the ring full of men trying to catch their breath and relieved that none of them walked out of it looking like Cena had. Mike immediately grabs Alex by the arm and, ignoring his complaints and struggles, drops him by Laurinaitis' room. "Ok, stay here, I have one thing to do."

It's a fishing expedition and as soon as he learns he has no match tonight, he starts wheedling Laurinaitis, reminding him that without Mike, he'd be out of a job right now probably. This softens the lameduck General Host. "I want a favor," he says faintly. "I want Alex to have the night off too. He's beat up enough, he deserve a couple hours to relax."

Laurinaitis stares at him for along moment, as if waiting for proof that he's getting played, but none comes. "Alright, if that's all, Miz..."

"No, thank you, Mr. Laurinaits," he spits out, trying to ignore how horribly the term sounds rolling off of his tongue. "Good night."

Alex is still waiting obediently by the entrance to the GM's locker room, a deep frown on his face as Miz joins him. "Everything alright?"

"Yep. I have the night off," Mike explains. "Great thing is he wants you to have the night off too. So what do you say we go around the great city of Washington DC and you can show me around the place you grew up."

Alex's face lights up as he finally realizes what his friend means. "You're serious?"

"Of course I am. So, what do you say?"

"I say hell yeah," Alex grins, looking more like himself than he had since the attack had happened a week ago. "Let's go!"


	97. chapter 97

After leaving Raw and spending most of the night exploring Washington DC, Mike and Alex end up at the hotel bar for a quick drink before checking out and heading to the airport for the overseas tour, there being no point to getting some sleep with their red eye flight a couple of hours away by now. Getting through TSA and everything else would take almost that much time.

"So how'd you like the tour?" Alex asks with a slight smile, running a finger along the brim of his glass.

Mike is looking comfortable and sleepy, his arms folded on top of the bar as he clings to his own glass, taking slow sips of it now and then. "It was awesome," he says with no sense of irony. "You're a good guide."

Alex chuckles fondly, looking down at his reflection in the bar. He looks tired too but with the nearly two week international tour ahead, he knows he couldn't sleep even if he wanted to. He knows without even needing to ask that Mike will probably be out as soon as they get settled in their seats on the airplane. Speaking of, he realizes the time is slipping away much quicker than he expected. "Come on, Mike," he urges softly, dropping some money on the bar to cover their drinks, along with a tip. "We should go."

"Already?"

"Yeah, man. We don't want to miss the flight." He collects Mike's bag from the floor along with his own, shouldering them as the exhausted man slips off his stool. "Alright?"

"Yeah. I can carry my own bags, Alex." He reaches out for it but Alex wisely sidesteps him, smiling slightly as Mike wobbles in response, almost losing his balance despite just standing there.

"I can tell," the younger man says with a fond eye roll. "Come on, Mike. Time to go." By the time he gets the bags in the trunk and everything settled, Miz is already dozing off from the passenger seat of the rental and he chuckles. _Guess I overestimated with the airplane guess,_ he thinks before starting the car. Thankfully Miz wakes up enough to make it through the TSA check point and onto the plane when it's time, immediately falling back into a deep sleep as soon as they're settled. Alex watches him for a while, wondering how exactly the Ohio native makes it so long without much sleep before turning to look out of the window as they slowly take off, the sun just starting to rise in the distance. "Here we go."

The international tour has its share of ups and downs. Mike, as always, is busy with his media events and various other things. They also both have numerous matches at non-taped live events, Alex thankfully regaining his rhythm fairly quickly after the attack by Lord Tensai and that strange mist that had messed with his coordination more than anything else in his career thus far. He's not surprised to find his name not on the white board with the matches and segments listed for London's Raw that Monday, but when Mike tenses next to him, he quickly rereads the scribbled names across the surface.

"Mike-" he says quietly, frowning. They had both brushed last week away as a one-off, but here's another Raw with nothing planned for Miz. The tension is visible in his former mentor, who doesn't even look over at him before squaring his shoulders, marching down the hallway towards where he can see the sign depicting Laurinaitis' office. "Mike!"

"I'm fine, Alex," he snaps without turning around or slowing his approach. "I just want to have a little talk with him."

Biting his lip, the former NXT rookie hovers around in the hallway outside of the room, waiting and listening. There are no raised voices, no breaking glass, nothing to show what's going on inside and each passing second does nothing but add to his anxiety. Finally the door opens quietly and Mike slips out, his lips pursed thinly. "Mike...?"

"He has nothing for me tonight," he says, his voice sounding as dead as his eyes look. "Why do I get the feeling I'm getting jerked around again?" Alex shakes his head, uncertain what to say, do. "I thought, maybe... when I won the match at 'Mania and assured Laurinaitis' role as permanent GM that he would give a little more consideration to... to me, maybe give me a title match, something... but nope. Like everything else, this was just a practice in futility. I'm back at where I started, before Wrestlemania." He kicks viciously at a box of merchandise laying nearby, waiting to be put onto one of the many tables for the multitudes of fans that would be flocking into the arena soon, nearly sending it cleanly down the hallway. "Dammit!"

Alex licks his lips, stepping closer. "I have an idea, Mike."

London is nothing like Washington DC, A-Ri doesn't know one pub from the next since he's only been on a couple International tours thus far, but he quickly finds his way and soon enough they're settled down at another bar stool, working through a pitcher of beer and looking over the food menu.

"At this rate I'm gonna be stuck on Superstars," the former champion sighs, once more leaning his arms against the edge of the bar, though this time his stance reads more hopeless than relaxed. He casts a quick glance over, making a face. "No offense."

"None taken," Alex says smoothly, hiding a wince. "It'll be ok, Mike. You'll see. There's just a lot going on right now."

He sighs, staring glumly across at a line of alcoholic bottles on display across from them. "I have no idea what to tell the Mizfits," he mutters after draining his glass. Unlike the week before, he's not taking his time with working through the drinks set before him. He's also much more awake this time around so Alex isn't very comfortable with this, but he can understand so he keeps his thoughts to himself for now.

"Maybe tell them to be patient?" he suggests quietly.

"I guess it could work," he mumbles, shaking his head. "I can't even consider going to Smackdown, because Laurinaitis is in charge there too now. Ugh, helping him win was a really big mistake, I think."

Alex sighs sympathetically, patting Mike on the back before signalling the barkeep for another round.


	98. chapter 98

Thirteen months ago, Mike "The Miz" Mizanin had been on top of the world- US champion, WWE champion, Alex as his protege, Money in the Bank winner and heading into Mania where he would defeat John Cena in the main event. Things were slowly starting to spiral, starting with Alex's however brief firing- that had led to the special contract Miz had had to work out for him to get around the Anon GM's shenanigans- and losing the US title to Sheamus, but he was too captivated by his own ego at the time to even see it.

Even so, when he leaves John Laurinaitis' office, he's relieved that Alex is off doing his own thing, a strange energy thrumming through him. The US title is far from the prestige he thinks he deserves- a Heavyweight champion falling back to competing for one of the secondary titles?- but he has many fond memories of that belt, it being the focal point of the start of his road to the WWE title way back when, and even the start of his patching things up with Morrison, so he can't completely spit at the match he's been given this Sunday.

He's passing by a monitor when he freezes, seeing Alex talking to Chris Jericho, who roughly shoves him off towards a locker room. He pauses, eyebrows raised as Jericho blocks Alex from knocking, finding the door to be opened a bit. Pushing it open further, he reveals Punk talking on his cell phone as he sips from a plastic glass, a bottle open next to him. A _liquor_ bottle, that is. Mike scoffs, disbelieving. Many guys had, over the years, tried to get Punk to betray his straight edge ideals, ordering him this shot and that, just to get it thrown back in their faces, literally. The man had an uncanny alcohol sensor, not taking a sip of something if it even _smelled_ a little off. "What a fake," he mutters as commercials resume.

Alex joins him a minute later, looking a little amused. "Hey, Mike."

"Hey." Miz considers telling him about what Laurinaitis had told him but decides not to, instead focusing on what he'd just watched. "So friends with Jericho now, are we?"

"Not really." Alex just grins, ignoring Mike's silent cues to tell him more. "So what's up with you?"

_Two can play this game,_ he decides, lounging back against the cool lockers behind him. "Not much."

"Did you talk with Laurinaitis tonight?"

"Nah, didn't see the point. Why bother, so he can just tell me _nothing for you tonight!_ again?" He ignores the sympathy on Alex's face, watching the TV stubbornly. Only a few minutes have passed when the show comes back on, Jericho already in Laurinaitis' locker room, demanding Punk be put through a sobriety test. "Good God. Am I the only one who realizes Punk is as drunk as I am right now?" He looks up to find a smirk on Alex's face and immediately swats him. "What?"

The smirk growing, Alex just shakes his head. "You'll see."

Mike rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "I hate when you do this crap," he tells him huffily.

"No you don't."

He doesn't, really, but there's no way he's telling the younger man that, nah. Instead he stays stonily silent, not even responding when awhile later, they announce his US title match on the Extreme Rules pre-show Sunday, keeping his eyes on the monitor instead of Alex's gaping face.

"You _liar!"_ the former NXT rookie exclaims, nudging him. "You _did_ talk to Laurinaitis!"

It's Mike's turn to smirk as he glances over at Alex. "He called me to his office," he says calmly. "While you were looking for Jericho, apparently."

Alex rolls his eyes before sobering, glancing from the TV screen back over to his friend. "So... the US title. How do you feel about that?"

Miz hums, standing up. "I feel... well, I'm not sure yet. It's a little weird, I guess, considering a year ago I was headlining Wrestlemania as WWE champion and now I can't even make it onto a pay per view like Extreme Rules. But I did adore that belt, it was the start of my career's upswing, you know? Maybe it can be again."

"You were on the top of the world when you held it," Alex nods quietly, remembering those days fondly. Mike had begun to repair his friendship with Morrison, leading Alex into eventually gaining one of his own closest friends in the business, had been tag team champion, US champion and WWE champion all at the same time for a little while, and things just... clicked well in those days. Now, not so much, for any of them. Morrison of course is gone, and Alex and Mike both are floundering in "barely used" territory. He sighs quietly, smiling up at the other man. "Good luck, Mike."

Awhile later, Mike scoffs knowingly as the sobriety test segment starts and Punk comes out, talking a little slurred and walking awkwardly. Alex remains silent when he fails at the alphabet test and walking in a straight line, repeatedly asking for another attempt after another. Finally one of the police say he's definitely drunk and Teddy Long urges the men to leave, Jericho repeatedly demanding he strip the WWE champion of the belt. Teddy is obviously reluctant but does so, holding the belt uncomfortably as Jericho starts yelling at him to hand it over.

Alex looks over, finding Mike totally taken with this, his eyes locked on the TV as this drama unfolds, his lips parting in surprise as the belt is just a fingertip away from Jericho when- Punk starts asking for another chance, pleading that he can do it this time. The other two freeze as he begins to recite the alphabet backwards, even walking the line at the same time. Mike slaps his palm against his face as Punk begins to attempt to moonwalk, looking over at Alex with an exasperated gaze. "I knew it!" He glares as Alex begins to laugh at him. "What?"

"I saw your face, you totally fell for it for a minute."

"Ugh!"

Two hours later, Mike drops onto his bed, in sweatpants and a hoodie as Alex thumbs through the TV channels for something to watch. Despite having been in America for two days by now, he still has a bit of that European chill deep in his bones and can't help shivering slightly. "Anything?"

"Not right now," Alex sighs. "It's alright, though, we can make our own entertainment."

"Yeah, su-... wait, what?"

The taller man laughs, leaning over the edge of the bed to pull out a basket that looks vaguely familiar. "I think some people already got their hands on it, but most of it is still here, as far as I can tell."

"Is that...?" Mike leans closer to Alex's side of the room, his eyes widening as his earlier thought is confirmed. "You swiped that booze basket Punk passed off to Mathews! After Brock beat him down?" A look of appreciation on his face, Mike shuffles over to Alex's bed and smirks. "There may be hope for you yet, grasshopper." He ordinarily wouldn't consider such a thing but their flights aren't until the next afternoon and for once he has no media until Friday, so getting wasted and forgetting his conflicted feelings about his career and everything else sounds _really_ good right now.

A-Ri grimaces at him. "Stop teasing me or I won't share with you."

"As if," Miz mutters, searching through the basket. "Damn, Jericho really went all out on this thing."

"I dare you to try saying the alphabet backwards in about... hmmm, an hour."

"Oh please! Like I'd give you the opportunity to film me making an ass of myself and post it to youtube or something," the former WWE champion exclaims, glaring at him.

Alex smirks, it slowly slipping from his face as another idea comes to him. He's not sure how well it'll go over, but it slips from his tongue before he can really think it through anyway. "Maybe we can call Morrison instead then." _Holy crap, I'm not even drunk yet,_ he thinks, chastising himself. Neither had talked that much about the former Dirt Sheet host after the week following Wrestlemania... with both being ridiculously busy on the international tour, Alex hadn't thought that much about it but now that they're home and the words have slipped past his lips, he can't help but wonder if there's more behind it as Mike freezes, a thoughtful look on his face. "Sorry, Mike- I wasn't..."

"No, I think we probably could." He smiles a little, shaking his head. "For one thing, he seemed fine towards me after the improv show, and for another, he won't pass up the opportunity to mock us later on for drunk dialing him, right? Let's do it."

Alex grins so wide it almost looks painful. "Great! Let's get this thing started then." He looks down. "Oh, wait. We need glasses..."

Mike laughs as Riley gets up, looking through the room for something to drink from. Leaning back against the headboard, he considers the coming week and smiles, crossing his arms behind his head. It's all just a little weird but he has a US title opportunity, a friend willing to share stolen alcohol with him, and another across the country who he'll be talking to on the phone soon. Not bad, all in all.

Alex finally comes back with a styrofoam cup that looks like it came from the coffee maker with the hotel logo on it and a WWE tumbler with Miz's image on it. "Wait, you have one of these?" he demands, snatching the tumbler from Alex's hands. "Holy crap."

"Oh, come on. I'm sure you own at least ten of them." He rolls his eyes, trying to determine which bottle he wants to tackle first.

"Of course, but that's _me._ Do you miss me that much when you're in Florida?" He grins as Alex looks up, suddenly lunging. "Hey!" In a blink of an eye, the alcohol basket is out of Mike's reach, now resting with Alex at the end of the bed. He pouts. "I was kidding! Bring that back!" They glower at each other for a few moments before Alex huffs, dropping the basket in the middle where they both could reach it. "Damn straight."

"Shut up." A couple minutes pass before both men laugh at their own stupid bickering, same as it'd always been even back when they were mentor-protege in NXT, the only difference then it'd been about suits and other ridiculous things. "To Sunday," Alex finally says once they've calmed down, holding up his glass of amber liquid.

"To Sunday," Mike echoes, clicking his tumbler against it and toasting the future.


	99. chapter 99

That Thursday, Mike arrives at Superstars, content to briefly sit in the car and stare at the late April weather, taking deep breaths as he considers the next few days ahead. This match, whatever it may be here, then Sunday against Santino for the US title. He's not sure what'll follow that, maybe another week of nothing, maybe not, but there's a current in the air. He thinks change will be coming, one way or another.

Getting out of the car finally, he heads for the building, head tucked down as he tries to straighten out his warped luggage handle, not noticing in time and running right into someone leaving. "Hey!" he exclaims, almost knocked clean off his feet by the collision.

"Watch where you'r- Oh." Alex cuts himself off abruptly, flushing as he realizes who he'd almost just knocked down, his quick reflexes helping him in grabbing the shorter man the only thing keeping him from hitting the pavement probably. "Mike. Sorry, I didn't see you coming."

"Obviously," the former WWE champion blinks, regaining his footing as Alex lets him go. "Where's the fire?"

"Oh." His flush grows deeper and he coughs awkwardly. "No fire, I just wanted to go outside and wait for you."

"Wait for me? Why?" he asks suspiciously.

Alex looks uncomfortable, running his fingers through his short hair. "Um, my match tonight..."

"Yeah?" Mike mumbles, pushing past him to enter the arena as he thumbs over his touchpad phone, reading tweets. "What about it?"

"It's against you."

This stops him in his tracks. "Excuse me?" They wander into the locker room to get ready for the match, not even minding the odd looks they get from the other guys on the card that night. As Alex begins stretching and taping himself up, Mike stares at his arm. "You injured?" White gauze is wrapped from his wrist halfway up his elbow and just looking at it this close to a match makes his former mentor uncomfortable.

"Sore, mostly," Alex tries brushing it off. "I overdid it at the gym, I think." Mike hums in response, about to say something about the match tonight, when he speaks over him. "You don't need to take it easy on me though. I know you have that match on Sunday and you need to impress; if it happens to be against me, that's fine. I can take it."

Miz gapes at him, shaking his head. "You expect me to..." He stares at the protected arm, which is all but a beacon to potential opponents begging to be targetted, and takes a deep breath. It's the smart move, it's what anybody with five minutes experience in a wrestling ring would do. He still doesn't like it though.

Their match goes back and forth, Mike indeed targetting the arm now and again. Even so, he wants both men to impress, maybe get Alex out of the slump he's been in too, so whenever the younger man seems to be flagging, he would get right in his face and taunt him, yell at him. Anything to get him going again, lengthen the match by that much more to show that A-Ri could roll with the big boys. Even one who's being overlooked as much as he is currently; Mike is a former champion and it has to count for something still, he figures.

Finally he sees his opportunity and takes it, hooking his foot around Alex's leg and sweeping him down into the Skull Crushing Finale, eyes slipping closed a minute as he relishes in the moment. He's missed hitting that move so much. He rolls from the ring first, heading up the ramp as Alex peers from the ring at him, obviously annoyed at the loss and in a fair amount of pain, but both men carry a fair amount of respect for the other as the show slowly fades to black and Mike heads to the back to wait for Alex to do so as well.

As soon as he stumbles through the curtain, Miz sucks in a breath, pushing away from the wall he's been leaning against and walking alongside him to the trainer's office. "You alright? I didn't do too much damage to the arm, did I?"

"Nah, I'm alright," Alex shakes his head, slowly flexing his fingers to show that nothing seriously is wrong. "Was that a good warm up for Sunday?"

Mike grins. "Yes, yes it was. Thanks, Alex."

"Anytime."

They're going home to their respective states until Sunday for the pay per view so Mike drags Alex, bad arm and all, to a nearby store whose bakery just happens to still be open, and they pick around whatever's left. "I'm buying," Mike says. "Get whatever you want." Alex grins, finally finding a selection of individually wrapped slice of cheesecakes and holding them up. Once Mike nods, they head for the register.

Despite being sliced somewhat small, there are six so the two men divide them, Mike content with his chocolate chip, walnut and New York style slices, while Alex digs into the plain, strawberry swirled, and cherry covered ones.

"Happy birthday, man."

"Thanks," Alex grins at him.

Sunday however goes bad early. He's had days to dwell on it, think about what a travesty it is that he's thrown into the pre-show- something free online, no less!- and by the time he heads out to the ring, he's grumpy and ready for the whole arena- world- to know it. He lays into Chicago, he complains about being disrespected, he lays out all of his thoughts and feelings that'd been cluttering his mind for the past three days nonstop, and even that isn't enough, the anger still deep inside. Instead, however, of fueling his rage into a victory, it causes him to be sloppy. He gets hit by that stupid Cobra and everything goes dark for a bit.

When he awakens, a referee is leaning over him, waiting to help him to the back if he needs it, and the match is long over, Santino the victor. He slaps his fist against the mat before jerkily rolling out of the ring, ignoring the referee the whole staggering way up to the top of the ramp. Alex is there to greet him but he barely catches sight of him before he lifts one hand and basically gives him the Maryse hand gesture before storming off, not in the mood to talk to anyone or hear a pep talk of any sort. He doesn't see Alex for the rest of the night.

Monday starts off alright but becomes even worse than the preshow. The first Beat the clock challenge is him vs... of course... Santino, but whereas things didn't click the night before, they do tonight. He wins in 4:18, in what seems like a respectable time, but it doesn't last that long when the referee claims that Jericho beat the clock by a second, even though he obviously hadn't. Mike sits anxiously as the footage is played again, Laurinaitis getting involved and deciding that Mike's time held. He sighs, slumping down in his chair to wait, almost surprised that the Unfortunate GM of both Raw and Smackdown had actually made a proper decision.

"Mike?"

He looks up, surprised to find Alex standing in the hallway nearby, waiting. "Hey." Alex hesitantly joins him, staring at the monitor. "How's it going?"

"It's alright." They wait, tense and a bit awkward, as commercials run through. "Mike-"

"Alex-" They both hesitate. "I just wanted to say," Mike finally speaks again. "I'm sorry about last night. That match didn't go the way I wanted it to at all, obviously. I wasn't in the mood to talk or hear anything about the match, so... I just wanted to get out of there."

"It's ok, I understand." Alex leans against the wall, watching as the show starts up again. "What do you think?"

Mike shrugs, turning to look at him as they reair Lesnar attacking HHH for the millionth time. "So how was your birthday? Bet nothing you did beat the cheesecake in a crappy hotel room, right?"

Alex grins. "Yeah, it was alright. Guess who called."

"Who?" He glances back over at the TV, finding _another_ recap airing on it, before turning back to Alex.

"Morrison."

_This_ attracts his attention. "Oh really?" Despite their failed attempt at drunk dialing him the week before, he hadn't really heard from his former tag partner in weeks, struggling to give the man distance since their discussion following Wrestlemania, but it's hard, the days they'd spent just talking over the phone about this and that long gone once again. Whereas before, when the draft had happened and they were thrown on opposing shows, the divide between them had been anger and resentment. This go around, it's just emptiness and space, at least on his end. He wants to ask a lot of things about their conversation but, considering how much he hates nosiness, he reigns it in. Finally settling for a simple, "How is he?"

Alex's gaze softens. "He's doing well," he says. "We didn't talk for too long, he was in the middle of filming something, but he asked about you." Mike nods distantly, blatantly uncertain how to take this little bit of news. "I didn't really want to go into it, since I'm not sure how he feels about talking about WWE right now, so I just told him you were doing alright, that everything's kind of in flux for a lot of people right now."

"Well, that's true," Mike mumbles. _In flux_ was one way to put a man successfully winning the boss' new role in the company and still not getting recognition of any sort for it. They both fall silent as the third BtC match begins, Orton vs Jack Swagger. Miz starts to feel sick as the match progresses, Swagger barely holding on as the seconds tick slowly by. Finally the worst happens- an RKO later and Miz's time is beat by a whole two seconds. He feels ill, almost throwing a punch at the TV before he slams his way out of the section of the arena put aside for the current holder of the best time.

Alex follows him outside, keeping up with him as he walks purposely down the hall towards Laurinaitis' locker room. Just feet away, however, he skids to a stop, breathing heavily. _There's just no point. He hasn't listened to me since he took the role of interim GM. Why the hell would he listen to me now?_ His fists clenching, he leans his forehead against the cool concrete wall and tries to regulate his breathing, cursing quietly between each inhale.

A hand rests carefully on his shoulder a few minutes later and he tries to shrug it off but its grip is as stubborn as he is, holding on tightly. When he finally looks up to yell, Alex is standing before him, his bad arm weighed down by one bag- _Miz'_ bag _-_ and another laying on the floor, waiting. "Let's get out of here, huh?"

Nothing's ever sounded so good to the bone-weary, angry man. "Yeah," he snaps. "We better before I do something I'm going to regret."


	100. chapter 100

Before Mike can even make it to the airport for his flight to LA, he gets notified- by a 5 AM phone call, no less- that there's been a change of plans. Instead of a direct flight home, he gets to take a flight almost twice as long to Brazil, media schedule in hand. He's half ticked, half annoyed. As disillusioned as he is with how his career is going, this impromptu trip proves that _someone_ in WWE still finds him worthy of getting his face out there but even so, using him in interviews and photo ops are one thing- why that can't bleed over into the actual ring, he's not sure. Even so, not being in the same country as Laurinaitis and all of the other annoying WWE big wigs is a very nice prospect.

He's somewhere between one interview and the next when he decides to duck into an Internet cafe and check things on Twitter. After paying for the use of one of the nearby computers, a coffee and a breakfast sandwich that is filled with eggs and sausage and doesn't look completely like rubber, he pulls out a chair and settles into it, taking a minute to relax. He loves going international, but it's always basically non-stop, which he doesn't mind. Even so, brief moments of solitude like these are much appreciated. As his account loads, he yawns and runs a hand through his haphazardly spiked hair, making it stand up even more.

It's through half-lidded eyes that he sees tweets from WWE claiming that Alex has been on NXT this week, his interest piqued. _He didn't mention that to me, guess he had some change of plans too._ As he clicks the link to read what his friend has gotten up to, he tilts his head, trying to work a kink out of his neck. He's barely made it through the two brief paragraphs on the show involving Alex when he jerks up from the chair, causing it to squeak against the tile floor. As most of the people in the quiet establishment look up at him uncertainly or disdainfully, he holds a hand up. "Sorry, sorry." Ducking into the men's bathroom nearby, he pulls his phone out and, not caring about the international charges or roaming costs, he quickly dials Alex's number.

On the third ring, when he's about to squirm out of his skin in impatience, there's a soft click. "Hello?"

"Alex? Hey," Mike mumbles, relaxing slightly. The man _sounds_ ok, at least. Reading _Alex Riley_ and _attacked_ in the same sentence had conjured up some bad visuals, reminding him of all the various attacks Morrison had suffered the year before from Truth. "You alright?"

"Read the NXT reports, huh?" He sighs. "Yeah, Mike. I mean, I'm sore and the trainer wants me to check in with my own doctor when I get home, but I'm alright."

"Percy Watson, which one was he again? Do you want me to come kick his ass?"

Alex chuckles warmly. "No, Mike. And he was the annoying one."

"Of who? The NXT season 2 rookies? Oh come on, they were all annoying. Present company excluded."

"Why thank you." He laughs again. "So how's Brazil?"

"You're not getting off the subject this easily," Mike warns, his eyes softening as he gives in. "But fine, it's been crazy..." As he leans against the counter and tells Alex some of the crazier things he'd experienced, he feels much calmer than he has since leaving USA.

He returns to the States in time for the weekend events, relieved to find Alex hadn't held back on his injuries during their phone conversation- he _was_ a little sore, but seemed to have no lasting effects from the attack. Even so, Mike keeps an eye out for this Percy Watson, especially when Monday rolls around and there are more people around.

His attention is diverted, however, when he checks the match board. _Son of a..._ His frown grows, arms crossed over his chest as he peers at the words scrawled across the well-used surface. He barely notices the familiar footsteps behind him until he's being nudged.

"What is it? No match again this week?" Alex asks, looking over his shoulder. "Oh." They stare blankly at the _Miz vs Brodus Clay_ taking up a portion of the schedule, Mike silently seething. "I'm sorry, Mike."

He hisses. "I should be wrestling for the title, proving my worth in this company... but _oh nooo_ I get the dancing dinosaur." He huffs. "Whatever. I'll beat him like I beat everyone and they'll see." He shakes his head. "I thought things were turning around after last week but..."

Alex watches sympathetically, unsure what to say or do as his former mentor glowers once more at the list, turning on his heel to storm off towards the locker room. He winces before turning to catering to get something to eat while giving the other man a chance to calm down. It unfortunately doesn't work out as he watches with a few others scattered around as Mike loses despite possibly one of the longest fights someone's put against the Funkasaurus since his return to WWE. He watches uncomfortably as the men and women around laugh at Mike's loss, quickly going about their business when he forces his way through the curtain, looking angry and ready to blow at any moment.

"No," Mike says gruffly as Alex approaches him, lips pursing shut as he waits. "Just... just go do something else, alright, Alex? I need some time to myself right now."

"Ok, sure, Mike," he mutters, feeling somehow rejected as he turns away to go back to the main locker room.

"Hey, Alex?"

He stops, turning to look over his shoulder. Mike still looks pissed but there's a deep tiredness mixed in that freezes Alex. "What, Mike?"

"I'll catch up with you later. Get the booze ready, huh?"

He laughs slightly, understanding the apology hidden in the words. "Sure, Mike, I can do that." Half waving, he wanders off, feeling a little better about doing so.


	101. chapter 101

Alex Riley sighs, his eyes slipping closed. He's alone on Smackdown again and, as much as he likes hanging out with Mike, it's also not that bad being on his own. The former world champion is so disillusioned and angry over the downfall of his career that it's hard to know where to step, what to say, that won't lead to another argument or snapped comment. He has a match against Antonio Cesaro, one of the newcomers to the blue brand, a little later in the show but for now, he lounges back and watches as the matches and promos carry on around him.

Teddy Long is forced into ring announcing his match, barely getting off a proper introduction for Alex before having to go right into a long spiel about Cesaro, and Teddy's former girlfriend, Aksana. Alex feels bad for him but barely has a minute to consider it before the match begins, his focus immediately turning to his opponent. Despite his best attempts, Antonio gets and keeps the upper hand early in the match, easily defeating him and leaving him dazed on the mat. As Aksana rejects Teddy once more, quickly making out with Antonio right in front of the poor former Smackdown General Manager, he makes his way to his feet outside of the feet and, leaning heavily on a referee, stumbles up the ramp to the trainer's office.

A quick examination later and he's on his way back to the hotel, perfectly content to crawl into bed and just lay there for awhile, enjoying the silence. He hasn't heard from Morrison in quite awhile, neither has Mike, and he can't help but think the older man is still somewhat bitter over the loss of his WWE career. _I guess he just needs some time,_ he thinks tiredly, punching his pillow a bit before collapsing down into it, asleep within minutes.

That Monday, he's standing by a monitor in the hallway, picking at his unused roll of wrist tape while watching as Mike teams with Dolph Ziggler and Jack Swagger against Brodus, Kofi Kingston and R-Truth. The former Awesome Truth members barely register each other, much less acknowledge their former allegiance or the accompanying issues, and Alex breathes a sigh of relief. Despite being the only one of their little trio to not suffer an attack from him, he well remembers just what the somewhat crazy superstar is capable of, especially with water bottles.

"Hey, Riley," Punk greets him, pausing. "Whatcha doing?" He gazes over at the monitor, lip twisting in distaste. "Miz, huh?" Despite how they had acted during their feud the year prior, pretty much everyone in the locker room now know that Mike and Alex are friends once more, not even batting an eye when the two go from acting like they want to kill each other in the ring to best buddies in the back. Everyone has at least one rival a bit like that, there always being a fine line between outright contempt and friendship in the business.

"Oh, hey, Punk. Yeah." When Punk leans against the wall, making fun of Swagger, Ziggler and, sometimes, Mike, Alex listens with a half-smile on his face. It quickly fades away as Mike loses to a splash from Brodus, the tag champions and Brodus standing proudly in the middle of the ring. "Crap." He sighs, looking up as Punk nudges him, walking back through the hallways. Shrugging, he follows him, barely concentrating even as he responds to something the WWE champion says.

Their conversation- of exactly what Alex is unsure of- gets interrupted as AJ stops them, looking up at Punk with a strange, dreamy look on her tanned face. The younger man looks between the two, feeling the awkward vibe, and quickly excuses himself. As he walks off, Punk yells something at his back about him owing him $50. Alex half-waves at him, shaking his head, as he escapes whatever weirdness AJ is about to throw at her ex-boyfriend's opponent this Sunday.

He's barely taken two steps when he pulls up short, blinking in surprise to find Mike standing in front of him. "Er, hey, Mike-"

Dark, blazing blue eyes glare up at him as sweat is wiped off with a towel, Miz's hands twitching against the fabric. "Fifty bucks, huh? Now why would you owe Punk that, hmm?" There's an awkward pause as Alex tries to figure out where this vitrol is coming from, but Mike doesn't give him the chance. "You betting on my matches? Huh? Are you?"

He's just opened his mouth to defend himself when Mike's sweat-soaked towel slams into the side of his face, leaving him floundering even more. "What the hell! Mike-!"

"I don't want to hear your cheap excuses, Riley. In fact, I don't want to hear anything from you. Don't even look at me, understand, _rookie?"_ He marches off, his very stance rigid and bleeding anger.

"What was that?" Alex mutters, still clutching Mike's discarded towel in his right hand. He doesn't see Mike for the rest of Raw, and when he tries to leave, the rental car is long gone. He stares at the empty parking spot numbly, fingers tangling in his hair. _Now what?_ He has money, but the thought of waiting for a taxi and then booking a new hotel room exhausts him more than anything else this week so far.

"Hey, bro!" a familiar voice calls out, surprising him. "What're you doing out here?"

He looks up at Zack Ryder who, despite his own career freefalling, still has a large grin on his face. _Now why can't Mike at least... be a little more like this? Try to see the silver lining in things, without biting everyone's head off all the time? But,_ he reflects grimly, _if he was, he wouldn't be Mike and we probably wouldn't have made as a good a team as we did, or be as good friends as we are now... or... were._ "Just... thinking about calling for a taxi," he says quietly, hopping off of the pillar he'd slumped down on earlier. "Miz went on ahead so I'm here all alone."

Zack's forehead crinkles in worry as he examines the other man, finally shrugging. "That's easy, bro. Just come back to the hotel with us." Despite his attitude, Zack's more astute in some things than people give him credit for, so after a minute of staring at Alex thoughtfully, he holds a finger up. "Just a sec, bro." Jogging over to a waiting Santino near one of the few rental cars remaining at this hour, the two talk for a minute before Zack motions him over.

"Here we go," he mutters, jogging over. "Yeah?"

"If you need a place to stay, we can make room." How exactly he had guessed, Alex isn't sure- for all he knows rumors had gone around that they had argued and Mike had left- but either way, the offer sounds a little like Heaven. "What do you say, bro?"

Alex grins too, slapping Zack and then Santino on the back, ignoring the Italian's slightly exaggerated wince. "I say thanks, guys. That sounds great."

The two men are, of course, louder than Mike, even when he's hyped up on ridiculous amounts of candy, but the beds are comfortable and after years on the road, A-Ri had grown used to noisy roommates and travel partners, so it's not a huge bother, his eyes fluttering shut as he hugs the pillow. It's not the same without Mike, no, but he figures some time apart won't hurt them. Things had been tense for a really long time anyway, between all three of them, so maybe when their heads have all cleared, it'll be easier to be friends once more.

_That or it'll just be easier to be apart._ His eyes slip open at this uncomfortable thought as he grimaces slightly. _Maybe that's why John's stayed away for so long. It's just... easier._ He sighs, once more trying to ease himself into sleep.


	102. chapter 102

After Raw, Mike actually finds himself with some free time at home. LA looks like it's mocking him with its blue skies and warm weather, opposing his attitude in the most annoying way possible. He sits for a moment in his car, taking it all in with an aggravated snarl. Currently, Alex is across the country doing who-knows-what, and Morrison is only a few blocks away, not even aware that they're once more in the same town. He taps his fingers anxiously against the steering wheel, trying to think about anything else, but those same thoughts keep returning, making him feel even worse.

His blow up on Alex Monday hadn't been the younger man's fault, not at all. It had taken nearly a whole plane trip for him to realize and accept that it had been building up after weeks of Laurinaitis' false promises and his own career's shortcomings. He had had a true chance the week before at regaining his momentum, just to lose it half-way through. The willfull distance from Morrison hadn't helped his tension any. It had taken the slow renewal of their friendship and Morrison's firing for Mike to realize just what he had been missing in the months following the draft in 2009, what he's missing now. It all just mixes together into a huge pit of emptiness deep inside of the former champion, his lips twisting in annoyance as he finally pulls himself from the car.

Being home, with little to nothing to keep him distracted, does nothing for him. He spends a lot of the next few days driving around, trying to find something to do, anything to occupy himself. By the time Thursday rolls around, he's crawling out of his skin, anxious to be back on the road, even if it means having to witness another low point in his career- with Over the Limit looming ever nearer, all he can think is how he doesn't have a match on the card, which would make it the second pay per view in a row with absolutely nothing for him to do until possibly the last minute, if that. He stares blankly at his media appearances schedule for the next week and wads it viciously into a ball before throwing it across the room, crossing his arms over his chest.

By Thursday, he's so annoyed with himself and everything around him and in his life that he's not sure what to do with himself. Despite considering dropping by Morrison's house and just airing it all out right there and then, maybe starting a physical fight with him like in the old days just to let some of the anger and pain free, he's almost paranoid to leave his house just in case he _should_ run into Morrison. LA's a big place, sure, but stranger things have happened, and the way his luck goes, well...

Midway through the day, WWE uploads Superstars and he's scrolling through Twitter updates when he sees one that says something about Alex Riley vs Heath Slater. He stares at it for a minute before making a face and clicking the link. Thankfully Alex's match is first up and he tilts his head, watching as the younger man comes to the ring, loosening up before the match by jumping around and flexing his wrists. He looks unaffected by the last few days, his expression purely focused on the redhead that comes out to the ring with his usual air guitar type movements and cocky taunts aimed towards both Alex and the audience.

Rolling his eyes, Mike rests his laptop on the table across from the couch before sprawling across the soft cushions, watching the match with a critical eye. It starts off a little slow, the two men feeling each other out, but once it really gets going, it's surprisingly good, Slater falling back on his own mat-based moves and tiring Alex out with a couple of restholds. It looks like Alex honestly has the match, even hitting his ridiculously painful slam, but Heath forces his way out of it, despite looking dead on his feet only seconds earlier. He hooks Alex into his own finisher and pins him into a solid three, leaving both Alex and Mike gaping. "Seriously?" his former mentor mutters, shaking his head. _Maybe this all's bugging him more than I realized, and he's just really good at hiding it._

His heart sinks as he gazes down at his phone, tempted to call either Morrison or Alex or both, just fix _something_ already. _If I can't do anything to salvage my career then I can at least try to resurrect my friendships, right?_ Unsure which one to start with, he's staring at the phone when it goes off in his hands.

It's an email from WWE, reaching out to confirm his upcoming media events. He scowls at the device in his hand, wanting so badly to just ignore the email, delete it, mark it as spam, anything to forget how badly things have shaken out for him. Instead, he slaps both the laptop lid shut and gouges the cell phone's power button until it powers down, exasperated with all forms of electronics at the moment. He stops only long enough to grab his jacket, well aware that as the day grows longer and the sun slowly sets, it's only going to get chillier. Even so, he avoids his car, not wanting to drive, and starts to walk.

He's not sure how long exactly he's been walking when he finally blinks and realizes that, not that far off, lies one of the many beaches dotting LA. He stares at it vacantly, remembering various times he and John- and yeah, a time or two, Alex- had sat around on the sandy ground and talked, or how Alex would douse them both with bitter ocean water when trying to stop them from bickering like they had a too regular tendency to do. Taking a breath, Mike enters the beach and absorbs the salty smell into his lungs. He'd been so busy, it'd been too long since he came close to having even a minute to think about the beach, much less actually come down and stare at the waves as they crash against the coast.

As he drops down on the sand, hands crossed atop his knees, he leans back and sighs while the sun beats down upon him. Morrison, being all about tranquility and focusing his aggression into his matches, had spent many a day sitting right on this very beach, doing nothing but meditating to the sounds of the water lapping nearby. He had tried over and over to get Miz to attempt it, to ease into the soft breathing and the deep concentration, but it had never worked. Mike was an active individual, he needed stimuli, energy and someone to challenge him to get where he needed to be, whether it was as a tag partner or a rival. In the end, Morrison, with all of his chi, would conveniently enough become both of those for him.

Until now. He has no rival, no tag partner, barely five minutes of time weekly on WWE, and he doesn't even have Morrison or Alex to turn to. "Damn," he mutters, falling back against the sand and not even caring as it clings to his gelled hair.

That Sunday, his retrospective depression has cycled back into full on anger. He's mad at Morrison for separating himself from both he and Alex, he's mad at Alex for getting mad at Mike and not talking to him for the last week, he's mad at WWE for everything they've done to ignore and belittle him despite everything he's done for them, he's mad at not having a proper match at Over the Limit and just barely making it into the battle royal that kicks off the show for a chance at the US or Intercontinental title. He's mad at every person who gets any sizeable amount of airtime that could be spent focused on _him,_ he's just simply mad at everything.

Even so, when he takes out some of that frustration on the only person still within reach, Alex, by eliminating him from the Battle Royal, his smug sense of accomplishment as his former protege glares up at him with something akin to hurt lurking behind the anger in his eyes is short lived when he makes it to the final two- the US title isn't exactly what he was going for in attempting to get his career back on track, but he has such fond memories of that belt that he wouldn't complain- just for Christian to eliminate him.

He pitches a silent fit all the way to the back, kicking the wall as he storms through the hallways back towards the locker room. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!" As soon as he's throwing various things around, trying to find some clean street clothes so he can just _go_ , Alex approaches him for the first time since their argument after he'd talked with Punk.

"What was that?" his voice sounds cold and bitter, surprising Mike enough to look up.

"What did it look like?" he asks lowly.

"It looked like you taking the weak way out, as usual!" Alex yells, getting right in his face for the first time since their feud mid-last year, probably. "Do you know how much John and I both have taken from you and we just kept coming back for more like idiots? It looks like we've both learned our lesson, huh?" As soon as the words slip out of his mouth, he blanches.

Before he can apologize or think of _anything_ to say or do in a worthless attempt at erasing what he'd just said, what is echoing around in Mike's head, probably never to be forgotten, the former champion holds his hands up. "I don't see how it matters, you both appear to have learned your lesson." Spinning on his heel, he has nothing more on his mind than just _getting away._

As it happens, the ring is empty, recaps airing of one of the other many Miz-free matches slowly fading to black. He determinedly makes his way down the ramp, not caring in the slightest that he's not supposed to be out here. He spends a few minutes glaring around before he begins to speak. He blames all of WWE's shortcomings lately on Brodus Clay- which is false, the shortcomings hardly fall on Alberto Del Rio's former bodyguard's back, but he refuses to call out who he really considers the bulk of WWE's problems to be on.

The much larger man answers his challenge, coming down to the ring. The match goes back and forth for a bit and, even though Mike does let out some of his anger on him, in the end he's the one staring up at the lights, dazed and beaten once again.

The following night, he yet again isn't on Raw at all. After seeing his name not on the scheduled match/segment board, he makes his way to Laurinaitis' office, where Eve coolly tells him they have no plans for him that night. Relieved he'd kept his clothes on, he hoists the duffel bag he hadn't even bothered to drop in the locker room before coming here and marches back at of the arena, heading for the rental car that will take him back to the hotel.

_No point in staying,_ he decides bitterly, _when I'll have just as much an effect watching the show from the hotel room."_


	103. chapter 103

The trip to Brazil that follows Monday Night Raw goes unimpressively. Mike keeps to himself, moodily staring around as the roster rolls on with their business despite him. He does this media event and that, only paying attention when he butchers the Brazillian language on purpose. Even some drama involving Jericho and the Brazillian flag barely garners his notice, his heart just not in much of anything this tour. He notices Alex in his peripheral vision every now and again but they never talk, the younger man content to walk in the opposite direction. It disgusts him how lonely he's starting to feel, even tempted to watch old episodes of The Dirt Sheet. But that's a slippery slope that would lead him to call Morrison, further proving just how badly he's alienated everyone and make himself feel even worse.

He sighs, pressing his fingers against his eyes. Despite how hard he tries to ignore the words still echoing around in his head, Alex's words from the week before aren't that far off the mark, he knows it. _They both deserve better than me, constantly using them to try to get ahead. It's amazing they put up with my BS for as long as they did._

That weekend they return to America to prepare for Raw in New Orleans. Mike spends the flight to Louisiana trying not to stare as Zack Ryder and A-Ri, sitting a few aisles ahead of him, talk heatedly about something, the angry look on Zack's face growing with each passing second. "Enough," Alex finally snaps at his friend. "I get that it didn't work out for you, but we're not all..." His voice fades away as he realizes whatever he's about to say might be going a little too far.

"Not all what, bro? Huh?" Zack glowers up at him, his eyes flashing behind his ever present sunglasses. Alex sighs, mumbling something that Miz can't hear from this distance. As he walks towards the back of the plane, passing Mike by, Zack yells after him. "You'll learn, bro!"

He itches to reach out, grab the younger man, see what has Ryder up in arms like this, but the moment passes as he leans down in his chair, not even looking up as Alex returns a few minutes later, only sharing a few more tense words with the Long Island Iced Z before forcefully pressing earbuds in his ear and losing himself in music for the rest of the flight.

Alex and Mike both try to make it to the exit first upon take off, only succeeding in bumping into each other. They stare at each other for a while before Alex steps back, Mike's work at ingraining respect to those who'd been in the business longer holding steady in the younger man as he waits for his former mentor to go on ahead. His eyes soften slightly as he brushes past, trying to quell the sudden need to grab Alex around the neck and drag him along so they could go hang out at the hotel or some nearby bar, like he might've in the past. When they could be in each other's presence without wanting to scream or pick fights.

He sighs, dropping his bags into the waiting rental car and looks up as Alex leaves with Zack Ryder, the two still barely talking as they pass by. "Well, at least I'm not the only one miserable," he grumbles.

Since Laurinaitis' rise to power in the WWE, especially after he'd won full power over Teddy back at 'Mania, the locker rooms usually are full of guys avoiding the _permanent GM of Raw and Smackdown,_ not to mention his two associates. As if the thin wood door is any kind of protection against them. Mike shakes his head as he looks around at his fellow wrestlers, all forced to step carefully where Laurinaitis is concerned, sneering to himself. Even he isn't safe, despite being the main reason that _Big Johnny_ even has this power in the first place.

With everyone so desperate to avoid notice, in case their careers would go the way of Big Show's, it's almost like an earthquake when the locker room door is open from the inside, everyone looking up in surprise. Mike glances up and over, looking back down, before what he'd seen actually registers and he looks once more. Alex, of all people, is leaving the room. He looks around, finding Zack Ryder glaring mulishly at the now closed door, a frown growing upon his face. _What are you up to, Alex?_

There's a monitor on in the corner, barely interesting any of them beyond a few glances now and then. At least until Mike sees Alex talking to Eve, his lips parting in shock. _Is he... trying to flirt with her? Dear God. What is he doing?_ Disgust and annoyance war within him until finally Big Show interrupts them, a whole new set of emotions welling up within him as Eve leaves him callously behind with the much larger individual.

Alex stammers around, trying to convince Show that he shouldn't be his opponent, looking ridiculously relieved when the big man tells him that he's not his selection. All relief is wiped out in seconds as Show explains instead he can still use A-Ri to prove a point, roughly grabbing him and slinging him into the wall face first. Mike blinks, surprised to find that he's on his feet, glaring at the monitor with his hands curled into fists. "Dammit," he hisses, pushing past Primo and Epico as he leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

No matter how mad he is at Alex, the younger man getting in Big Show's path of destruction wasn't anything like what Mike wanted for him. Even so, he can't bring himself to enter the trainer's office and actually check on his former protege, taking to pacing outside of it before his match is about to begin. "Ugh," he sighs at his own cowardice, rushing for the titantron as his music keys up.

He's distracted by everything going on and, even though he manages a few promising offensive moments against Christian, his chances dry up and soon enough he's rolling around, holding his ribs after a Frog Splash and pin. As the show breaks to commercials, he forces himself to his feet, brushing off the referee who's trying to get him to leave. "NO!" he snaps right in the middle aged man's face, smirking viciously as he recoils and leaves the ring.

It's obvious when the show comes back, the cameramen moving around to catch different angles of the ring, him, the audience, everything. He begins to talk, knowing that at any time Laurinaitis or Eve or anyone else could interrupt. Laying it out there simply, he delves into how pointless it is, the way he's being treated, after everything he'd accomplished for Laurinaitis and otherwise, once more putting the show on strike until he gets the things he feels he deserves.

There's barely a moment to breathe between words when familiar music hits and he looks up with a glare, watching as Randy Orton storms into the ring, his grey eyes locking on Mike's suspicious glower. "What do you want?" he asks, just to be shut up by an abrupt RKO. It was obvious from the moment the music hit that that was Orton's endgame. He rolls away, punching the mat. _I hate that move!_

Ignoring the lurking referee, he stumbles back to the trainer's office on his own, holding his ribs and neck, just to wait patiently as he's checked out. Alex is still sitting across the room, an ice pack pressed to his face. As Ferdinand Rios finishes muttering to himself about Mike's injuries, the former champion looks over his shoulder before nudging the trainer. "How's he?" he whispers.

Looking back and forth between the two, Rios shakes his head. "Nothing serious, just some soreness. At most it's a broken nose," he mutters back, proving again why a lot of the guys in the back like him well enough. He remains professional, never allowing himself to be dragged into their individual dramas.

Mike nods, standing up to leave. "Thanks." He feels Alex's eyes on him as he's leaving but doesn't turn around, not willing to give the younger man the satisfaction.


	104. chapter 104

Another week, another hotel. He's not in Los Angeles right now, too busy doing media for various things. He's so tired after going from place to place for this interview and that photo shoot that he's not sure which city he's still in, just that the hotel room he's in actually has a nice bed with a sinfully comfortable couch and _oh God_ he wouldn't get up from either even if the building was burning down.

_I probably shouldn't think like that though,_ he decides. _Knowing my luck, it'd probably happen._ He's still sprawled across the couch, half-dozing, when his phone goes off with Twitter alerts from WWE. One of which includes a link to Superstars. He frowns at it before accessing it from his ever present laptop, relieved just to have something to listen to while he rests. No matter how tired he is, he still hates the silence that comes from being alone on one of these press junkets.

Eyes closed, he listens half-heartedly through Beth Phoenix vs Alicia Fox, and Tensai's entrance. Only Downstrait suddenly pouring from his laptop speakers sends him into a sitting position, gaping at the laptop in surprise as Alex Riley comes down to the ring. _Ah, man._ He shakes his head, grimacing. _Can't have one afternoon without..._ He sighs, pushing the laptop back so he can see it easier, molding into the couch cushions as the action begins. Tensai gains the advantage early on, holding it through the match until finally winning with a definitive splash that probably will leave Alex with some hurting ribs for awhile. The only relief is that there is no blinding green mist or claw to the forehead to follow, leaving Alex unconscious and vulnerable while no one's around to help him.

Mike sighs, examining his fingers. _Even when we're pissed at each other, I still just wanna be there for him when bad stuff happens... and John._ He slaps the laptop shut, relieved when Superstars cuts off in response, the sound dying abruptly. "This can't keep going on..." He stares glumly at his phone. "I just don't know if I can be the one who stops it." Every time his fingers inch towards speed dial 3 or 4, he hesitates, pride getting in the way of him actually connecting the call. "Dammit..."

By Saturday, he's pressed the speed dial buttons so often that he's not sure which is more tired, his fingers or the 3 and 4 on his phone, but he just can't bring himself to actually connect the calls, not sure what he'll find on the other end. He knows generally what Alex is doing, thanks to Twitter and just generally seeing him around at house shows or whatever else, but Morrison... the man barely tweets since leaving WWE and when he does, it's usually to talk about his stand up comedy gigs and sometimes Melina's dog. He has no idea really what's going on with the man, and it irks him.

None of this is helped when Zack Ryder tweets about, of all things, The Dirt Sheet late Saturday, after the house show held that night has ended. He's sitting alone in his hotel room, frowning down at the twitter app on his phone, shaking his head. "Idiot," he mumbles, something itching beneath his skin at the implication that that tweet holds- Z!TLIS, with its 69 episodes now about to outdo The Dirt Sheet's run as WWE's longest running web-based show ever at 70 episodes. He shakes his head, grimacing. As he puts his phone down, trying to quell his sudden need to go to Youtube and watch the old episodes of him and Morrison when they were actually best friends still, he leans over and buries his face in his hands, even more miserable than he was before. "Dammit, dammit, dammit. Why did he have to go and make me think about that?"

He's left off of Raw again that following Monday, disgusted with the fact that by now it's just feeling something close to normal. He hates himself for losing his will to fight after months of being overlooked, so out of his depth in not knowing where to start fixing things. Kicking the tire of his car roughly, he breathes heavily through his nose while tugging at his short hair with trembling fingers. He's pacing along the parking garage, unwilling just yet to leave the long since emptied arena and return to his just as dark and lifeless hotel room that will hold him until his flight out of there. "Hell," he whispers, sitting down by the rental car and taking a deep breath. The only good thing about tonight is that Mr McMahon will return the following week, promising to evaluate Laurinaitis' career. The whole locker room had perked up at this news, all of them suddenly gaining a tentative bit of hope.

When he finally decides to leave, he's surprised to find it's close to 1 AM, the city just barely buzzing around him as he drives towards the hotel. Stopping outside of the hotel, he parks and peers up at the lights gleaming from the various rooms, taking a breath. Everything had felt so differently even just nine months ago- all of them blissfully unaware that he would become an afterthought in the business or that Morrison would be fired within weeks.

He sighs and finally pulls himself out of the car, still staring up at the dark little space his own room's window is taking up, when his phone vibrates against his hip to notify him of a text message. Pulling it out of his pocket, he stares at it, his eyes lighting up when he realizes they're tweet alerts from Morrison's account. Since not being able to see the men face to face without tension overwhelming each word spoken, these had become his only chance of keeping up with John or Alex. One of his biggest reliefs from the past week was that Alex hadn't tweeted at all about Eve; getting close to Laurinaitis' executive assistant would be the worst thing possible for A-Ri and his already tumultuous career. After all, it hadn't done Zack any favors.

His relief at seeing some news from his former tag partner is quickly shattered as he reads the tweet asking for fans to help him name a new wrestling federation in Southern California. Subsequent tweets say that Morrison will be wrestling for this federation the following weekend, his lips twisting in a derisive sneer. "How cute," he snarls at his phone before stuffing it back into his pocket, ignoring the few other alerts that he gets as he walks to the elevator. He's almost tempted to tweet a mock reply to the other man for a name suggestion but can't even bring himself to do that, bouncing the back of his head against the mirrored back wall of the elevator.

He's relieved that the elevator is empty at this late hour, his eyes downcast as it clicks up floor after floor. His emotions are so all over the place, exhaustion and loneliness warring with anger and bitterness, adding to his confusion because underneath it all, he's honestly happy for Morrison- that at least one of them can still wrestle on his own terms, even if it's for some start up, no-name (literally) California Indy fed, and not stuck floundering while under Laurinaitis' thumb. _At least he seems happy,_ he thinks grimly, closing his eyes as the last shred of hope within him that, should Laurinaitis get fired the following week when Vince returns, Morrison would be waiting to return to the WWE slowly fades away.


	105. chapter 105

_"Mr. Mizanin?"_

_"Yes?" he asks blankly, blinking tiredly at the wall while trying to remember why the number that had flashed on his phone at this obnoxious hour of 5 AM seems slightly familiar._

_"I'm calling back about Marine: Homefront..."_

_Everything clicks back into place, the words immediately waking him up like he'd been splashed with freezing water. "Oh. Yes?"_

_"We want you for the main role..."_

As soon as he'd gotten off the phone, he is gone, making arrangements and preparing to be busy with filming this movie in Vancouver. Despite being well aware he wasn't the first choice to do this role- in fact it wouldn't surprise him if Orton's meaningless RKO to him a couple weeks back had been because _he_ had heard first that Miz was being considered for the role his own spotty past had gotten him eliminated from- he decides to leave _those_ thoughts to some other time: he was the _choice right now_ and he would dominate this movie like he had everything else thrown his way over the last few years. It even seems like perfect timing with Laurinaitis not properly utilizing him as a wrestler. _Even if Laurinaitis won't see me as an asset, at least the board of directors appear to realize my talent and monetary worth,_ he thinks grimly.

"Either way," he mutters, lifting up a rifle to begin weapons training so he looks natural handling them when filming begins on June 11th, "karma's a bitch, since Orton went and got himself suspended the very next day anyway."

After a long day of pre-filming obligations and confering with various members of the staff, he returns to the hotel room and sinks down onto the bed, yawning sluggishly. It had been a long, fun day with him constantly on the move since he had landed in Canada, but it sure beats sitting around bored in LA or doing endless media events for the WWE, which almost always revolves around his lack of being utilized the last few months. He's about to doze off when his phone beeps in his pocket, causing him to stir long enough to grab it.

_Heard you're not coming with us to Spain because you were called in to begin preparing for Marine: Homefront,_ the text covering his screen reads. _Congrats._ He scrolls up to find who exactly sent it and starts when he realizes it's from Alex, the first communication of any kind he'd sent him since their argument a few weeks ago.

_Thanks,_ he tweets back. _Good luck in Spain._ It seems weak, but he honestly can't think of anything else to say to the younger man that wouldn't, possibly, make things worse between them. Before Alex can respond, he mutes the volume on his phone, rolls over, and lets sleep claim him.

He awakes to find no further texts had been sent. He sighs, scrubbing at his face. Taking a minute to catch up on WWE news, he finds Alex tagged on a Superstars taping, clicking the results link. _Alex Riley loses to Jinder Mahal._ He makes a face. _No wonder he didn't reply to me, who would want to talk after losing to_ that _guy?_ He glances at his watch, unable to lurk around his hotel room any longer. _Day two of preparing for the movie filming, here we go._

That Sunday, he gets a few hours to himself and takes to wandering Vancouver, absorbing what Canada has to offer. He's sitting in a Tim Horton's, waiting for his coffee order, when something in his emails catches his eyes. "Wait, what?" he mutters aloud, scrolling down to it.

**From: peoplepower .com**

**Subject line: Regarding Monday Night Raw**

He grimaces, almost afraid to open it. Thankfully his order arrives then, distracting him from clicking on it. "Thank you," he mumbles to the waitress, taking a quick sip of the warm liquid within, needing the caffeine reinforcements before biting the bullet and reading whatever the _permanent General Manager of Raw and Smackdown and blahblahblah people power yada yada_ has to tell him that's so important that it requires an email and couldn't just wait until he flew off to Connecticut for Raw midday tomorrow, after spending the morning filming.

_Mr. Mizanin,_

He scoffs at the overly formal heading, pressing a finger to the bridge of his nose. _Seriously? I can just imagine what Morrison, or hell Alex too, would say to that._ Taking another sip of his coffee, he scrolls down and continues reading, feeling more and more nauseous the further down he gets. _No. No way._

_I would like to extend congratulations to you on earning the lead role in Marine: Homefront. Only a superstar of your calibur is deserving of such an opportunity-_

He stops reading once more, gaining a headache from the lip service being issued in this one small email alone. _Yeah, except that it was Orton's first._ He shakes his head, rubbing his eyes before returning once more to it.

_so this email is to notify you that I've granted you the night off for Monday Night Raw (6/11/12). We look forward to having you back competing with us shortly but the movie deserves your undivided attention._

_Sincerely,_

_John Laurinaitis_

He scowls at the email, almost stabbing his fingers straight through the glass screen of his phone. "That jackass," he seethes. "I spend weeks just trying to get five minutes on TV, I win him his damn power, and _this..._ this is how he repays me?" He ignores the various other patrons' eyes that are staring at him, leaving his mostly untouched coffee behind as he storms out into the streets once more. Choosing to walk the few blocks back to his hotel instead of going elsewhere, he stuffs his hands into his pockets and kicks aimlessly at rocks scattered here and there on the sidewalk.

"It's not like I've done double duty before," he grumbles. "Media events, flying out to other countries, just to return in time for Raw that week... I _live_ off of being exhausted... This idiot." His fists clench, his nails biting into the soft skin of his palms, as he glowers down at his feet. "I wanted to be there to witness for myself when Vince fired him. Dammit."

Even when he arrives at his hotel, he feels listless and far from reality, unable to think of anything to do as time ticks past him. He doesn't receive any texts or phone calls this whole time and he feels more alone than he has in even longer, especially since he's stuck off in Canada while everyone else prepares for the big three hour Raw that'll be held in... Glancing at his cell phone, he's surprised to find it's almost 8 PM already... in under twenty four hours.

He gasps, sitting up. _Wait, wasn't that... CASHEW thing happening tonight?_ He stares at his phone with a frown, shaking his head. "Damn. Where's my head at?" He hesitantly flicks through his contact list, hesitating on Morrison's name. "C'mon, it won't kill you. Alex texted you the other day, you can do this. Continue the chain, dammit." Selecting Morrison's name, he takes a lifetime trying to decide what to say before keeping it simple. _Hey, just wanted to say good luck tonight. Not sure when your match is, hopefully this isn't belated._

Not completely expecting a response, he tosses the phone onto the bed next to him and drops facedown against the pillows, his heartbeat racing in his ears as he sighs against the twilight overtaking his room. Despite needing to get up to turn a lamp on so he won't trip over things later on, he feels heavy and lazy, unwilling to move. He'll need to go to bed soon enough for the early morning call at the studio and wonders if the filming times will be extended now that he doesn't have to fly out to Raw at all. _Well, if anything it means the movie will get done that much faster... and I can return to touring with WWE just to sit around in the locker rooms and stare at the walls for a few more hours each week. Yaaaaay..._

He's about to doze off, his breathing evening out and eyes fluttering closed, when something pricks at his consciousness, a strange noise nearby. _That's my phone,_ he realizes blankly, painfully dragging himself back to awakeness. As he reaches out blindly for it, finally grasping and dragging it to his eye level, it lights up once more. _One missed text,_ it tells him. Feeling a bit of hope, he opens his text folder, almost expecting it to be something random from Twitter. His eyes widen when he realizes that no, it _is_ from Morrison.

Fumbling a bit, he finally opens it and reads it. _Thanks, man. Nah, it's not for a little bit yet. You're just in time. Heard you're going to be in a movie. You finally hit the big times, huh? :P ... Big things rumored for Raw tomorrow, huh? Wonder if Vince will do the right thing._

He presses his forehead against the phone, breathing out in amazement. Despite the tension between them the last time they'd been around each other, Morrison _almost_ sounds like he's moving past it, at least enough to sound normal. Though texts are far from being face to face, it gives him hope. Still, he stalls at replying, deciding to be tactful for once and _not_ complain about being kicked off of Raw the following night. _Crap like that is what partially got us into trouble in the first place,_ he thinks.

_You're the one doing stuff with Jessica Biel,_ _heh. I hope he does, it'd make things a lot easier for a lot of people. BTW, what kind of name is CASHEW?_

_Oh come on, you know you wish you had the chance to be CASHEW champion. Laurinaitis was bad enough when I was still in WWE, I can't even imagine how bad it is now since all that nonsense with Cena. How is Alex, anyway? He's not really after Eve, is he?_

_Can't tell you,_ Mike responds after a minute of thought. _Things have been kind of... bad all around lately. I think I blew something out of proportion with him._

_You? Blow something out of proportion? Paleeze._ He can almost hear Morrison laughing at him, but it doesn't even make him angry. He deserves it.

_I thought he was betting against me with Punk._ It sounds even more ludicrous to read aloud and no response is sent back for a few minutes.

_You have problems. That's more my style, not Alex's._

_I know._ It all pours out of him in a flood then, and multiple texts are needed to send what he types out, but he doesn't care. He hasn't had anyone to talk to in a long time and this is the most comfortable he's felt confiding in anyone in _weeks_ , just to relieved that Morrison actually seems open to conversing with him once more, even if it's just through texts. _Baby steps,_ he tells himself, finally finishing with his multitude of texts.

_I guess it's just everything hitting all at once, Laurinaitis not using me most weeks and how crappy I've been feeling about how far I've fallen since... since you left. Not that I'm blaming you or anything, it's just nothing's felt right since then really, and I couldn't keep the momentum going. Which makes me feel even worse because I know you were trying to help me when you wanted me to be your last opponent, so now I kind of feel like I've wasted what you tried to do too. My losing the beat the clock challenge was, I guess, the last straw and I took it out on Alex by acting paranoid and petty and I know that's not right either but... I guess I felt like maybe he'd be better off away from me at the time. Now I'm stuck in Canada filming this movie and yeah it's great, but WWE is my life more than some movie, and I don't even know if apologizing to Alex right now is the right thing to do because it should be face to face, so... I just don't know what to do anymore._

He lays back down, his arm covering his eyes. Minutes pass without an answer and he wonders if he's finally drained Morrison of his temporarily lapse of judgment by responding at all to the prior texts, but before long his phone is going off once more, alerting him to another text. He almost dreads reading it but holds it in front of his eyes, staring blankly at the words covering the screen.

_You're a mess. Seriously, Mike. Don't feel bad for how things ended up- I'm more accepting about how things are right now, and remember: Never say never in this business. Who knows how things will end up in the future. It was just a bad shake that things ended up the way they did, and it's not your fault that my attempt to help you out failed. As for Alex, do you still have your laptop? Maybe Skyping would be the best way, since you're going to be up in Canada for awhile. Unless you_ want _to encourage him to punch you by doing it face to face._

He stares at the words for a moment before sighing. _That's not a bad idea, I guess. It's not fair on him to let it fester any longer than it already has._

_Yeah, man. My match is about to start so I have to go soon... but hey, Mike?_

_Yeah?_

_While we're on the subject, I'm sorry about being so pissy over Wrestlemania. I shouldn't have held that against you. Deep down I was glad that at least_ one _of us had a match that night, it was just hard to not be annoyed over the whole situation._

His hand trembles against the phone as he takes in a deep breath, almost overwhelmed by the relief that floods him at these words. _It's ok,_ _I would've been mad too. I'm just glad you finally came to your senses :P ... but I never blamed you for feeling that way anyway. I'm sorry if I did anything to make it worse for you, it wasn't my intention._ He rarely apologizes for anything so he knows that Morrison will probably be shocked, and he hopes that sending him such a text this close to his match won't shatter his focus and cause him yet another thing he's strived for in his life. Biting his lip at how horrible an irony _that_ would be, he sends another quick text. _Anyway, don't wanna make you late for that match. Kick some ass, man._

_Thanks. Break a leg (but not literally) with that movie. Now go talk to Alex!_

He glances over at the laptop sitting innocently on his desk, pursing his lips thoughtfully. He's about to stand up and grab it when he spots the time on his cell phone. "Almost 10 PM?" he yelps, remembering the on-set time of 5 AM. "Crap." Unfortunately, the second reunion, of a sense, will just have to wait as he starts getting ready for bed. _Where would we all be without technology?_ he wonders with a faint smile.

The first day of taping is exhausting and long; he wakes up at 4 and he's on-set by 4:30, out to make a good impression to the people scattered around the set. If nothing else, impressing people _here_ will mean if things with WWE go to the wayside like they did for Morrison, he'll have somewhere else he can hopefully turn to. Not that he likes to think like that but the business is obviously in flux, the future for a good number of them unfortunately uncertain. He broods for a bit before the filming begins, relieved to lose himself for awhile in the role. Since he wouldn't be leaving for Raw later, he had told the crew that his schedule had opened up, and they had quickly switched things around so they could do a couple more takes of different scenes they had planned on doing the next day, once he had returned.

When filming is finished and he digs himself out, it's nearly 5 PM and he's tired, his mind a little fuzzy and his stomach protesting the hours that had passed with only a sandwich or two that he had taken a minute to force down to tide himself over before returning behind the camera. It's a different experience compared to competing in a wrestling ring or shooting off a quick promo, a little tricky to adjust to, but he finds it rejuvenating in its freshness anyway.

Upon arriving back at his hotel, he wanders into the restaurant on the first floor, relieved to sink into a nearby bench to wait to order. He's not even sure what's on the menu but he's too tired to care, feeling like anything more complicated than a burger and fries would send him into a deep sleep right on this table. Desperate to stay awake while he waits for the waitress to come take his order, he begins reading through tweets from his phone, shaking his head at the flood of misspelled, misinformed messages from his fans. One from hours earlier catches his eye and he barks a laugh, unable to stop himself from responding. _Well, hopefully, they'll get the name of the movie right when they actually want to_ watch _it,_ he thinks with a small eyeroll.

When the food finally comes, he picks at it, overwhelmed by the size of the food. "Geez," he mutters, rubbing his eyes. He had been so used to running himself ragged over the last couple of years, doing media and other things for WWE, that he had crashed hard once he had been aware this stay in Canada would last awhile, getting more sleep in one week than he had in a good month. Disgusted that his body is back to craving more regular amounts of sleep, he waves over the waitress with an apologetic grin. "Can I have this in a to-go box?" Aware that he'd be there awhile, he'd been ridiculously relieved to find his hotel room adorned with a mini-fridge and microwave. Small things like that always made long-term things like this a little easier to deal with, he had found a long time ago.

"Of course, sir," she says with a quiet smile, leaving to get the box and his bill. Her return surprises him, shaking the fog out of his mind as he signs the receipt and stuffs a credit card into the fold, before handing it back to her. As she leaves once more, he works at fitting the uneaten cheeseburger and fries in the styrofoam, resting his chin in his palm once he's done. "Here is your card back, sir. Thank you," she says, startling him again when she finds him staring mindlessly ahead.

"Oh, thanks," he mumbles to her back, quickly stuffing the card back in his wallet and leaving with the box in hand. He barely remembers the walk back to the elevator or getting into his room. He does, however, remember falling onto his bed after stuffing the leftovers into his fridge and staring dully at his laptop as sleep itches at him insistently. Morrison's words from the night before float before his eyes as he turns the laptop on and watches it boot up, remembering the look on John and Alex's faces when he'd received it as a birthday gift the October before, and they'd had their first webcam chat while he was fired. They hadn't had many more opportunities to do that before everything had gone south between all three of them following Morrison's firing, unfortunately.

He loads Skype as soon as the computer's on and he's connected to the hotel's wifi, tilting his head. Alex's name is dark, showing that he's not online at the moment. _Probably preparing for Raw,_ he thinks grimly, still a little in disbelief that he had been so thoughtlessly brushed aside and told to remain in Canada- although after the last few months, that shouldn't be a surprise. Instead of waiting to watch Raw, he leaves Skype on and, not even giving his sleep-addled mind time to rethink it, shoots off an invitation to Alex for a chat once he should come online.

He's fast asleep when there's a soft chime from his laptop, the strange sound breaking into the relative quiet of his hotel room. He groans, stirring and slaps a hand against the keyboard as if he thinks it's an alarm clock, startling himself fully awake as he realizes he'd just hit something too large to be an alarm clock. Pulling himself blurrily to a sitting position, he stares at the computer and realizes that a screen is flashing, telling him that Alex is now online and has accepted his invitation.

"Uh, Mike?"

He jumps, almost falling clean off of the bed. Once he's regained his balance, cursing, he fumbles around with the laptop, finally switching screens until he's found Alex's, opening it up. The younger man's face appears on his monitor, looking conflicted between worried and amused. "Don't laugh," he warns him, voice weighed down with sleep. "I swear, don't friggin laugh at that."

"I woke you up, huh?" he finally asks once he's certain he won't laugh. "Sorry, I just saw the invitation in my inbox, had no idea you'd be asleep."

"It's fine," he waves off the apology. "Hang on a second, I haven't ate much today."

"Alright."

Mike stands up, wavering sleepily over to the fridge, relieved that Alex couldn't see _that_ near-drunken like walk too, already granted enough teasing material for one night. As soon as he opens the fridge, the cool blast of air that greets him wakes him up some and, after wrapping the food up in a paper towel and microwaving it, his walk back to the bed is much more sturdy, the food container in his hands a welcome thing to focus on as he tries to decide how to word what he has to say.

"Cheeseburger?" Alex asks, smiling slightly at the familiarity as Mike looks up at him.

"Yep. I was too tired to be original earlier."

"Nothing wrong with that."

Mike nods, glancing up briefly as they both fall into uncomfortable silence while he digs into his food. Once he's swallowed down almost half of it, he feels better and puts the container down, knowing that he'll only be able to eat in peace once he's said what he needs to say. "I talked to Morrison- briefly- yesterday via texts," he says, leaning closer to the computer. As Alex looks back at him, he wonders- not for the first, or the last- how exactly he had let things get this bad. With his career, with Morrison, with Alex... with himself.

"Oh yeah? How is he?" It's so obvious that Alex is hurting even just sitting with a computer screen and thousands of miles between them, his eyes losing that spark of energy and drive that had gained Mike's notice way back when they first met in NXT 2, that energy that had reminded him so much of himself.

"He's ok." Mike licks his lips, taking a deep breath to steel himself for what he has to say to get that look off of his friend's face. "We worked through some things... I think things are going to be better now." _Hopefully for all of us._

Alex looks even more wretched at this and Mike curses himself, unable to say anything before Alex takes a breath of his own. "I'm happy for you both, really. I could tell even when you basically hated each other that it wouldn't take much to resolve things. You just would need to sit down and really talk. Friendship like yours, it doesn't come along every day." He looks up, away from the computer, and Mike wonders what's going on, who he's with. "Hey, Mike, Zack wants to do something. I have to go-"

"No, no, wait!" he all but yells, gripping the side of the laptop screen as if that'd keep Alex with him. "I didn't- I didn't invite you to this chat to discuss me and John. Really, I didn't. I just- I'm an idiot, Alex." This stops him and Mike shakes his head, relieved. "I don't know why I laid into you like that," he says faintly. "I know you wouldn't bet against me with Punk. I just... Each week, getting excluded from Raw or just flat out losing has been eating at me for awhile. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I am so sorry."

Even through the webcam screen, Mike's sincerity bleeds through and Alex looks up. "Hey, Zack, go without me. I'll catch up with you later." Once the Long Island Iced Z is gone, Alex adjusts the cords surrounding his laptop, getting into a more comfortable position. "I know you're going through a lot," he admits. "I wasn't really mad after all of that. I just figured, if anything, we all needed a little bit of time and space. And hey, I guess it worked. Look at us now, you and John are talking again, and now us."

"Yeah." Mike smiles a little, reaching out for what remains of his hamburger. "So we're good, right?"

"Yeah, Mike, we're good." He grins. "So tell me about this movie, huh? You began filming today? And still had time to torture fangirls on Twitter?" He grins as Mike groans, burying his face in his hands a moment.

"What can I say? It's a gift. Fine, but when I'm done, you have to tell me about Raw. I'm going to guess Laurinaitis is still around?"

"Oh, that was a mess and a half." Alex grimaces, shaking his head.

"I can just imagine." As they settle in for yet another of their lengthy conversations, Mike feels more like himself for the first time in a long time. It is... to put it simply... awesome.


	106. chapter 106

After another long day of filming, Mike finds himself slowly growing accustomed to the schedule once more of staying up late and waking up early. "Further proves sleeping in gets people nowhere," he sighs, running his fingers through his matted down hair. The main good thing about all of this is that it's helped him to briefly forget all about No Way Out this Sunday and how, at this point, it looks like he will completely miss it.

Shaking his head, he turns his focus to something else. _I still don't know how exactly Sunday went for John._ He hadn't wanted to push things, despite their text conversation going alright the other day, especially if the match had gone badly, so he had looked here and there online when he'd had a moment but there had been no news on it that he could see. "C'mon, google fu, don't fail me now." Finally he finds something on Youtube. _John Morrison celebrates CASHEW win 6/10/12._ He chuckles, shaking his head. "Well. He's doing better than I am this year," he mumbles, no true bitterness in his tone or gaze as he watches the short, minute long video before turning to his cell phone.

_Heard you won Sunday. Congrats. But seriously, you brought your dog to that thing?_

_Thanks... and Charlie knows talent when he sees it, what can I say?_

Mike rolls his eyes at the text. _Talent, right. Isn't that like animal abuse? :P_

_Oh please, I don't even want to imagine what you'd do if_ you _had a dog, probably teach it to bark_ awesome _or something._

_That's actually not a bad idea._

_That wasn't meant to be a serious idea. Don't even do it, man. The world's not quite ready for that one. I doubt it ever will be._

_Ah, I like pushing boundaries._ Mike grins, leaning back against the pile of pillows against his headboard.

_Unfortunately._

_Hey, I talked with Alex the other day. Things are better between us. Thanks for the encouragement._

_No problem, someone has to talk sense into you... and I could pretty much hold a degree in that after so many years._

_Ha-ha._ He sighs, his eyes drifting shut as exhaustion begins to take over. _I have to film early tomorrow, so I should go. We should skype sometime or something. I'll show you what being a real movie star's like._

He can hear John's scoff in his head as his fingers slip from the phone, one last text waking him up long enough for him to read it before he completely gives in. _Yeah, sure, whatever. Send me an invite sometime. Maybe I can work it in somewhere. :P Night Mike._

With the weapons training comes, of all things, Parkour lessons. He's not sure where it's going to come into the movie but it makes him think of Morrison and all the crazy crap he'd seen him do in the last year he spent in the WWE, running off of walls and around the empty arena floors at high speed like they're nothing. By the end of the lesson, his feet hurt, ankles are throbbing and his arms feel like they've been skinned five hundred times already, and he wonders why exactly anyone would willingly do it. But he also feels accomplished because, yes, it was hard, and yes, it sucked at times, but he thinks he could almost give Morrison a run for his money.

And so he tweets later that night upon returning to his hotel room, something quick about even Morrison being proud of his parkour abilities now. Before he can even get off of the couch to head off to get ready for bed, his phone goes off in his hands and he smirks, unsurprised to find Morrison's name attached to the text waiting for him.

_Parkour, huh? Is that a challenge, Mike? Just don't break your neck doing it, I can't help ya there._

_Oh please, as if I'd be that careless. And sure, I'm challenging you to a parkour show down. Anytime, anywhere._

_Says the guy holed away in Canada for the next few weeks,_ Morrison snarks at him.

_What, scared to come up here and face me? :P_

_Oh please. If I felt it was worth my time, I'd buy the plane ticket right now. But I wouldn't want to interrupt your movie star fame or anything._

Mike huffs, rubbing a hand blindly over the arm rest. He likes filming the movie, he appreciates that in a year or so, his name will be on the cover of a DVD of something that _he_ is the main star in, but there's an emptiness from being away from WWE for so long, and he hates that he can't see either Alex or John face to face while they try to ressurrect their friendships. _Like you could,_ he finally texts back.

That Sunday they get the evening off from filming and he spends the time doing something he usually doesn't- relaxing. He lounges around the hotel room, staring out a window at the brilliant Vancouver nightlife kicking in while he holds an impromptu Q&A session on his twitter account, alternating between talking up his own capabilities- of course- and urging people to watch No Way Out tonight. He may be a bit disillusioned with his role in the business and the company itself but there's always the chance Laurinaitis will finally get fired tonight, and- depending on who becomes the new GM afterwards- things will slowly start to get better.

He hates having to cheer on Cena, but God, it's all he really wants. The thoughts of that fly-by-night man who didn't do _one_ thing for him that he claimed he would post-Wrestlemania win being gone for good makes him feel much better about the future of things. So he orders the PPV and waits anxiously as time ticks down, one match after another slipping by as the cage match draws closer. None of the others truly interests him so he wanders around his hotel room, picking up various things he'd thrown around after long hours rehearsing lines or simply looking out the window, waiting.

Finally it's time, Laurinaitis' insufferable music hitting and he turns back to the laptop to watch. The match itself starts fairly quickly, thankfully, and he settles in against the headboard, laptop held securely against his knees. He hasn't watched much of anything to do with WWE since he'd come to Canada and, as weird as it is to watch something that's been his life for so long while he's in another country, it's a little refreshing. It's easy to get burnt out in this business, especially with how the last nine months or so have gone for him, and he thinks maybe this short hiatus will be the best thing for his career in the long run.

Cena's not doing so well and a pit of annoyance and dread wells up within Mike- _what if the boyscout loses again and we're stuck with Laurinaitis for even longer? What if we never get rid of him?_ He's starting to drive himself nuts with these thoughts when, of all things, Brodus Clay runs down and blocks the exit so Big Show can't get out of the cage. His blue eyes widen comically as more of the locker room spills out- everyone Big Show had attacked over the last month, A-Ri included. "What the hell!" he exclaims, shaking his head. Alex gets knocked out quickly but between him, Brodus, Ryder, Santino and Kofi, it's just enough for Cena to rally and, surprise surprise, gain the victory.

Mike almost feels like throwing a party for Cena when he lifts Laurinaitis over his shoulders and, while holding him there, Vince McMahon himself gets up in Laurinaitis' face and snarls at him that he's fired. Cena then AA's the former GM through the Spanish announce table as the pay per view wraps up. He sits there for the longest time with a grin on his face. "Well, what do you know. Maybe we'll get better people in charge now... Not holding my breath but at least there's a chance now."

After a few minutes of looking around Twitter, he sends a text to Alex, relieved that this is an option once more for when he's unable to check on his former protege directly. _You alright? Was watching NWO._

It takes a few minutes and he figures that the delay is caused by the trainer looking him over. _Yeah, just a headache. I'll be fine, Mike._

_Good, keep it that way or I'll kick your ass myself when I get back._

_Of course you will._

He smiles.

The next day doesn't go so great. He keeps flubbing his lines, feeling like an amateur as his fellow cast and crew whisper around him, alternating between teasing him and getting impatient with him. The Tim Hortons he usually has gotten his coffee from the past week is closed, his phone service crashes for most of the day which means no texts, no mobile web, no phone calls. Nothing. By the time he makes it back to the hotel room, he's wondering if maybe this whole thing was a mistake and if it'd just be better for him to go back to being underutilized in WWE. _At least if I'm sitting in the back, I'm not making a complete ass of myself,_ he thinks grimly.

He's been stewing, staring down at the Vancouver nightlife below him once more, when his phone actually beeps. He jerks, so surprised at hearing anything from it after such a long period of silence. There's a flood of texts and twitter alerts waiting for him and he shakes his head, grimacing. _Well, I know what I'm doing for the next few hours._ He starts going through them, lips twisting in derision at some of them, before he freezes on one, coloring slightly.

_John replied to that parkour tweet I sent,_ he realizes, reading it over and over.

_Give 'em hell Marine! Can't wait to see it!_

He stares blankly at the phone for a few minutes before his lips twitch up into a smile. "Heh." He rests his head on the table before him, taking a few deep breaths. _I've never been a quitter. No matter what. And John believes in me, Alex too. So suck it up, Mike. Everyone has bad days, it'll pass and tomorrow'll go smoother._

After a quick meal of a grilled cheese and mixed vegetables, he doesn't feel like leaving the hotel room and facing other people, just in case he should run into someone from the movie. So he wanders around, waiting for his laptop to boot up, and finally drops down in front of it, raising an eyebrow as he loads Skype. He doesn't expect anyone to really be on, since it's Monday and Raw is currently going on, but he's restless enough just to check.

_JoMo79 is online._

He swallows, running the pointer anxiously over the list, shaking his head. "Go figure." Before he can secondguess himself, he clicks Morrison's name and sends an invitation for a Skype conversation, eyes darting around the monitor as he waits for a response. Finally, after what feels like hours, the invitation cue disappears and another screen appears, Morrison staring back at him from a slightly grainy picture. "Hey," he says quietly, realizing that this is the first time they've seen each other in any capacity since the improv event a couple months ago.

"Hey man," John says, adjusting his webcam slightly. "How's it going?"

He shrugs with a mirthless chuckle. "Kinda been one of those days, I guess. I saw your tweet. Can you imagine what the fans who think we still hate each other after November must think?"

His responding grin is sharp and a little wistful. "I can only imagine." They chuckle a little bit, before John shakes his head. "So, bad day, huh?"

"A bit. It's taking a little longer than I expected to adjust to this whole movie thing. Missing Raw for the second week in a row isn't helping, probably." He drifts off, pressing a finger to his lips. "I'm sorry."

John blinks, the Skype video freezing for a second on him looking surprised, finally catching up with real time to show him leaning closer to the monitor, frowning. "What for, Mike?"

"I shouldn't complain about briefly missing Raw when you've had to deal with that for months." He's hyperaware that it's things like that that'd caused strain in their friendship in the first place, so he treads carefully. "Did you hear Laurinaitis was fired?" He brightens slightly when he sees that John is smiling too.

"Yeah, I heard. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy." He looks quietly at Miz for a moment before sighing. "I hope you all get a good general manager this time. Someone not out to screw up your career, Mike. You deserve it, after everything you've been through with the last three guys."

Mike laughs grimly. "Yeah, it's been ridiculous, hasn't it? I seriously thought the Anon GM was the worst things could get, but when you think about it, he was the least troublesome... Considering HHH then came along and fired me..." He chuckles darkly. "I thought Laurinaitis was going to be ok, until he fired you..." He shakes his head, his voice softening. "I almost shouldn't complain about how he overlooked me after that, but I can't help it. He's done so many stupid things, and really when you think about it, he hasn't even been in complete control that long."

"That's true. But maybe that'll make it easier to undo the crap he's pulled," Morrison points out.

Mike's eyes gleam as he nods at the words. "Do you think..." he blurts out, cutting himself off as he realizes just what he's about to say. "Uh, nah, never mind," he mutters.

"Do I think what?" John asks, somehow sensing, despite being separated by hundreds of miles and two computer screens, that this is important.

"I just... I was thinking awhile ago if Laurinaitis was fired, maybe we'd get someone competant who would offer you your job back." With it out in the open now, the two former Dirt Sheet hosts stare at each other, hope pouring from Mike's eyes even as he struggles to remain blase about it all.

John looks thoughtful, obviously trying to be careful with his answer. "I'm not sure, Mike. I haven't heard anything. I don't really expect to, if I'm being perfectly honest. If they asked me back I'd have to think about it seriously, but... I'm kind of... alright with things right now." He smiles mirthlessly, picking at something off screen. "I mean, I had so many injuries by the end of my time in WWE, it's been good just to do my own thing for awhile. You better than anyone know how grueling the schedule can be. I'm not saying never, just... I'm not in a big hurry, you know?"

He licks his lips, somehow feeling sad and pleased for his friend all at once. "I'm glad you're ok with how things are, John. I wish they'd ended on a better note all around... but knowing that you've moved past it helps, I guess."

He chuckles slightly. "Yeah. Everything works out how it's supposed to, Mike."

The former WWE champion groans, rolling his eyes. "That's so cliche," he huffs as John laughs at him. He finds himself smiling anyway, reveling in the fact that they've finally moved past their issues to the point where they can talk without hurting each other further. _I missed this,_ he thinks while leaning back against the headboard, getting comfortable for what promises to be another one of his and Morrison's epically long conversations. _We have a lot to catch up on._


	107. chapter 107

Filming usually takes from early in the morning until mid-or-late afternoon, unless they can't get a scene just so or one of the stunts goes sideways. Since he and Alex have worked out the bulk of their issues slowly, Mike has found that the younger man would take the time to check in, whether it be by text or skype, or actually calling him, whenever he could after filming ended and before the live events began. Morrison doesn't check in _quite_ as often, busy doing who-knows-what with who-knows-which project, but Mike understands.

It's barely breaking the mid-70s in Vancouver, but after a long day of filming and stunts and everything else, Mike just feels sweaty and hot. He should go get a shower right away, then some food, but all he really wants to do is just sleep for a week. Collapsing onto his bed, feet hanging over the edge, he stares up at the shadowy ceiling and takes deep breaths in and out. It's a fun kind of exhausted and this is the longest he's spent in one town in years, but he still has a yearning for the day filming will end and he'll return to a WWE ring, to _home._ To bugging Alex, and seeing Morrison sometimes when they're both in LA at the same time- a feat which is becoming rarer and rarer, to be honest.

He's about to give in and doze off when his phone buzzes in his pocket, reviving him slightly. "Ugh," he sighs, pulling it out. Without staring at the ID, he answers. "Yeah?"

"Good afternoon to you too, sunshine," Alex's voice chirps at him, unoffended. He sobers quickly, recognizing the tone in Mike's voice just from that short answer. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No," he quickly refutes, forcing himself to sit up. "I was just thinking. What's up?"

There's a laugh in Alex's voice as he responds, "Now don't go mocking me but I was watching Z!TLIS this week and..." He cuts himself off as Mike groans loudly, interrupting his words. "Hey! I said no mocking me."

"I never agreed to that," he smirks, leaning back against the headboard to continue their conversation. "But fine, what did you find on that show that you think I might actually care about?"

"Morrison made a cameo."

This _does_ catch Miz's attention. "Oh really? Is he still pretending to be in Heaven?"

"Sure, if Heaven looks like a California beach and angels have surf boards instead of wings," Alex shrugs with a grin.

"Oh God," he mumbles. "Guess Ryder couldn't afford his little sky effects this go around?" He can visualize Alex shrugging as they sit there quietly. "So what do you expect this Monday with Laurinaitis officially gone?"

"I'm not sure," he hedges. "Money in the Bank stuff, I guess, but other than that, no idea. I doubt I'll make it into the event this year."

"Join the club," Mike sighs, looking around his Canadian hotel room once more. A small smile takes over his lips as he remembers that all of this started, really, when he won Money in the Bank a couple years ago and began his slow but certain rise to the WWE championship. But, on the other hand, his luck had begun slipping steadily after last year's Money in the Bank, as had a good number of other superstars'. He wonders what this one will bring, if anything. Even so, he doesn't regret the possibility that he'll miss out on Money in the Bank, growing more content to be taking a short hiatus from the ring to film Marine: Homefront. With more time passing, he'd realized just how tired and beat up he was becoming, the time off giving his body true time to heal and relax; even sleep doesn't feel like such a foreign sensation to him anymore.

That Monday, filming wraps up a couple hours before Raw and he takes to twitter, sharing possibly the most priceless thing he'd seen yet during this adventure in Canada to Twitter.

_So I'm filming a scene in town and all of a sudden, off camera, a topless grandma walks by. Only on #MarineHomefront_

Relieved to _finally_ have that tweeted after hours of waiting anxiously to get the time to do so, Mike heads back to his hotel, looking forward to getting something quick from the restuarant and then locking himself up in his room to watch Raw. It's his third week of not being on the show since Laurinaitis had excused him, and though he's a little surprised that the decision hasn't been reversed while under new management, it's very miniscule considering last week interim General Manager's was Mick Foley- who's never really liked him- and this week's is Vickie Guerrero- who only has Dolph Ziggler's success in mind.

He's picking around the remaining french fries he'd brought upstairs, half an eye on Raw as Cena rambles on about Star Wars- including where he says that Big Show is his father- when two things happen at once- the lights cut out, obviously cuing Jericho's return from his suspension and Fozzy tour- and Mike's phone goes off across the room. Cursing and jumping, he throws a french fry into the air, blinking as it flies off of the bed. _Oh great,_ he thinks. _Well, maybe it'll appease whatever bugs are hanging out around here._ Grimacing in disgust, he dusts his hands off on his jeans and stands, wandering over to collect the phone. _Morrison calling_ flashes across the screen and he blinks at it, lips tugging up into a small smile. "Huh."

As he answers it and wanders back over to the bed, he vaguely hears Cena announce that he's going to be an entrant into the Money in the Bank. "Ugh," he sighs. "Hello?"

"Nice to hear from you too," Morrison cracks, Miz surprised to hear Raw echoing back at him from the background of John's call, a slight difference in timing between the two televisions tripping him up. "You watching?"

"Oh yes," he mumbles, turning the TV down as he settles back against the bed. "Cena entering Money in the Bank... how revolutionary." He tilts his head. "I _am_ surprised you're watching, though."

"What can I say, it's more tolerable when a certain loud mouth is in Canada."

"Oh, ha-ha," he snaps.

John laughs. "But seriously, I just figured I'd peek in now that Laurinaitis is gone. I can barely recognize it, the product's changed a fair amount."

"Yeah," Mike shrugs. "Heath Slater's actually getting TV time... who saw that coming?"

He chuckles slightly. "Yeah..." They both fall quiet, watching the TV. "I thought Cena hated Money in the Bank cash-ins, thought he found it cheapened it."

"Hm," Mike sighs. "Anyone really surprised Cena's a bit of a hypocrite?" He shakes his head. "Man, if I wasn't filming this movie, I'd totally dominate this thing. Former WWE champions? It's right up my alley."

"Heh, yeah," John responds after a few moments, Mike growing worried about how long it took him, and how quietly he's talking. "Do you ever-"

"Hey, man, if this-" They both stop abruptly, holding their breaths while waiting for the other to continue. "Go ahead, what were you saying?"

"I was just kinda wondering..." he sighs awkwardly. "Do you ever think back on that match the Anon GM forced us into?"

"Sometimes." Mike falls quiet too, reflecting on the match that had been the turning point for all of them, and its aftermath. "Why?"

"Do you think we would've had any chance at being friends again if you had somehow beat me that night, and been able to just coast on through with cashing in your briefcase with no restrictions on it?"

Mike scrubs at his face, wincing a little bit. "Or if I had lost to Jericho or Ryder before you?" He chuckles weakly at the thought of teaming with Ryder, something he had not thought about in a very long time. He wonders how obvious it is that he's trying to stall, think up a proper answer for John's question.

"Mike."

He sobers up quickly, not surprised that Morrison isn't that willing to give up on the topic. Finally he takes a deep breath and answers. "I'm not sure," he says honestly. "I'd like to think so, but this business, the way it is sometimes... I guess it could've gone either way, you know? Maybe after Laurinaitis fired you, but even that's iffy. You know?"

Morrison sighs slightly, a burst of static against Mike's ear. "Yeah, I know. Well, at least we know the Anon GM was good for _something,_ " he chuckles slightly.

"Either way, I'm glad it worked out the way it did," he says, leaning back against his bed to be comfortable while their conversation continues.

"Me too."


	108. chapter 108

Canada Day. Filming for Marine: Homefront wraps up early so the cast and crew can go watch fireworks, spend some time with their families. As weird as it's going to be to miss Fourth of July, it's happened before to all of them at one time or another- due to WWE's travel schedules or a televised event happening on the same day as the holiday, but at least here Mike can see some fireworks from his hotel windows.

The year before, the 4th had fallen on a Monday and Morrison had been in China. He and Alex had surprised John with a post-celebration the following day but with filming stretching on for awhile longer, he's doubtful that they'll do anything similar this year. It's ok though. He's content watching the bright flashes along the night sky, opening his windows just enough to hear music playing from the nearby celebration honoring the holiday thrown by the city. He had considered going, just to see how the Canadians did it, but after such a long, toiling few weeks of filming- which had included him honestly getting cut up and bloodied- he's fine with hanging around the hotel room and watching from a distance.

His phone dings after awhile and he frowns, patting his pockets before pulling it from the right side of his jeans. _Skype,_ is all the text that pops up says and he rolls his eyes at the thing. Even so he obliges, collecting his laptop from the desk inside. As he brings it over to the window, he finds the Skype invite and accepts it, looking away for a minute.

"Ok, judging by the lights against his face, I'm gonna guess he's either at a rave or he's watching fireworks already," Morrison's slow drawl surprises him, almost sending him off of the window sill.

"What the-?" he snaps, turning to glare at the computer monitor. John just smirks at him as he realizes Alex _is_ there, too- their screens are split across his monitor, both men staring back at him. "Oh. Three way chatting."

"Yep!" Alex looks proud of himself with this little development. "You are in Canada, John's in Puerto Rico, and I'm in Texas so I figured why not. We haven't talked, all three together, in a really long time."

"I think he missed listening to us bicker, Mike," John interjects, grinning when Alex huffs. "Or maybe not getting a word in edgewise. I'm not sure."

"Well of course, who wouldn't miss me? I'm awesome," Mike responds, sticking his tongue out when the other two groan at him.

"I have _not_ missed that catch phrase," John sighs.

"You're just jealous because you know it's true." He tilts the laptop so they can see out the window, poking a thumb over his shoulder. "Canada Day. You two hear the music they're playing in the park?"

"I was wondering why you were playing Katy Perry in your hotel room," Alex teases, looking away innocently as Mike glowers at him.

"How far we've fallen, that _that_ would become the theme for all celebrations to do with fireworks?" John sighs.

"Did the Palace of Wisdom impart that little nugget to you?"

John shifts, the screen freezing a moment before catching back up, to show him shrugging. "Yeah yeah, you just wish you were still allowed inside."

"Oh please," Mike laughs. "Like you've ever been able to keep me out of somewhere I wanted to be."

"It's a process," he smirks. "May take awhile but..." He's interrupted by Alex tapping against the monitor, attracting both of their attention.

"Why did I set this up again?"

"Good question," Mike and John say together, adding to his annoyance. "But I'm glad you did," Mike admits softly, steeling himself for further teasing. It doesn't come.

"Me too," John says, adjusting his screen. "It's kind of weird, us of all being in different countries, huh?"

"Yeah." They fall silent, Mike checking the clock before reluctantly turning back to his screen. "Hey, guys, it's getting late. I have an early start tomorrow so I should go."

"Ah, yes, the glamorous life of a movie star," John says with a small smile. "Filming on Canada Day, huh? What is the world coming to?"

"Raw was held on the 4th last year," Alex points out before Mike can open his mouth to do the same. They all pause, remembering the year before, and Alex speaks up first. "Too bad we can't do the cove thing again."

"Yeah," Miz says wistfully.

"Maybe some other time," John says quietly. "If Miz can get his hands on those fireworks again... and make sure we don't get arrested."

Mike rolls his eyes, smirking. "Of course. Who do you think I am?" One more glance at the clock and he sighs. "For now though, I need to sleep. Talk later."

"Bye, Mike," the other two chorus before he shuts Skype off, smiling slightly. To his relief, sleep comes easily that night.

Monday, he wakes up to find the schedule for the day in his emails. "Running," he mumbles sleepily. "Running. Running... more running. What the hell!" He groans, wanting so badly to just roll over and fall asleep again, but alas, he has a responsibility and... the longer he holds up the movie means more time away from LA and the WWE. Groaning, he gets up slowly and prepares to go. He's not kidding when he tweets later that he basically ends up running for 12 hours straight. If anything, when he returns to action, his legs will look _awesome._ But he knows that tomorrow will be killer, everything on him already sore. He can't even stay up for Raw but he doubts highly that he's missing much. It still makes him ill to imagine Cena winning a briefcase that had once meant so much to him, but there's little he can do about it at the moment. He's asleep once more before his head hits the pillow.

Tuesday starts as he figured, with his whole body yelling at him for the overuse the day before, as he stares up at the ceiling. His legs feel like two heavy weights, as if should he move even an inch they would fall right off. He winces, trying to push himself upright, and just barely making it when his phone goes off with another alert for the day's schedule. It confirms few more hours of filming and he mumbles curses at it, hoping that his legs will hold up long enough so that it doesn't look like he's about to just fall apart right then and there.

Thankfully everything goes as smoothly as can be and he returns to the hotel room in time to collapse on his bed, put his feet up and catch the last half of Smackdown- including Alex's match against Dolph. He hopes against hope that his former NXT rookie will win and get another spot in Money in the Bank- no matter what that idiot Cole had thought or said, Alex had been right alongside Miz in last year's-, but unfortunately it's not to be. Dolph walks away with the win and Mike sighs, rubbing at his face. He wishes he could be in the Money in the Bank, too, remembering how reassuring the unflexible plastic had once been in his hands. "Some day," he mumbles to himself before drifting off to sleep.


	109. chapter 109

Another long week of taping. They're slowly winding down, getting towards the final scenes scheduled for filming, and it's pretty much the only thing helping Mike to hang on- that, and the various phone conversations, texts and skype communications he has with Morrison and Alex through the week, whenever he's not completely dead off his ass from the long hours. The further into the movie they go, the longer it takes to film scenes, and the more hot it seems to get in Canada. He hates the cold but he's now starting to hate the heat too and he just wants to go home, start wrestling again, have his life return to some semblance of normalcy.

He's face first down on his hotel bed, the TV buzzing behind him as Raw starts off with AJ Lee once again going back and forth between CM Punk and Daniel Bryan. He blinks tiredly against his pillow as he considers how crazy wrestlers seem to regularly hold up the shows- first R-Truth, and now AJ. _Maybe that's Cena's big secret,_ he muses.

He hasn't moved when suddenly a sound from his nightmares echo through his hotel room, almost sending him flying off of the bed. "Aah!" he grouses, rolling over to glare at the TV. "Aww, hell no! They did _not_ bring _him_ back!" But sure enough, he watches, fingers flexing in aggravation, as Cole gets up, smug and proud, and pulls a black sheet from a podium, revealing the horrible laptop that had been the bane of Miz's existence for ages.

"And I quote!" he exclaims as Mike looks around desperately for something to beat himself across the skull with. It's nothing more important than putting Punk and AJ against Daniel and Eve and he relaxes.

_I take back what I said,_ he decides vehemently. _I'm glad I'm still here after all this week._ The show carries on, Mike soon growing sleepy once more as he watches it. It seems like a rehash of a lot of old things- JeriShow teaming together once more, Cole and King bickering and possibly having a match later, Cena taking up a fourth of the show between talking and the match that he's in, yada yada.

He does end up falling asleep somewhere between that match and the tag match with Tensai and Dolph vs Christian and Tyson Kidd, just to wake back up almost an hour later to the repetitive sounds of the Anon GM's horrible, grating email alert. He's so confused when the noise continues on, and on, and on... "Ugh, what the hell?" he mumbles, leaning up on his elbows to look at the TV better. Santino and Hornswoggle is struggling and Hornswoggle has a laptop in hand. "No way. It can't be..."

But sure enough, it's confirmed via Cole and Lawler that Hornswoggle is, and has been, the Anon GM all along. "No way. That... little... twerp made my life hell for months? How? Why? What the hell?" Once the screen fades to commercials, he angrily turns the TV off and stares at the ceiling. He should sleep, but his mind is racing a thousand miles a minute. He could call Alex or John. But really, what's he going to say? "Oh, hey, Morrison? Did you know that little leprechaun bastard is who made us team years back? Alex, can you believe your job was put on the line numerous times by Hornswoggle? Isn't that funny?"

Instead he bites his lip and punches the bed before rolling angrily over onto his side. "This business, dammit," he mumbles tiredly, unable to think of anything else that would even come close to fitting just how he's feeling.


	110. chapter 110

Despite how exhausted he is, the reveal that Hornswoggle is, was, the Anonymous GM eats at him and he stays awake, going over the year+ that Hornswoggle had apparently spent making his life hell. It makes no sense whatsoever and he wonders if perhaps Hornswoggle was the scapegoat for someone else. There are a lot of unsolved mysteries in this business, and his best guess is that this will just be another one. _So I get to remain uncertain about who the Anon GM may really be, if I'm walking by him in the hallways, sitting across from him in the cafeteria, for the rest of my career..._ He picks at the bedding pooling around his legs as he stares blankly at the dark TV.

It's something after 11 PM, and he can imagine that Alex at the least is still awake, the after-event jitters never really leaving any of them until hours later. Possibly even pondering the same thing he is. Morrison is a little more likely to be in bed, probably even unaware of what's going on, but he decides to take a chance anyway. He dials and waits, listens to it ringing and, losing his nerve, considers hanging up but it's answered on the third ring. "Hello?"

His lips twitch into a smile as he takes in John's sleepy voice, feeling a little guilty. "Hey, did I wake you up? Sorry."

There's a pause and the sound of things shuffling around on the other end, some typing, and more shifting. "No," John finally says. "You have good timing, I'm trying to finish editing a parkour video before ComiCon and I was about to doze off in my chair."

"Tedious job, making yourself look better than you really are, huh?" he teases, smirking as Morrison mock laughs at him.

"So what's up, man?" As he talks, there's more typing and, at times, what sounds like John smacking the keyboard in frustration.

"Geez, do you need Ryder to come give you editing suggestions?" At Morrison's mumbled _Aw shut up,_ he shrugs and turns serious. "Did you hear about Raw?"

"Uh, I heard something about Hornswoggle but didn't really get all of the details. What's with that?"

"It was revealed tonight that he was the Anon GM." The silence grows so heavy, even the typing coming to an abrupt stop, that both men could've heard a pin drop.

"Say what?" he finally asks, the sound of a chair scraping against the floor punctuating his question. Miz sits for a minute, imagining him pacing back and forth, forcing his hair back from his face as he wanders over to a window and peers out at the LA beach visible from his apartment. He misses LA right now, having the opportunity to see Morrison face to face for this conversation, letting it all out about how stupid life can be sometimes. "Do you believe it?"

"I'm not sure. Do I believe he could've masterminded everything that we were all put through that year? Not really." He bites his lip, tilting his head. "Do you think a little evil genius lurks behind all that... green?"

Morrison shrugs. "Well, he is Fit Finlay's son. But I don't really know. Do you think it's really someone else and 'Swoggle's just going along with this for whatever reason?"

"It's possible. I'm just not sure how we're supposed to believe that _Hornswoggle_ thought up all the crap we'd been put through while the Anon GM was in charge."

"I'm not sure, man. But he's been a non-issue for a year, right? I'd be more concerned about who the new GM is going to be after next week." There's a pause as Miz considers this. "You're returning soon, right?"

"Yeah, the filming is winding down. It's been fun but I'll be glad when things return to normal."

Morrison chuckles warmly, remembering how it had felt to finally return to WWE after being laid up for months due to his neck issues. His eyes soften sadly as he picks at his keyboard once more. "Wore out your welcome in Canada, huh?"

"Oh please," Mike volleys back. "They loved me so much, they'd do almost anything to get me to stay..." He smiles as Morrison laughs at him. "Unfortunately for them, LA is home."

"That it is," John agrees softly.

Filming somehow just clicks the day, they get everything done and on Tuesday night, finally, _finally_ they're told those amazing three words: "That's a wrap!" Mike hangs around for awhile, celebrating with the cast and crew until midnight, when he has to leave to pack. He has a redeye back to LA that he'd booked as soon as the filming had completed and doesn't want to miss it.

Exhausted beyond words and comforted at the thought that he's on his way home, he spends the flight sleeping and when he arrives in LA, it looks so bright and welcoming that it almost blinds him. Despite being an Ohio native, LA had been his home for so long that coming back always makes him feel calm, centered. A quick taxi ride later and he's at his house, quickly sorting through things that had been unattended since he'd left for Canada. He's barely inside for an hour before he's back out, too anxious and restless to stay in one place for very long.

All but diving inside his car, he sits behind the wheel and stares out through the windshield for a moment. A smirk grows across his face as he jingles his keys, before pushing them into the ignition and starting the car up, eyes lighting up as he drives away from his house and through the busy California streets. Even traffic couldn't kill his good mood as he stares at the bright blue ocean, gleaming in the sunlight. "Well, I know what this kind of day is good for," he hums out loud.

He's at Morrison's place within minutes, leaning against the doorway as he knocks repetitively against the wood, not even stopping when he hears footsteps rushing towards him.

Upon answering the door with his mouth open like he's about to yell at whoever's being ridiculous, John's look of annoyance only fades slightly when he realizes that it's Miz. "Oh, you're back," he says, shaking his head. "I'm your first visit? I'm honored." He grins when Mike raises an eyebrow at him.

"Get shoes on, we're leaving."

"What? Where are we going?" He follows the command anyway, also grabbing his phone and wallet before joining Mike in the hallway. His former tag partner pushes the door shut behind them before grabbing John by the shoulder and urging him down the hallway. "Am I being held captive?"

"We're going to the beach," Mike says in a pure _duh_ voice, ignoring John's comments. "I've missed LA so much, I can't even tell you." There had been some ridiculously lengthy international tours with WWE in the past, sure, but none had equaled two months away in one stretch, ever, and he feels like a giddy little kid for having a few days home before he has to make a decision about his participation in Money in the Bank.

John loves the beach so he has no problems with that, content to trek around in the sand and rocks, watching as Mike kicks around the edge of the water, enjoying the soft breeze and gentle warmth. They don't talk a lot, each other's presence enough, but when John drops onto the sand and crosses his arms along his knees, staring out at the surf, Mike joins a few minutes later, nudging him with a wide grin. "Welcome back, man."

"Thanks." He falls back against the sand, closing his eyes. "It's good to be back." When Morrison settles down next to him, he sighs, feeling warm and content and just _whole_ again. As fun as filming the movie'd been, he's back home now and will be wrestling again soon... It'll be good to return to being Miz. No, actually, it'll be _awesome._ Turning onto his side so he can look at his best friend better, he takes him in fully for the first time since returning. They hadn't seen each other face to face since the improv show, and webcams only show so much. He can see now that John looks better, more settled. _Maybe this time has been good for him too..._ "I've heard you've been keeping busy." Lame conversation starter, but hey.

John smirks, peeking at him through his sunglasses. "Yeah, you could say that." He grins. "I'm going to Comicon this weekend. I guess some of the guys are going to be there."

"You're going to confuse a lot of avid Z!TLIS people," Mike points out, rolling his eyes when John's grin only grows. "Ryder's going to be there, isn't he?"

"Yep. I'm tempted to crash Z!TLIS filming." He laughs. "You should come, it'll be a blast."

Mike considers it for a split second before looking around. "Nah. I'm good here, I think. I wouldn't want to take the attention from you anyway."

"As if you could, man," he huffs, sitting up enough to pour some sand in Mike's hair. "Seriously, what did you do to your hair?" He laughs when Miz jerks up, looking scandalized while brushing it out.

"It looks awesome!" he snaps, shaking his head to get the last bits of sand out. "You're just jealous because, as always, I look better than you."

Morrison laughs. "Whatever you say, man." He barely responds as Mike glares at him, dropping back into the sand with a soft sigh.

Anger fading away like the tide, Mike grumbles and lays back as well, listening to the waves lap against the shore soothingly. "Jackass."

"It isn't nice to call yourself names."

"Ugh, I hate you."

"You keep saying that, but it never ends up being true." There's a lengthy pause before Mike snickers, which leads into them both chuckling. It had been much too long since they'd properly hung out like this, and it surprises them both just how much they'd missed it.

Mike spends the next few days playing- and losing, as always- at golf, going to concerts, and just partying like a movie star should. By Saturday, though, he's back to business. The trip to Money in the Bank feels like it takes forever and passes by in the blink of an eye all at once. He finds his rental car and slips inside, closing his eyes as the familiar feeling of pre-PPV madness envelopes him. The others are probably already here, some traveling from ComiCon, and others just getting a jumpstart of feeling out the surroundings.

It's surprisingly helpful to feel at home in the city you're competing in, even if it's only for a night, so he drives around for a bit, takes in the sights and sounds. When he arrives at the hotel, there's a group of fans out, as always, so he wades through, signs autographs, even takes a couple of pictures, before finally making it through to the desk. While waiting to receive the keycard, he's unsurprised when the man tells him that Alex has arrived already.

So busy just absorbing California and all it has to offer once more, he'd barely had time to tweet- except for the Q&A sessions he'd had during the concert- much less talk on the phone with anyone, so he hasn't talked to Alex since his return to America. He feels a little bad about that, but knows that the kid will probably barely blink an eye at it, used to Mike's busy schedule. Upon finding the right hotel door, he knocks once before letting himself inside, dropping his bag right inside the door: somehow he senses what's coming.

Sure enough, Alex is standing across the room next to the TV, a growing grin on his face. "Mike! You're back."

"Yeah," he just manages to say before Alex is on him, arms wrapped snugly around his midsection. He chuckles and hugs him back, glad that in the weeks that had passed, whatever tension had been between them seems to have been all but forgotten by the younger man. "So how have you been?" he wonders, pulling back enough to see him.

Alex shrugs, forcing a smile. "Oh you know, hanging in there." It hadn't really been a great couple of months for him, Mike knows this, losing more and more and getting beat up by Big Show... he feels for him, he really does. At least Laurinaitis is gone, he hopes it'll be a fresh start for a lot of them, especially with Raw moving to three hours soon. "I'm really glad you're here, though. I wasn't sure if you were gonna bother showing up for this thing until you emailed me."

"Yeah, I considered waiting but then figured... if anyone could screw up Cena's plans it should be me, right?" He smirks, joining Alex on the couch. "I can't believe after all his bitching and moaning that he wants to win the briefcase. What a joke. He's going to totally ruin that match for everyone."

Alex says nothing for a minute, unable to completely railroad Cena since he had been the one to take Big Show down and get Laurinaitis fired a few weeks ago. "Well, winning the briefcase your first night back from filming would be pretty damn sweet, Mike. By the way, how _was_ filming? I wanna know everything."

He relaxes back against the couch, pleased to be back here, able to talk for hours with Alex- and John too, the time on the beach lasting longer than it had taken the sun to set- without having to stare at a computer screen.

The next night, Mike waits to make his announcement until the Smackdown money in the bank match ends, and Ziggler stops wasting valuable time with his _showoff_ crap that he could have spent talking. He makes the announcement that he will be in the Money in the Bank match, thereby bringing it up to five competitors. Reveling in the moment, he returns to the back. It had been a year ago that he had been a fingertip away from winning for the second year in a row, until he had almost blown his knee out thanks to Alberto Del Rio, who would eventually go on to take the briefcase. He vows this year to keep Cena from leaving with the briefcase, to get his career back on track in one night by leaving with it himself. He wonders what it would be like to hold onto the case without the Anon GM on his ass, ruining it with ridiculous shenanigans and rules.

Unfortunately, this isn't his year- all five of them take ridiculous chances, risking injury and shortening of their careers, but in the end, of course, it ends up Big Show and Cena on the ladder and... the briefcase handle snaps. In Cena's grip. Meaning he wins the briefcase. Miz curses and refuses to believe it but all the denial in the world wouldn't stop it- on some _fluke_ Cena is walking out with the chance to cash in at any time for the briefcase. Though he'll probably be too much of a boyscout to use it properly, which only angers Mike even more.

Alex is waiting, a sympathetic look on his face, when he returns to the locker room, sore and angry. "Sorry, Mike," he says quietly.

"Cena, Cena, Cena," he mumbles angrily. "Why doesn't anyone ever try to stop _him!"_ Alex shrugs helplessly, ducking out of the way as Mike throws his wrist tape roll at the wall.

The next day does nothing to stop Mike's anger, the whole locker room abuzz- not about his return, no of course not- all they can talk about is Cena's big Tout- and seriously, what the hell is a Tout and why does it matter?- saying that he's going to make an announcement on Raw.

Miz can guess what it's going to be before it even happens but everyone else acts like it's going to be the biggest thing all year. He scoffs, heading down the hallway, hands digging into his slacks pockets. He had been up early, doing media, and here he is, yet again, without a match on Raw. _Some things never change._ Except that Eve stops him a few minutes later, suggesting he be her tag partner for the evening. He doesn't care for her, all of the times that she'd been content to insult him fresh in his mind, but he agrees quickly, just relieved to have something to _do._

In the past, he had never really paid much attention to AJ Lee. All he knew really was she was tiny, brunette... and a little bit low on the sanity spectrum. Ok, make that a lot low. It's a match against his former NXT protege and he's confident enough except that AJ and Daniel are clicking surprisingly well tonight and then- well. She dropkicks him and even though it has the impact of a feather against his back, it surprises him more than anything and he drops to the floor. Upon turning around, he locks eyes with her and _holy crap_ for a minute, he loses himself in her expression. She's smiling at him like he's the only man in the world and, dammit, he feels himself smiling too. _What is this girl_ doing?He barely notices as Eve takes the opportunity, rolling AJ up, but the ref starts yelling at _him_ to get back on the apron. He tries telling the ref to count the damn pin already, still dazed from that weird thing with AJ, and he doesn't realize when it's reversed until he's back up, holding onto the tag rope just to realize- ah hell that's not Eve on top, and- before he can dive through the ropes, AJ gets the three count.

He drops to the ground, glaring inside as he realizes what exactly the smirk on Daniel's face as he looks over at Mike means. _God, I hate that guy,_ he steams. He stomps to the back as Daniel asks her to marry him again, feeling weird as she accepts. _I thought we really had something back there. Wait, what the fu- where did_ that _come from?_

Alex is waiting for him, a grin on his face. Before he can warn him not to say anything, the younger man's already half way through talking. "Soooo Mike... You dig crazy chicks now too?"

"Argh!"

Of course Cena interrupts Punk vs Big Show. Of course he announces that he'll be cashing in Money in the Bank for a title shot on Raw's #1000 episode. Of course Miz fights not to fall asleep midway through the announcement.

"And here we go again," he mumbles, throwing his bag into the car. "Do you think there'll ever be a whole year where John _isn't_ after the WWE title?"

Alex shrugs. He's so far down the card now that it doesn't really bother or effect him, but he can see why Mike gets twitchy about it all, still desperate for another chance at the gold. "Not for awhile, I guess."

"I hope he loses next week," Miz mumbles. "Cena being the first to fail at a Money in the Bank cash in. How appropo."


	111. chapter 111

Alex Riley stares at the calendar on his phone with a wistful smile, shaking his head. Two years ago. Two years ago Miz had won the WWE Money in the Bank, had started down the road that had led them all here. Who would've thought they all would've been better treated _during_ the Anon GM's- Hornswoggle's? Ehhh...- time in control than now. At least in those days they would all get consecutive amounts of TV time, even if it was just to be tortured by the invisible person behind the laptop.

It had all changed when Punk won and left the company with the WWE title and Cena's job was in risk. The face of the company, they'd harped on, might be fired tonight by Mr. McMahon. What then, what then. What then indeed. HHH had stepped in, had salvaged things for Cena- ruining them for many others in the process. With the Anon GM's power cut out from under him unexpectedly, HHH being in control had changed a great many things. Alex and Morrison both had seen less and less TV time and Miz, well, Miz had been fired alongside R-Truth. It thankfully had been brief and Mike had been rehired by Laurinaitis but those had been some of the worst weeks of Alex's life. Until Laurinaitis refused to renew John's contract, just after one of the most hellacious matches John and Mike had ever had.

At least it had kept Morrison from falling into unused hell like he's currently in, lucky to see NXT or Superstars in a week if anything. Miz even hadn't been exempt, the weeks leading up to Marine: Homefront leaving him in the lurch as Laurinaitis refused to use him despite everything Mike had done _for_ him. Mike had tried everything just to have _something_ to do leading up to his leaving for the movie's filming, but had been ignored for weeks. When he _had_ been given matches, it almost always ended up in a losing effort against someone like Brodus.

At least in his first week back, Miz had managed to be in both Money in the Bank and have a match on Raw- sure, he hadn't won either but it was more TV time than he had had for weeks before he'd left for Canada. Alex is glad for him, too used to the woeful state of his own career right now to even feel jealous or bitter. If anyone deserved notice, it was Mike. No one works harder, spends more time on media and other things to promote WWE than him.

He has a match against Cody Rhodes later that night on Superstars and Mike had offered to join him at the arena, not quite ready to go home to California yet. Raw 1000 is looming, breathing down all of their necks, and they're all pretty excited. It shows at the Superstars taping- where there's usually only a few people around, those who actually have matches, now there is almost a locker room full of people hanging around, talking with friends and mocking rivals. All preparing for the ridiculous times to be had in St. Louis, with many legendary wrestlers invited, to join in with the newer guys.

"It's going to be crazy," Mike comments, lips twitching as they listen to their co-competitors go on and on about who they want to meet this coming Monday, all of their inner passion for the business that most of them grew up with coming out. They glance at each other, smiling, before Mike straightens up. "Do you think...?"

He doesn't need to finish the sentence, Alex having been wondering the same thing for awhile now. Through all the rumors of who had been invited to the show, he's been keeping an ear out for Morrison's name, but no one has said anything about him. Not that that means anything, he knows, never say never in this business, after all, but hmmm. He shrugs half-heartedly, wrapping his wrists up snugly. "I haven't heard anything, Mike. But who knows, he might."

"It'd be good to see him at an event again," he says softly, Alex's gaze softening as he looks up at his mentor. It's been really obvious that Mike's been holding out some hope that, with Laurinaitis now gone, Morrison would get an offer to have his job back- though, Alex thinks, _if_ he would even want it by this point in time. The Shaman of Sexy seems content doing wrestling events now and again, not weighed down by the constant traveling schedule and everything else the job entails. He knows better than to say it to Mike though, because if Alex could see that just from John's tweets alone then God knows his best friend would've guessed it as well.

"Yeah, it would." They sit in silence before a tech hand approaches Alex and lets him know his match is next. He finishes with his wrist tape before nudging Mike. "See ya later," he says, standing.

"Good luck, A-Ri."

"Thanks." As soon as his music cues up, he's out and ready for the match, unsurprised when a game Cody Rhodes joins him, the two eyeing each other distrustfully. Angered probably both by A: losing Money in the Bank to Dolph Ziggler and B: being delegated to Superstars this week, Rhodes is quick to gain the upperhand, and he keeps it most of the match, Alex just unable to keep his head above water during the volleys of offense from the other man. When he ends up on his back, staring at the lights with a dazed grimace, he's not that surprised. It's just another disappointment to add to the many others he'd had the past year.

Mike is waiting for him when he makes his way to the back, a sympathetic smile on his face. "Come on, kid, let's get out of here," he urges, wrapping an arm around his slumped shoulders.

"My stuff," he protests, turning towards the locker room, but Mike holds onto him, pushing him back towards the exit.

"I've got 'em," he says. "They're in the car already. Quick stop at the hotel and let's just go on to the next event, huh?" Alex nods, glancing over at his former NXT pro. He can guess why Miz is hurrying them out of there- with the locker room fuller than usual, he can just imagine all of the comments being made about yet another one of his losses. He can handle it, had heard quite a few comments in the weeks that Mike had been gone, but it's still nice to have someone around who cares enough to try to shield him from it.

"Thanks, Mike."

That Monday, they arrive early to find the place already bustling. Past and present superstars are milling around, and Alex notices even a suspended Randy Orton is there, talking lowly with Lita. Halfway to the locker room, they pass by a paranoid looking Heath Slater who keeps glancing from one legend to the next, trying and failing to look nonplussed by it all. Mike doesn't even try to hide his laughter, Heath turning to glare at him. "What, man!" he demands, his accent thickening with his anger.

He just smirks, shrugging. "Absolutely nothing, One Man Band. Try not to get killed tonight, huh?"

"Aw shut up," the West Virginian snaps before storming off.

Alex laughs. "You're horrible, Mike."

"Nah, he's horrible. _I'm_ awesome."

There are so many legends that Alex grew up watching in the locker room that it floors him, stops him in his tracks. He just stands there for so long that Mike has to grab him by the arm and drag him inside just to get him moving again, most eyes on them as they walk in. When they realize _who_ exactly it is, they all look back at what they're doing, leaving Mike and Alex to settle down on a bench and get ready for the show. Alex doesn't have a match again so he just sits and watches Mike, curious. "So do you know what you're doing tonight?"

"Ah, I have an idea," he smirks, running his hands through his hair. Alex is far from used to seeing him without the spiked hair, the change confusing him to the point that it still takes him a minute to recognize Mike from a distance. "But it's a suuuurprise," he finishes before Alex can ask, singsongy and utterly annoying.

"Aw, I hate when you do that."

He smirks, quickly getting into his wrestling gear. "So, what say you? Wanna go wander and see who all we find?"

Alex knows immediately what- or who- he's looking for, and although he's pretty sure John _isn't_ there, they hadn't heard from him all weekend so similiarly to Mike holding his match information close to the vest, maybe John's doing the same thing, wanting to surprise them with his presence. It takes a good half an hour to go through the whole building and, although Alex sees a great many people who cause a nostalgia rush for the both of them, Mike even stopping a few times to greet people and introduce Alex to them, Morrison isn't among them.

Though he doesn't really seem surprised, Mike _does_ look disappointed by the end of it. "C'mon, Mike, let's get some fresh air," he suggests, forcing a small smile when he looks over at him, eyes dull.

"Alright," he mumbles, following him to the exit. It's stifling warm outside, both men starting to sweat the instant they're out of the air conditioning, but Mike looks a little better as a breeze greets them. "I just... I wished he was here," he finally admits after a few minutes. "It's just not the same with him gone. No offense, Alex."

"None taken. You're right, it is...different." He leans against the building and looks up as misty clouds pass overhead, teasing but granting no rain to the drought-ravaged land. "They invited so many people, it's kind of pointless and cruel they didn't invite him too..."

Mike hums, nodding slightly. "But maybe they did and he didn't accept. I mean, that's what Shane Helms was tweeting about earlier, right? That he didn't accept the invite, though he could've?"

"Yeah, I heard about that too." Alex sighs. "Well... I guess we should go back in," he says after a few more minutes. "Wouldn't want you to miss your all important secret match."

Mike just grins, not raising to the bait. "So impatient, Alex. You'll know all soon." He laughs as the younger man huffs, following him inside. By the time they make it through the flood of people and settle in to a locker room to watch, the AJ and Daniel Bryan wedding has already begun, Miz's eyebrows raised.

"I don't need to get you a kleenex or a stiff drink after last week, do I?" Alex teases, glancing from his former pro to the girl on the TV that Mike had seemed close to mesmerized with merely seven days ago.

"No," he rolls his eyes, swatting Alex upside the head. "Is that _Slick?_ " Sure enough, it is and first Daniel comes to the ring, followed shortly by his bride, who looks beautiful and bashful in her white wedding dress.

Alex glances over to find Mike still staring hard at the screen, his lips twitching. _Oh boy,_ he thinks, wondering what exactly this girl does to get a hold on so many guys in the locker room. _Glad I haven't come in contact with her..._ But, like most WWE weddings before it, it doesn't make it past the I Do's, Mike perking up a bit when AJ says she's saying yes to another man's proposal... The buzz in the locker room is ridiculous when Vince McMahon's music hits, but thankfully the CEO of the company refutes that it's _that_ kind of proposal, explaining that he'd made AJ the offer to be their new Raw GM.

Alex thinks he can hear a collective popping sound as everyone's jaw drops, their new General Manager skipping circles around Daniel in her fancy dress before chanting yes all the way up the ramp. "Uh, well. I didn't see that coming," he mumbles, glancing over at Mike. "You don't seem that surprised." The only answer he receives is a smirk. "You knew?"

Mike shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not. Either way, my match is next so... I'll see you in a little bit, Alex."

"Wait!" he calls out, coming out of his stupor just before Miz shuts the door behind him. "Damn... not even one little hint? Ugh..." He crosses his arms over his chest, accepting that he'll just have to sit and watch. Through a commercial break and Daniel's complaints, Punk's interruption and... The Rock coming out to announce he'll have a title match at the Royal Rumble. _Ooh yay._ They're about to fade into another commercial when Cole mentions that Christian's Intercontinental title match is up next, Alex's eyes widening. "No way, this is it?" He grins. "Well, what do you know."

Once the commercial ends, he's not sure whether to laugh or hide his eyes- Bret Hart is announced as the guest ring announcer for the next match and _oh boy_ that must eat at Mike, considering what a thorn in his side Bret had been while he was WWE champion. But it doesn't really effect the outcome of the match, Bret isn't even seen after announcing them. The most vitrol he throws Mike's way is announcing him in the dullest way possible, causing a few of the guys in the locker room to laugh.

Mike gains control early when Christian does a suicide dive to the outside and tweaks his knee, overcoming every bit of offense the Canadian wrestler attempts after that until finally, _finally_ Mike hits Skullcrushing finale and pins him, winning the Intercontinental title for the first time ever.

Alex grins, leaving the room in time to meet him at the gorilla position. Mike's face is bright, his grin overwhelming, and the title just looks _right_ in his hands. "You sneaky idiot," Riley tells him goodnaturedly. "Keeping this from me. Geez." He laughs when Mike just looks even more proud of himself. "Congrats, man. You deserve it."

"Thanks," he says, holding the title up so Alex can get a good look at it. "It's not the WWE or World title... but it'll do. Oh, it'll do." He laughs.

Alex thinks that, had their little trio hadn't been missing one, the moment truly would've been perfect. "Come on," he says, shaking this thought from his head. "Let's go celebrate, huh?"

"Yes." They pause at the same time, exchanging uncomfortable glances. That word had become a weird thing to use around the arenas, random bursts of YES! YES! YES! possible to happen at any time with little to no warning. "Eh. Let's go," he says awkwardly when everything remains calm.

They're half way to a club when Mike's phone dies, the battery worn out by all of the texts and tweets, congratulatory and otherwise, regarding his victory. He huffs and turns to look at Alex, who's currently driving. "Hey, mind stopping by the hotel room so I can get my charger? I'm enjoying the hate too much to let it remain dead." He shakes his phone at the younger man, who glances over with a weird look on his face.

"You're strange, Mike. But sure, why not."

"I can also put my title in a safe place so no one tries stealing it while we're partying."

"Good idea." Alex pulls in to the hotel parking lot and finds a spot close to the building. "I think I'll come in too, too damn hot to stay outside for too long."

"No kidding." The evening had turned even muggier, humidity taking over when the heat had started to ease off. As they walk to the elevators, Mike's ego grows by ten sizes just by the stares they receive in the lobby, the white title slung braggadociously over one shoulder catching everyone's eyes.

"That's never going to get old for you, is it?" Alex asks with a laugh once they're in the elevator and it begins to move up to their floor.

"How could it?" He chuckles. "When you get your first title, you'll understand." His mirth dies away as Alex freezes, a frown overtaking his face. "Aw, come on, A-Ri. You've hit a rough patch, we all do... But it won't last forever. I promise you. Things will turn around for you."

"Like it did for you, right?" he says, trying to sound unbothered by Miz's faux pas.

"Right, exactly like that. Just be patient, man."

Alex nods, not wanting to vocalize his true thoughts, ruin Mike's moment. When it comes down to it, though, a few months of being overlooked is nothing compared to a full year, and he knows his abysmal losing streak isn't helping matters any. Who really wants to see a guy who loses so much that it's just a foregone conclusion as soon as his music hits that he's not going to walk out the winner this time either?

Mike is looking worriedly back at him as he unlocks the door to their hotel room, trying to find a way to cheer his friend back up, when a gust of wind greets them. "What the...?" He peeks inside and blinks. "Alex, did you leave the balcony door open?"

Alex joins him and stares. "Of course not, Mike. I hadn't even looked out of it since we arrived, it was so hot."

"Strange," he mumbles. "Maybe the staff?"

"We left a Do Not Disturb sign out though," the former NXT rookie points out quietly. "Be careful." They walk hesitantly in together, Mike crossing over to the wide open balcony, peering outside. Alex quickly scans the room, making sure that nothing's been taken. His confusion grows when everything looks the same as they'd left it. "Mike, I-"

"Alex," Mike interrupts him, his voice low and strange sounding. "Come here a sec."

"What is it-" He stands behind Miz, staring out. For the second or third time that evening, his jaw drops as he takes in what has Mike so subdued. "What the hell? Morrison?" Sure enough, the Prince of Parkour is sitting lazily on the balcony ledge, looking as comfortable there as if he owned the place. He grins up at them both, a small squirrel chittering away in his hands. Alex's eyes goes straight to the creature, his skin turning almost grey as he tries and fails to back up, the balcony door holding him in place. "What- what are you doing with that thing?"

"Never mind that," Mike snaps. "What are you doing _here?_ "

John rolls his eyes at them, ignoring both questions as he gently settles the squirrel back down on the ledge next to him. When it continues begging, paws outstretched towards him, he tsks at it. "Sorry, little guy, I don't have any more food for you. Forage around elsewhere, you'll probably find something." When he stands, the squirrel scrambles away (and _no_ if you asked, Alex did _not_ whimper in that moment or try even harder to get away. Not at all...) and leaps onto a neighboring balcony. "Well, I came to join the party," he says with a smirk as he walks towards Mike and Alex. He glances at the younger man and rolls his eyes. "You still have that squirrel phobia going on, A-Ri?"

Alex simply glares at him while Mike persists, not willing to give up. "How did you get in _here_ though? We have both of the keys!" He turns to look at the still mostly frozen Alex, and mutters, "You do still have your key, right?"

"Of course!" he comes to enough to snap back, ducking back inside quickly just in case there are any other squirrels lurking around waiting to attack.

Mike grimaces as John pushes past him, taking his sunglasses off once they're all inside and the balcony's once more shut. "What can I say?" Morrison says, sprawling out on a chair. "The abs still have it."

"The abs still- Oh God, did you take your shirt off in front of the cleaning lady again?" Mike groans, covering his face. "I thought you stopped doing that a long time ago."

"Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures," the former WWE star says with a grin. "Did you expect me to lurk outside in the lobby for hours until you both returned? Nah... This seemed easier. And you have a really nice view of the city, too." He grins. "And besides, my being in here meant that I got to watch you win the Intercontinental title."

Mike's bitching stops at this, his lips slowly closing once more as he frowns. "You could've been there in person, seen it up close like A-Ri here did."

This sobers John up too and he leans forward, eyes dark and uncertain as he glances from Alex to Mike. "I would've loved to have been... but they didn't invite me."

"What?" Mike shakes his head, his ugliest suspicions confirmed. "What the hell, man? That's not right."

John holds a hand up, stopping his verbal rant once more. "I'm not telling you this to ruin your night, Mike. I just wanted you to know, if I could've been there, I would've been. It just wasn't up to me."

Mike huffs, standing and tangling his fingers in his hair as he takes a few steps away from them. "God, this company, man. I don't even..."

Alex watches as John stands too and joins him, dropping his hands onto his shoulders to stop his forward movement. "Hey, Mike, seriously. Don't let it bring you down. It's ok, I've accepted it... Things have changed from how they used to be and I'm not even close to being at the top of their list, I get it. I seriously don't want this to ruin _your_ celebration." He all but shakes him, digging his fingers into his collar bone to get his attention. "I'm here, now, and that's the important thing." He looks over at Alex, smiling slightly. "There _is_ going to be a celebration, right?"

"Hell yeah," Mike says, finally taking a deep breath and relaxing slightly under John's grip. "We just stopped here to get my phone charger... and I guess it's a good thing we did." He raises an eyebrow at Morrison and slowly frees himself, walking around him to get the small device from the table. "You ready to go then?"

"Just leave the squirrels here," Alex orders, sounding a little bitter as Mike and John both stare at him, dissolving into laughter after a few moments. "It's not funny!"

"Yeah, it is, a little. Hey, who was that that had people confront their fears?"

"That was Maury, wasn't it?" John asks, looking thoughtful. "The pickle lady and the Q-Tips..."

"Yeah, Alex, you're not as bad as those, I guess. At least your phobia moves and, like, has claws and stuff."

"I hate both of you," the tallest of the three grumbles as he reluctantly follows them out into the hallway, arms crossed over his chest.

Mike and John laugh a little before sandwiching him in an obnoxious kind of hug. "Yeah right," Mike tells him. "You wouldn't have spent the last two years with us if that was the case."

He shrugs them off and marches for the elevator, desperate to get to the club and have a change of topic to go with the change of scenery. He's just gotten inside, reluctantly holding the door open for the other two when he hears Morrison say, "Designated driver! Not it."

"Not it," Mike echoes before he can even think enough to say anything.

Alex pokes his head out of the elevator car in disbelief. "Seriously! Why's it always me!"

"Rookie's lament," Morrison suggests, grinning. "C'mon, it's not that bad man... look at it this way, if we make fools of ourselves, you'll always have blackmail material or whatever."

"Don't give him ideas," Mike warns.

"I hope this place has a karaoke machine." Alex sneers at them as they exchange uncomfortable glances.

"Do you think if a WWE superstar- or a former superstar-" he rectifies his sentence quickly at Morrison's bland expression, "would use a karaoke machine, they would summon Zack Ryder?"

"Or Heath Slater," John suggests. "What's up with that guy anyway?"

"Hell if I know," Mike shrugs. "He's a slow learner. Then again, he is from the south."

They spend the next few hours at a nearby bar, even catching almost all of the last hour of Raw 1000 on one of the many big screens. Between Heath getting beat by Lita, Jinder's little faction getting killed by Undertaker and Kane, and Cena vs Punk ending in two run-ins and what appears to be Punk turning heel, it's a really busy conclusion to what had already been a really eventful episode. Alex and John both can see the wheels turning in Mike's head, choosing to distract him from whatever he's thinking with another round of shots, Alex looking somewhat distastefully down at the club soda in his hands.

The bar has no karaoke machine but there are pool tables and dart boards and John eventually challenges A-Ri to a quick game, somehow- despite looking a little tipsy from the shots he'd already had- getting three in a row right in the middle of the target. "How did you do that?" Riley demands, looking in disbelief at the game. "And I swear, if you say the abs haven't lost it again-"

"Nah, that only works with women. The rest is just all of my own ability." He laughs while Mike groans, Alex rolling his eyes at him. Giving up on darts, they all go to a pool table, deciding to play a mock game, all three of them. "Chicken with the black ball?" Morrison suggests, grinning. "You have to aim at the black ball, the first two who send it into the side pockets lose."

"That sounds weird. I'm in," Mike smirks, setting the balls up. "Who goes first? Not me."

"Not me," John adds, both turning to look at a yet again too slow Alex Riley. "Go on, man. You're up."

He sighs, selecting a pool cue from the stand. "Fine," he mumbles, trying out a couple of angles before finally hitting the cue ball. It rolls hard into the group, scattering the majority of them, and sending two striped balls into various pockets. Mike takes the second turn, spinning the cue into the black with enough force that it skips into other balls and comes to an abrupt stop, knocking a solid into one of the side pockets as well.

John frowns at the impossible shot that's now left for him- all of the balls either scattered far away from the sides or still unfortunately close to the black ball. Trying to be a little flashy, he sets up a special shot, trying to leap over the black ball, just to misjudge _something_ along the way and sending the cue on top of it instead, causing it to roll right towards one of the pockets. "No!" he grimaces, just barely catching his breath when it stops short of falling in. "Damn," he and Mike say at the same time, for different reasons.

Alex chuckles, aiming up another shot and sends the black ball away from the side pocket, bumping another solid into the nearest side pocket. "This game is going to suck when we're out of the other balls to protect the black," he comments.

"That's the point, I think," Mike says, hitting the black ball with so much force that it hits one side, spins side ways and- sinks right into the opposing middle pocket. "Aw hell!" Shrugging, he leans back as if to say _Have at it, boys_ , and takes another drink while he watches. Alex and Morrison examine each other, Morrison taking his time as he tries to find the safest way to hit the black ball. Bouncing it into a group of balls clustered around one of the pockets, he sinks two more, leaving the black ball between two remaining solids and close to the pocket.

Alex grimaces, unable to do anything but hit the black ball from this angle. Not wanting to repeat Mike's mistake _or_ Morrison's near slip, he taps the cue ball very lightly, holding his breath as it rolls and nudges the black ball, sending it right to the edge but stopping just before it falls in.

Morrison grimaces, unable to work out a way to reach the black ball without knocking it in. "Damn," he mumbles, trying to hit it at an angle. The other balls on either side of the black are hard to dodge, however, and he grazes one of them, sending the cue ball hard into the black ball, which sinks easily into the pocket. "Ugh!"

"Ha!" Alex pumps a hand into the air, grinning. "Redemption!"

As he celebrates, everyone around the bar looking over at him strangly, John mumbles to Mike, "He does realize it's just a made up pool game, right?"

Mike shrugs, nudging him. "Let him have this, he's had a crappy few months."

"True," Morrison concedes. "Alright."

Not long afterwards, Mike realizes there's only three hours left till his flight back to LA, where he has some media and things to do before the next event. "Hey guys, let's go back to the hotel. My flight's in a couple of hours, I gotta get my stuff together."

"We must be on the same flight," Morrison comments as they follow Alex out to the car. The younger man watches as they duck into the back seat, once more reminding him of the night that Morrison had had his last match and they'd sat in the exact same places, Morrison turned sideways despite the seat belt stretched across him- new belt laws and all- to look at Mike while they talk lowly, both this side of tipsy but not enough to risk keeping them off of the plane later.

When they arrive back at the hotel, John and Alex both settle on the two beds, watching as Mike wanders around, collecting his things. "Here," he tells John, tossing the Intercontinental belt at him. "Guard this thing with your life until I'm done."

"Yes, sir," he says, running a hand across the smooth plate. He hadn't held a belt for so long, he'd almost forgotten how heavy they were. "Hey, Alex, look at this thing." Alex laughs, moving to the bottom of the bed and holding his hand out for it. "Y'know, I held the old belt that Rhodes made such a big deal out of... claiming it was a disgrace and all. But this belt is pretty prestigious looking too," he muses, dark eyes following it around as Alex gets his first real good look at it.

"It damn well better," Mike comments, peeking back out of the bathroom. "It's going to be mine for a long time to come." Alex lays back against the bed, eyes quickly growing hard to keep open. He listens as Mike drops his bag at the foot of the bed and leans over, tugging at the title belt until he releases it. "You falling asleep?" his mentor asks, sitting down between John and Alex on the bed.

"I might as well," Alex nods tiredly. "My flight's later in the morning so I can."

"As long as you don't sleep through it," John warns him. "We won't be here to wake you up."

"Nah, I won't. I set my alarm already." He waves his phone at them both.

"Good. I taught you well." Mike grins when he squints up at him. "But seriously, John, if we're going to make it through TSA, we should probably go now."

"Aw yes, I love TSA, I've missed seeing them regularly so much," he deadpans in response, getting to his feet. "Hey, Alex, it was good seein' ya, man. Next time you're both in California, we should do this again."

"Yeah, good seeing you too, John, and we definitely should," he says, scraping together the last of his energy to stand and follow them to the door. "Just leave the squirrels behind next time." He grins while the other two laugh at him, feeling a lot more relaxed now. "See you this weekend, Mike."

"Yep, don't get in any trouble 'til then," Mike responds, smirking over at him. "Get some sleep. I'll call you later on."

"Ok." He follows them into the hallway, feeling the awkwardness just as much as they both seem to be. It had been hard enough when John's contract had run out last November, but this time... not knowing when they'd all be able to hang out together again, makes it even harder to walk away. "Well..." he mumbles, shifting uncertainly.

"Ugh, God, just get over here," Mike finally orders, and in another flashback of the night Morrison had been let go, Alex rejoins them and wraps his arms around him, squeezing his eyes shut as he realizes anew just how much he misses the three of them being able to hang out together whenever they wanted- like it had been only nine months ago.

"Hey," John says, squeezing him back. "Unless something comes up beforehand, I'll see you two during Summerslam weekend, right? That'll be cool. And Mike, we still have to do that cove thing."

"Oh yeah," he laughs. "We'll have to try to work that in."

"Cove thing?" Alex asks, pulling away to look at Mike curiously.

"Yeah, I didn't get to do 4th of July since I was in Canada so John suggested we get more fireworks and do what we did last year. Summerslam weekend would probably be a perfect time to do that."

Alex catches on and grins, nodding. "Yeah, I'm in."

"Great, well, there you have it. Now go get some sleep, we have to go or we'll really miss our flight."

"Alright, I will. Safe travels, guys."

"You too, A-Ri."

With a chorus of byes, the three finally split, John and Mike heading for the elevator as Alex returns to the empty hotel room, taking in how quiet and lifeless the room is now that he's alone again. It reminds him uncomfortably of when Mike had been in Canada. _It's just for a few hours,_ he reminds himself, sinking into the bed and quickly giving in to sleep _. It's fine._


	112. Start to Finish

_He sighs, pushing his apartment door open. It feels like a lifetime has passed, but also like it'd happened just yesterday. He presses his forehead against the doorway, resting his hand against his neck. Most days he's too bitter to care but sometimes... like today... he misses the comradery of the business, always having someone who understood nearby to talk to, or be a phone call away. Now their schedules are all so different that he hasn't talked to anyone in a really long time. He takes a deep breath, finally feeling strong enough to pull away, lock his door and hide inside the living room for awhile, losing himself in TV and some equally mindnumbing alcohol, when a strong force rams the door, spilling him inside the hallway. He's just turned around in time to get a knee to the face. As he gasps and scrambles, a large hand tangles itself in his hair, pulling him up to his feet roughly._

_"Well, hello there," a low voice greets him. "Remember me?"_

_He stares up at the large man who'd just forced his way into the apartment, shaking his head. "Of course I do-"_

_Visibly pleased, he releases the other man with a unceremonious thump onto the floor. "Well then. With that out of the way, it should be obvious what I'm here for. You're going to work with me."_

_"For what?"_

_"To get back at WWE, of course." There's a maddening smirk on the attacking man's face that slowly slips away when the somewhat taller man shakes his head, scrabbling for his doorknob. "What was that?"_

_"No, I won't," he forces out, overwhelmed by this monster in his apartment but still maintaining enough dignity to deny the order. "I'm done with that place, I don't want anything to do with it, especially anything to do with revenge. You're gonna have to do it yourself or find someone else."_

_Before he can take another step, there's a sudden, throbbing sort of pain on his jaw and he's out almost immediately, unable to fight back or stop the proceedings as his apartment door is shut ruthlessly behind his attacker._

Mike sighs, running his fingers through his hair. The past few months have sucked, no doubt about it. To be honest, it had started when Vince McMahon was about to fire John Cena a year ago almost to the day- the whole locker room had held their breath on that one, most looking forward to the decision with only Cena's closest friends sighing in relief when HHH interrupted and relieved Vince of his day to day responsibilities. It had been the catalyst, though, to a certain kind of change that had seen Laurinaitis take over when the power- surprise, surprise- had gone to HHH's head. From there, things had really spiraled. Alex Riley's career had become something of an afterthought, John Morrison had been fired, and Miz himself... well. Had a few moments of chance and luck where he'd thought things were about to turn around for him, become better, but in the end, everything would fall through and leave him feeling worse than he had previously.

He leans forward, resting his chin in his palms. "Dammit." It's July and he'd had hopes that things would turn around by now, especially with three hour Raws starting soon, but he's not even sure that that'll help, his matches barely accounting to anything more than his being a space filler in tag matches or... Biting his lips, he stares ahead blankly. "There has to be something..."

He stops talking to himself, flushing hotly, as someone drops down next to him on the bench. "Talking to yourself, Mike?"

He relaxes slightly, relieved that it's only Alex Riley. "Something like that," he mutters, tying his wrestling boots up viciously. He has another pointless match later in the evening, not even looking forward to leaving the locker room to compete. His bad luck before, and after, filming the Marine: Homefront makes it hard to get in the ring and try to gather together enough strength for a victory. He knows it's a self-defeatist attitude like that that gets none of them anywhere, but his lack of anything substantial to do is eating away at him more and more as time goes by.

Alex nods, stretching quietly. Their friendship had gone through some rocky points lately, mostly _because_ of how off both of their careers had become compared to a year ago. Things had been better since Mike's time in Canada but they were still all so busy with their own things, there hadn't been much time to talk about anything serious. "Other than that, you doing alright?"

It's his turn to nod, taking in a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm hanging in there." He roughly pulls his tangled up wristbands apart, rolling his eyes as they snap loudly against his skin. "You?"

"Same here." They fall silent once more as Mike leans forward to stuff his street clothes into the duffel bag at his feet, ready to leave for his match. "Good luck, Mike."

He pauses at the door, not looking back. "Thanks, A-Ri." With that, he's gone, heading for the ring to see what nonsense could befall him this week.

 _"Mr. Laurinaitis,_ " Eve hisses, glancing around. No cameras are around so she enters the office with hurried footsteps. As she approaches the General Manager of both Raw and Smackdown, she shuts and locks the door behind her. "Sir." When he turns to look at her, she stands at attention, hands tight on the edge of a clipboard to keep him from seeing how they'd been trembling just seconds earlier. "We have a problem."

Despite his face remaining blank and unreadable, she can see a gleam of worry in his eyes. "Now what, Eve?" As he reaches out for the phone she's holding out to him, she considers how much of a toll the job has already taken on him. He had eaked out a by-the-fingertips victory against John Cena a month and a half ago, only made possible by the Big Show's desperate attempt at getting his job back, but since then things had only gotten worse for him, HHH breathing down all of their necks since Brock Lesnar's attack against him that broke his arm. Whatever control they'd had over the business had gone down the drain with both HHH and the shareholders watching so close, adding to John Laurinaitis' aggravation.

He listens for a moment to the person on the other end, his face slowly paling under his tan. As he presses the phone against his forehead, looking even more tired than he had when she first entered, she rests a comforting hand on his arm, just as lost as he is to fix all that had gone wrong. _HHH isn't going to like this,_ she thinks bitterly.

_The two are just leaving a modeling gig during which they had, of course, been encouraged to set up more in the future, when a menacing shadow stops before them, causing them to pull up short. As they squint up through their sunglasses, both drop their purses in concert. "Oh God," the quieter of the two mumble._

_"What do you want?" the other demands, trying to hide her fright._

_"Just to talk, girls. Just to talk." The smirk across the large man's face grows as he takes in their badly hidden fear. "Let's go somewhere less out in the open, hmm?"_

Mike sits outside, staring up at the dark sky. His match, of course, had resulted in a loss but there's something else- in the ten minutes he'd been out in the ring, a change had come over the back. Tech hands suddenly look tense and anxious, Eve and Otunga both marching around, yelling at the smallest thing they don't approve of or think need to be changed. Laurinaitis hadn't been seen but, after stopping in to talk with him, one of the road agents look unsettled, his lips pulled tight as he rushes to the techs and start yelling too, motioning angrily to the nearby monitor screens.

After a few minutes of this drama and headache inducing yelling, Mike had come out here to relax and decompress after his match. Whatever's going on inside, he figures, can resolve itself on its own. He'll find out what happened eventually, for now he just needs to be alone. It's peaceful and quiet out here, with only muffled sounds of people wandering around the arena talking, and he remembers many times in the past when he and Alex and Morrison had all sat out here, attempting to get away from whatever hardtimes they were all going through, or just enjoying the weather. He misses it more than anything else sometimes.

He's still sitting out there, not even minding how cold the concrete is beneath his legs, when the exit door slams open and Alex storms outside. "Mike!"

Looking up, startled at the sound of his former protege's voice, he quickly stands and walks out from behind a trunk, gripping the younger man by the arms before he can rush headlong into him. "Alex! What the hell, man?"

"You're missing everything," he gasps, looking troubled. "I can't even explain it, come inside, now!"

"Fine, fine," he says reluctantly, rolling his eyes as he trails after Alex. "What-" His words die in his mouth as he peers over at the nearest monitor, realizing immediately. "Brock Lesnar."

The sandy haired man is glaring at them all from the screen, his large arms crossed over his chest. "Until I get what I want, you all aren't going anywhere. Every week, it's going to be the same thing. And I'm not alone." As he pulls away, the Bella Twins saunter up from either side of him.

"Where the hell are they?" one of Brodus Clay's "Funkadactyls" ask, sounding a bit fearful.

"It looks like one of the production trucks," Alex observes, taking in the wall of screens and keyboards behind the three sneering former superstars.

"We told you you would regret firing us, Eve. Not that we need the WWE, far from it, but Brock Lesnar here is very persuasive. We never should've just accepted that. We brought eyes to the WWE for years, and you treat us like that?" Nikki demands, leaning closer to the screen. "You never deserved us. Now, we're going to make you all pay."

Mike and Alex share troubled glances, neither liking the sound of this. As the minutes tick by, the screen remains black, only sometimes interrupted by an appearance from Brock or one of the twins. Anytime someone tries bravely- or stupidly- to get into the truck, they return a few minutes later, supported by someone else, hanging on the precipice of unconsciousness. The tension of the backstage area grows with each passing second.

"What do we do?"

"I don't think there's anything we can do," Mike mutters, pulling Alex away from the scene before someone suggests one of them try to stop Brock's madness.

 _"You were one of the most respected agents out there," Brock says, his face belying his words. "WWE never deserved you either. You should join us, gain some revenge against the company who threw you away without a second thought." When the older man doesn't seem interested, he tries one more track. "You should want this, if anything just to prove to your..._ son _... that standing your ground has its own merits."_

_"No," Fit Finlay says simply, his accent dull and bored as he snaps his ever-present shilleghlae against his wrist in a silent warning. "Not interested."_

_"Oh, I'll give you some time. You might come around," Brock sneers, rolling his eyes at the Irish weapon. "See you soon."_

_As soon as he's gone, Finlay sighs, well aware that Lesnar could probably break his one line of defense as easily as he could one of his bones. "Don't come back."_

"Is there even a point to going to Raw tonight?" Alex asks Mike, leaning against the doorway of the hotel room. A week had passed and so far Brock Lesnar had maintained his control, quickly overpowering the security Vince had tried placing at both the Superstars and Smackdown production trucks, leaving both of those shows black as well.

"I doubt it," Mike grumbles, throwing a couple of other things in his bag. "At least we might as well go, show some unity. If anything, maybe it'll gain some notice and get us some worthwhile matches down the road whenever things go back to normal, or something."

"That'd be good," Alex responds doubtfully, echoing how the other man feels. Things are so up in the air, it's impossible to even guess when if _ever_ things will become normal.

_"Have you heard of me?"_

_"Who hasn't?" the large man rumbles, peering across at the other man. "You're Brock Lesnar."_

_"And you're the overlooked member of the original Nexus," he returns smoothly, undisturbed as the dark skinned man bristles. "Michael Tarver. How'd you like some payback?"_

_There's a long, tense staredown between the two intense men, before Michael stands up, hands curling into fists at his side. "What do you have in mind?"_

That Monday, of course, things are more of the same, heightened security and holding the production crew and equipment in another location still not enough to keep Brock and the Bellas- this time with Michael Tarver- away from holding it hostage. USA Network execs are understandably angry, constantly on the phone with Laurinaitis demanding that he do something, regain control of the show, do _anything_ to fix the television feed so there's actual action and not two more hours of darkness, their ratings average already taking a sizeable hit from the week before. _Big Johnny_ looks like he's about to lose it completely, especially when one of the execs adds in the little dig that no such thing had ever happened when _Vince McMahon_ was in charge.

Fans had been refunded ticket prices, kept from the arena just in case Brock's madness should spread further and cause them to be targetted by his growing army of bitter former superstars. On the flip side of that, the locker rooms are full of superstars with nothing to do and nowhere to go who still feel obligated to be there, especially if they're needed or wanted in the struggle to regain control of the business they loved. Mike is in one with Zack, Alex, Cody and a handful of others, the silence tense and depressed. Most of them love competing, and even when morale is at its lowest, it's nothing like this.

Heath Slater sighs loudly, jumping up to his feet. "This sucks, man," he exclaims, sitting around twiddling his thumbs doing absolutely nothing for his usually hyper persona. As he paces around, his co-competitors watch him with something between disdain and agreement.

"So do something about it," Miz snaps at the younger man, glancing around as some of the others nods.

"Why don't we?" Alex asks, surprising most of the people in the room. Being one of the newer WWE superstars, he generally keeps his mouth shut out of respect to the much more seasoned veterans around him, but this seems to have been his breaking point. "Take the company back? Get our careers back?"

"How do you suggest we do that?" a derisive Cody Rhodes sneers from the back of the room, Mike's glare fixing on him warningly. He doesn't back down, however.

"Find out what Brock's endgame is, how he plans to get there... thwart it?"

"Like what?" Mike asks, interrupting the others before they can gang up on his former protege. "What are you thinking, Alex?"

As the younger man begins to talk, everyone grows from disdainful to cautiously intrigued. "That could work, I guess," Rhodes finally concedes reluctantly.

 _Knock... knock._..

A dark haired woman looks up with a frown, her small dog lacing back and forth between her legs, barking excitedly. "Shhh, Charlie," she reprimands the little guy as she walks over to the door. Peering out of the small peep hole, she blanches angrily. Roughly wrenching the barrier open, she crosses her arms across her chest while glaring out at the two women waiting for her. "What are you two _putas_ doing at my home?"

"Classy as ever, Melina," Brie Bella greets her coolly. "This is your home, hm?" She looks around in disdain before nudging a smirking Nikki. "Looks about what I expected for her to live in, right?"

"No, actually, I think it's even worse than what I pictured." The twins are obviously about to go on another one of their run-on rant fests against everything and everyone in the area, snapping out of it as Melina rolls her eyes and steps back, about to slam the door in their faces, beyond over the old WWE drama.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Brie says, blocking her by smacking a hand against the door. The two overwhelm her, entering the apartment and leaving the door wide open as they push her further into the kitchen. She has no choice but watch as Charlie scampers out of the apartment, biting her lip as the little puppy yaps his way down the hallway.

She's about to start laying punches when another voice enters the melee, Morrison entering their apartment with a curious, tense look on his face as he holds onto an excitedly squirming Charlie. "Mel, what's-" His voice dies away as he spots the twins. "What are you two doing here?"

"I've been wondering the same-" Her voice cuts off in horror as a hulking form appears behind her boyfriend. "JOHN!" All her warning does is causes him to turn _into_ the attack as Brock Lesnar smashes a ridiculously large arm against his face, sending him crashing to the ground. As the Bellas try to block Melina's exit, Charlie scampers out of Morrison's hands and straight to her, tripping the twins up with his spastic movements.

Still struggling to stand, bruises already forming across his cheek and jaw, John looks over at her, panting. She hates what he's visibly asking her to do at her first opportunity, to run, leave him here alone with this monster... but both of them stuck here does no one any good. They need help, and fast. She nods tightly, turning to face the twins while clinging to Charlie. How exactly she's going to get past Brock, she has no idea, but first things first. These two.

It happens at once- Morrison forces himself to his feet while using the counter to support himself, then swings out at Brock with a nearby can opener, dazing the larger man long enough to land a true hit that sends him stumbling back into the living room, unblocking the door. Taking her chance, Melina grabs an umbrella, snapping it open in the Bellas' faces. The two vapid things fall back, sputtering and whining about their hair and makeup, giving her the time to clutch little Charlie closer to her and dash for the empty doorway. She's out in the hall when she almost runs into Michael Tarver, but he simply stares at her as she stops short. Freaked out by his intense glare, she freezes until he jerks his head towards the elevator, an obvious sign he's letting her go.

"Thank you," she whispers, not sure why he's giving her this brief kindness, but she doesn't question it much further, quickly dashing for the escape. As soon as the doors close, giving her some shelter against the madness happening in her apartment, her chest seizes. _John._

Mike and Alex are staring at each other, both looking uncomfortable and tense. Alex had taken the flight back with Miz, determined to help him figure out the way to end this Lesnar nonsense and so here he is, sitting on the edge of Mike's couch, listening to the others bickering via voice chat, which seemed the easiest and cheapest way to get them all to talk in one place without risking physical harm to those who hate each other. "Shut. UP!" Mike finally snaps at the laptop, his eyes blazing. "Do we really have time for you guys' little bitch fits or do we want to, oh I don't know, get our careers back?" He glances towards Alex, that ever present camaradery that never really fades away comforting them both slightly as Alex stares back at him, nodding in agreement when he mutters, "Such as they are for some of us."

"Arguing for hours won't help anyone," he speaks up while the others all glare at them, displeased with the interruption. "We've already worked out that Lesnar is targetting other former WWE employees who still may have beef with the company, now we just need to decide on our next move."

"I heard from David," Tyson Kidd says quietly, eyes gleaming with worry for his former tag partner. "He was just released from the hospital yesterday. Lesnar attacked him when he refused to help them."

Miz sucks on his lower lip thoughtfully. "When was this?"

"A couple weeks ago. He was kept so long due to a severe head injury they wanted to keep an eye on. As soon as he was released and heard what was going on, he called me." He leans forward. "We need to be really careful here, one wrong move and that could be any or all of us."

"Obviously," Mike says with an eyeroll. Whatever else he might want to say is interrupted as Hornswoggle yells over all of them, his voice trembling.

"My dad was approached too!"

"Was he attacked also?" Alex asks, frowning. Everyone, no matter how long with the business, has some level of respect for the legends and Finlay is one of the most liked men around the back, especially during his time as an agent before his firing. The thought that he, or any of the other legends, could be targetted in such a manner leaves them all on edge and uncomfortable.

"No!" the little guy says, flailing his arms slightly. "Lesnar let him go with a promise to return."

This causes the buzz to build once more and Miz lets it go on for a bit, lost in thought. "At the least," he says finally, "we need a list of everyone fired or released in the last year or two. It seems like Brock is starting with guys fired more recently." He and Alex exchange glances, both with worried looks on their faces. _Morrison might've been approached already,_ he thinks with a grimace. _I don't think he'd accept, he seems content enough with his life post-WWE but... what if Lesnar...?_ Unwilling to fully focus on the possibilities, he turns his attention back to the matter at hand.

Alex picks his cell phone up and wanders off as Mike starts scribbling down different names yelled out by the people staring at him from the webcam screens scattered across his laptop monitor. He has almost twenty names down when Alex rushes back in, eyes wide. "Mike!" he yells, the former WWE champion jerking in shock at how loud he sounds in the suddenly deathly silent room.

He knows what has Alex so upset before he even looks at his former protege, shaking his head. "No. Alex... Don't."

"Melina answered when I called to warn them. Mike, John's been attacked. She thinks it's bad."

Alex has never seen Mike move so fast; within minutes the laptop is shut down and unplugged, quickly tossed into a bag which is thrown into the backseat. "Get in!" he snaps, watching with a harsh glare as the younger man jumps into the passenger seat, just barely getting his seat belt clipped into place before Mike peels out of his driveway, ranting. "How could she leave him behind like that? I mean, seriously? Not even call for help or anything?"

"She was scared," he tries defending the former WWE diva, wincing away as Mike simultaneously snorts in his direction and turns a sharp right, ignoring opposing traffic's shrill beeping. The only thing that keeps him from deeming his life null and void is that Morrison's apartment is just a couple minutes away from where they're at currently and Mike had taken a short cut with somewhat slighter traffic, versus one of the always ludicrously busy freeways interlacing between their places of residence.

"Scared! Sure! Scared enough to run down to the lobby and just keep on running, probably!" he yells, changing gears to make the already maxed out car go even faster. "Dammit." He punches the wheel before skidding to a stop at a red light. "Come on, come on, come on."

Alex takes a deep breath, shaking his head. "Mike, I get you're pissed, I do. But getting us in a car accident isn't going to help Morrison."

Mike turns to glare at him, so much pain and disgust warring in his gaze that it leaves Alex breathless. "He's my _best friend,_ Alex." It's said softly, trembling. "If... if something happens to him after... after all the arguments and stupid crap we've said and done to each other lately, I... I don't know what I'll do. I have to help him."

Alex's eyes begin prickling as he stares at Mike's destroyed gaze, the simple statement leaving them both broken emotionally. "I know, Mike," he whispers softly. "We've all let too much get in the way. I... I've missed the way things used to be."

"Me too," his former NXT pro mutters. "I don't know why we let it get this bad again."

"Look, it's getting better, right?" he whispers, tapping the back of Mike's hand with shaky fingers. "We're ok now. And we'll continue to be ok, after this. We just need to find Morrison and kick Brock's ass." Shaking his head, the younger man glances up. "Green, Mike."

A deep breath later, they take off quickly once more. As soon as John's apartment building comes into view, they both tense up. Melina is standing, pacing anxiously across the hard asphalt in front of the door. As soon as they park, not even caring that it's not a real designated spot, they're out of the car and rounding on her.

She meets them half way, her long nails digging into Mike's shirt as she grabs at him with her free hand, the other clinging to a fussing, yapping Charlie. "Please," she begs, dark eye makeup trailing down her cheeks as she sobs quietly. "He's inside, they haven't come out, I don't think. Please help him!"

"That's what we're here for," he snaps at her, quickly releasing himself from her grip. One quick glance at Alex and they're storming inside, ignoring the reaction of the other people who are scattered around the lobby as they rush for the stairs. Elevators take too long, with people getting off and on at all times, so it seems to take much less time as they take them at an all-out run. "Here!" Mike grunts, slamming through the third floor door. Alex follows him at a mad pace down the hallway until they reach Morrison's door, which is hanging haphazardly off of its frame, obviously broken. "Oh God," he breathes out.

Another exchanged glance and they venture into the trashed apartment, taking in how so many things are scattered around the usually impeccable kitchen, down the short hall and into the living room. "Holy crap," Alex mutters, almost tripping over a pan sticking out of a cabinet drawer. "John must've put up a hell of a fight."

Mike nods, disturbed and even more angry than he was ten minutes earlier. "Yeah. But... where the hell is he now?" He sinks bonelessly down onto the tile floor, staring around at all of the carnage around him. _Michael Tarver and Brock Lesnar both targetting him, when he hasn't wrestled very much in months... You better be ok, John, or I'll kick your ass myself._

Alex texts Melina after a few minutes and she ventures back into the apartment, eyes wide as a bitter sob shakes her frame. "Oh, God. Jomo..." She holds Charlie close, shaking her head. "Where is he?"

"We don't know," A-Ri tells her quietly, helping her to the couch.

"We'll find him." Mike grimaces down at her. He doesn't like her much, tried in the past for Morrison's sake, but a lot of things about her had rubbed him wrong, still do. "He's going to be fine. I'll make sure of it."

She's too dazed to start their usual arguments, simply nodding. "I believe you." They're about to leave, to try to figure out the next step in their search, when she looks up, dark brown eyes gleaming. "Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"He... he was really in a bad mindset about things for awhile, and then he wasn't sure if things could be fixed- again- or if either of you would want them to be. But I... he said things were better recently, that you'd all been talking more lately." She sniffs. "He missed you. Both of you. I could tell." She's rocking back and forth, crying harder now, her words near impossible to decipher. "Please take care of him."

Mike is frozen, an uncomfortable sadness upon his overly expressive face while they stare at each other, equally as devestated for different reasons. The moment is broken when Alex rests a hand between his shoulder blades. "Come on, Mike. We need... we need to go."

"Yeah." He spares another quick glance back at John's miserable girlfriend once more before storming out of the apartment, glad to be away from the prevailing sense of hopelessness coming from her and the destroyed surroundings.

Alex mutters something to Melina, locking and shutting the door behind him before he joins Mike. "Now what?"

"Now we try to stop Lesnar at the pass," he sighs, pulling out the list of guys who'd been fired recently. He looks up, shaking his head. "Let's get to work."

"Lucky Cannon," Alex suggests, rubbing his eyes tiredly. It's nearly 2 AM now and they're still in Mike's car, having been at it for hours, scouring for information on why these guys would possibly be on Lesnar's radar... trying to make sure they haven't missed anything.

"Who?" Mike asks, slumping over the laptop, so relieved for wireless internet.

Alex rolls his eyes, scratching the name out. So far they've managed to eliminate most of the names, finding quite a few of them had asked for their releases or were commentators or ring announcers and thus would have no wish to approach the wrestlers in a physical sense out of a need for revenge. "So," he sighs. "We're left with Tarver and the Bellas, who we know accepted, Finlay and David, who refused... Morrison, who's missing, and Melina, who got away." He looks up. "That leaves Chris Masters."

Mike frowns, slightly more awake at the realization that, yes, he hadn't been heard from or checked in with. "Well, then. I think we know where we're going next."

After a long conversation about waiting or just going, no matter the hour, they decide to wait as long as they dare through the quiet nighttime hours, Alex dozing off slumped over in the passenger seat around 3. Mike follows shortly after 4, just barely remembering to set his alarm clock before sleep claims him. When the phone finally goes off at 6 AM, both men stir and flounder for the noise, desperate to shut it up so they can fall back asleep. While blindly fumbling around, they succeed only at knocking the phone off of the dashboard, sending it crashing against the laptop. Mumbling in annoyance, both men wake up a bit more and glance at each other, abruptly recalling what the alarm was set for in the first place. "Damn. We gotta move," Mike croaks tiredly, forcing himself to his sit straight.

"Yep." Alex yawns, stretching his legs out as well as he can without wasting time by getting out of the car. With Morrison still missing, they really, really need to get moving. "Do you have the address?"

"Yeah, hopefully he hasn't moved since..." It's luck that Masters even lives nearby, Mike not quite willing to push this off on the others, trust anyone but himself and Alex in putting enough effort into it to find John safely. The drive passes by quietly, not even the radio on to distract either man. The apartment building that the directions lead to is about as far away from the beach as one can get, in one of the cheaper districts. Alex peers once more at the paper as Mike slows, trying to memorize the numbers. As soon as they're parked, he pulls himself out of the car and looks up. "His apartment is #48," he says needlessly as Mike joins him.

"Let's go." Hypervigilant as they walk up to the building, Alex keeps an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. He grabs Mike's sleeve before they arrive, pointing towards a nearby car, parked carelessly in front of Masters' apartment. _LESNAR1._ "Crap," the Awesome One mumbles. "Look for something to use as a weapon just in case." They scout around a bit, Alex returning with a shovel and Mike with a spray bottle. Noticing Alex's strange glance, he shrugs. "It has insecticide in it. I'll blind 'em, and you can knock 'em out."

Somehow this works, the moderately small size of the apartment working in their favor as they crash inside, relieved to find the door partially open upon their arrival. Tarver rushes at them and Mike hits him with the spray right away, sending him reeling back as his eyes water and burn viciously. Alex follows it up with a solid strike from the shovel, forcing him down to his knees. Working together, they get him back up and push him out of the apartment and slam the door in his face, smirking at each other as he blindly rams into the wooden frame. It rattles but holds and they pause just long enough to thank whoever designed the cheap-appearing door to hold that well against Tarver's large body.

After locking it, they finally get a good look at the rest of the apartment, Mike's eyes narrowing as he takes in Lesnar, face to face for the first time since he'd returned to WWE last April, a tight grip around a fruitlessly struggling Master's throat. "Well, well, well. Looky here, Alex. It's Brock Lesnar. The guy Laurinaitis thought would save the company... but simply ended up quitting when things didn't go his way, after one loss."

Lesnar glowers at them, his grip tightening and sending Masters even closer to the brink of unconsciousness. "I didn't quit," he growls. "I simply... chose a different way to get everything I deserved." He pulls back, smirking over at Chris. "Isn't that right, Masters? To think if you had agreed to help, you could've been a part of something so much bigger than the WWE could ever hope to be."

Mike glances over at Alex. "You notice how guys like Lesnar use that line too much? _Bigger than the WWE... more important than titles..._ yada yada, on and on. Nothing will ever be bigger than the business, Brock. No success more important than the titles we all fight, bleed and sweat to earn and hold onto. If you still don't realize that, well... I feel sorry for you."

The large fighter laughs, rolling his eyes at Mike. "Keep telling yourself that." Pushing Masters away, he approaches the two younger men, smirk only growing as they both hold their various weapons up. "You should agree with me, especially with how badly managed your careers have been the past year. You should want change, should join sides with me. But if not, stay on your little righteous spiel about how important the business is."

Mike barely flinches as Brock stops only inches away from him, glancing from the shovel to him. "We've already had change, it wasn't that great. In fact, it really sucked. Where's Morrison?"

"Ah, is this why you're here? I thought it was odd you'd be here to play rescue for Masters over here." He sneers over at the still struggling man before turning to face Mike once more. "I have no idea where Morrison is. If you find him, make sure to tell him the invitation is open ended. Anyone who sees the light is welcome." Glancing from Mike to Alex, his smug grin only grows. "I do mean anyone."

Just like that, he pulls the door open and leaves, his voice rising as he stops Tarver from slamming into the apartment for a measure of revenge. Alex rushes to check on Chris, barely looking up as Mike sinks down onto the couch next to them.

"Do you think he was telling the truth?" Alex asks, pausing while trying to pull Masters into a sitting position.

Mike sighs, shaking his head. "I think so, yeah." He drops his hand into his palm, staring out at the windows. "Where are you, John?"

Once Alex is certain that Masters will be ok on his own, they leave, reluctantly driving back to Mike's house for the first time since hearing about the attack. "I need some air," the former world champion grumbles, leaving Alex with his keys as he walks away from the car. He circles his house, rubbing his hands aggravatedly through his hair. He's lurking around the backyard, kicking around some gravel in the shadows, when he hears something shift near his patio.

His senses already hyperactive, he stops moving immediately and listens. "Who's there?" he calls out, already searching for some weapon. Hopefully something better than some insecticide this go around. _It could be Lesnar, or one of his goons,_ he thinks uncomfortably. His hand now resting on his portable grill's lid, he reaches over and flips a switch, drowning his whole backyard in a ridiculous amount of light that he uses whenever he has time for a party, or just feels like grilling out late at night. Trying to squint through it, he hears a sharp gasp from underneath his raised patio, quickly dropping to his knees to look underneath it. "Hey, you," he yells, seeing a shadow shift slowly between the wooden support beams. "Show yourself, dammit." As the form scrambles, its movements uncoordinated and painful looking, he gets a strange thought. "John?" He rests the metal lid on the ground nearby and inches under the patio, only slightly able to make out the various shapes better once he's away from the light, his eyes adjusting slowly to the shadows. "Morrison? Is that you?"

He's about to crawl back out, panicking that his suspicions may be wrong and wishing he hadn't dropped the lid so quickly, when a hissed breath is released from the person still crouched awkwardly against one of the wooden pillars. "Mi-Mike..."

His eyes widen, his trembling fingers reaching out immediately for the other man, cursing vehemently. "John! Dammit, man," he groans, pulling the trembling man out from under the patio and into the light, where he can see him easier. "What the hell were you doing down there? Why didn't you go inside? Don't you still have your key?"

"At home, I left it at home, I think," he manages roughly, his head sinking helplessly against Mike's arm. The former WWE champion's heart sinks as he takes in the dark bruises along Morrison's jaw, his clothes torn and stained with dirt, hiding who knows what else kind of injuries. "I... I... don't know. What happened?" He looks around dazedly, until something comes to him and he lunges forward, grabbing Mike's collar rough enough to stretch it, the strength behind the move surprising them both. "Melina. Meli- Melina..."

"She's fine," Mike soothes him. "Just fine. She called us when all of this went down." He looks up, lips twisting grimly. "ALEX! HEY ALEX!"

Sometimes having a big mouth can be a good thing as the back door slams open, Alex squinting in confusion against the spotlights gleaming across the grass. Before he can even open his mouth to ask anything, he spots Morrison supported in Mike's arms and rushes out of the house, dropping down by their sides within seconds. "Where was he?" he demands breathlessly, pressing his fingers to John's jaw carefully. "Holy hell, John, it's good to see you."

Morrison chuckles, before falling into a coughing fit. "Good to see you too, A-Ri," he forces out, reaching towards the kid with his free hand. Miz has a tight grip on the other one, as if he's afraid to let him go in case he'd disappear again.

"He was under my patio," Mike whispers in disbelief, shaking his head."Leave it to him to make his search all dramatic like and then just be hiding on us a few feet away."

"It was gonna be a surprise, but you were late, as always," John mocks breathlessly, his eyes fluttering shut. Mike and Alex exchange worried glances when he doesn't move again, his breathing loud against Mike's arm.

"ER," Mike says, digging his phone out.

"Melina," Alex adds in, already dialing.

"If you insist." He adjusts his grip on Morrison so he can hold his phone with his right hand while cupping the back of John's head. "You're gonna be fine, man. We've got you." _I'm so sorry. I should've been there sooner._

After a long few days spent keeping an eye on John as he slowly heals, the worst of the injuries thankfully only a moderate concussion, a couple bruised ribs and one broken one, getting a lot of fluids to counteract both sun stroke and dehydration that had set in long before Mike had even found him, they begin bouncing around theories on how best to run Lesnar, Tarver, and the Bellas off. Fueled by suggestions and ideas from everyone, some of them totally ridiculous and some actually halfway decent, the Raw and Smackdown locker rooms regroup outside of the arena hosting Raw that week, each and every one of them clinging to some sort of weapon- steel chairs had been collected and passed out till those ran out, trash can lids had followed until those too were all gone, and a wise thinking Beth Phoenix chased off the complaining caterers and collected as many cookie sheets, pots and pans to hold everyone else over.

Ordinarily Mike would feel uncomfortable with so many of his enemies around him with weapons but they all seem as determined as he is to see an end to this thing, not even the early morning heat and humidity scaring them off as they wait for something to happen. It's ridiculously early and they all look haggard and tired but every one of them is also determined to hold on to whatever they have left by now. Even Paul Heyman wouldn't suspect what's about to fall upon his client's head.

Mike is the first to see him as that tacky _LESNAR 1_ plate pulls up in front of the arena, Brock getting out first. Tarver follows, with the Bellas tagging along, and _oh_ they look so smug. Even when they catch sight of all of the Raw and Smackdown talent standing between them and the production truck, weapons in hand, they don't lose a step.

"Well well, would you look at this," Brock yells mockingly, storming towards them. "Think y'all are going to stop us, do you? You haven't done so well up to this point."

Otunga hesitates, not encouraged despite the chair he's been clinging to like a security blanket, but finally, pushed and prodded by the various former Nexus members scattered in the crowd who Mike had rightfully depended on to force the obnoxious Harvard grad to do what he had agreed to do, stumbles forward and thrusts an envelope towards Lesnar. "You've been served," he says simply before melting back into the group.

"What is this?" he snaps, tearing into the manilla envelope. "Holding a company hostage... wrongful loss of revenue by a corporation..." The list goes on and on, compiled by both talent and stockholder alike, and when he looks up, glowering at them all, they slowly sink back, leaving Mike and Alex at the forefront.

"Oh, wait," Mike says, eyes widening in mock surprise. "We _almost_ forgot something... Wanted to delivery these personally though." He smirks and storms forward. "One for you, one for you, and one for you two," he adds with a sneer, forcing envelopes on all four of them before stepping back out of reach.

"Civil and criminal cases by Chris Masters, David Hart Smith, Fit Finlay, Melina Perez and John Morrison for breaking and entering, assault, property damage." Lesnar rolls his eyes. "Oh, please. You think this scares us?"

"It should," Alex speaks up. "Courts may overlook one or two of these but you have five cases pending at once like that, not even to mention the case from WWE themselves and, yeah, I'd say you're screwed. Say bye bye to all that cash you got for signing with WWE in the first place."

Tarver looks like he wants to run roughshod over the group clustered around them but Lesnar grabs him by the neck before he can even take a step. "Get out of here. Now." He glares at the Bellas until they too backtrack, whispering angrily to themselves. "This isn't over."

"I'm pretty sure it is," Mike responds through gritted teeth. "Morrison says hi, by the way."

It really _is_ far from over, of course, with the court cases pending. But it's a step in the right direction and for now, the production truck remains untampered with for the first time in weeks. A few of the guys not immediately needed for the show climb into the truck to keep an eye on things for awhile, just to make sure that Lesnar and his goons will stay away, Mike and Alex following the others into the arena to make sure everything there continues going smoothly.

"Do you think everything'll be fine now?" Alex asks with a frown, glancing back at the emptying parking lot as Mike drapes his arm over the younger man's shoulders, grinning as they enter the building together, the old familiar buzz that has always been present before an event enveloping them for the first time in weeks.

"Yeah, I really do." He squeezes A-Ri's arm before pulling away, reaching for his cell phone. "Let's go call John, give him the news."


	113. chapter 113

It's already been four days and Mike still can't take his eyes off of the gleaming white title belt in his hands, how perfect it looks against his tanned skin. _Triple Crown Champion,_ Cole had announced when he'd won the match, and he can't help but think it just fits.

"Still not over it, huh?" the familiar voice of Alex Riley greets him, the younger man grinning as he drops down next to Mike. "It looks great on you, Mike."

"Thanks," he says, looking up for a second. It hadn't been an easy week for A-Ri, with being completely overlooked for Raw 1000 and the other shows of the week, and Internet dirtsheets being, well, Internet dirtsheets. "How are you doing?" he asks, his dark blue eyes flickering back to the title that he can't quite believe is his, after the hellacious turn his career had taken- when he was almost certain he'd never get things turned back around again.

He shrugs, obviously understanding _why_ Mike is asking but not letting it register, his grin not faltering once. Mike admires his resolve, no matter how hard he gets kicked in the mouth by the board of directors and management, he still keeps his dedication to the company, content to try again... and again... and again until he receives a true opportunity. "I'm ok. No planned matches tonight, so I guess I'm here to celebrate your first Smackdown as champion. It could be worse."

His former mentor laughs slightly, nudging him with his knee. "Well, welcome to the party then, kid." The celebration, as it is, gets cut off short when Mike heads to the ring, wanting to brag to the WWE Universe about what he had accomplished- the movie, the fame, the fortune... this title belt victory. Considering how the year had started for him, things were really turning around.

His time in the ring, however, gets cut short when Christian interrupts, announces that he wants his rematch _right_ _now_. What the point is of this anxiety for another match, Mike isn't sure- the man is still injured, leaving him vulnerable to Mike targetting his knee and... _Well, if he wants to lose so badly, I guess I shouldn't complain,_ the Ohio native shrugs, accepting the challenge.

Despite how rough Christian has to be feeling after Monday, the match is pretty even and Mike starts to worry after a few minutes that his new title may slip through his fingers on the first title defense he has- which, holy crap, wouldn't _that_ suck?- but a quick thinking move later and he gouges Christian in the eye, downing him immediately. To assure he has the victory in hand, he rolls Christian into a pin and pulls on his tights, counting along with the ref as he thankfully counts to three, unaware of the thumb to the eye _or_ the added advantage of holding him down by his wrestling gear. Absorbing the boos and hate echoing around the arena, he stands tall, holding the beautiful white title belt over his head once more. _You and I, we aren't going to be separated for a long, long time if I can help it._

Alex has a knowing smirk on his face as he meets Mike in the back, glancing up at the title belt held securely over his shoulder. "Interesting technique, Mike."

"What can I say, if it works, it works. You used to agree with me on that before you went all boy scout," he teases lightly. "Now, enough of this talk." He slings an arm around Alex's shoulders, pulling him along as he marches back to the locker room. "How does steak sound? My treat."

"Big spender," Alex grins, amused as Mike shrugs, adjusting the title belt against his shoulder for, perhaps, the millionth time that day.

"You can even get lobster if you wish. I'm in _that_ good of a mood."

Late, late that night, almost closer to morning, they return to their room and collapse on their individual beds, Alex out almost before his head hits the pillow. They both have flights in a few hours to make it to the next house show but Mike isn't worried, he's not tired enough to sleep anyway really. With Christian's rematch far behind him- at least to his expectations... the Canadian might have different plans but he doesn't really care about that right now-, his focus turns to Raw. More specifically, to Raw's new GM. It had been an idea worming around in his head since she had been named GM, just the thought that finally a GM perhaps he could convince to actually _help_ him instead of sitting behind the so-called protection of being anonymous, or who they're married to, or so-called people power while everything goes to hell around them. _Yeah,_ he thinks. _This could work out nicely..._

That Monday, he keeps to himself, working out every inch of this plan of his. He doesn't even see Alex until after his match, which, disgustingly enough, ends with Christian getting some payback, thumbing _him_ in the eye and causing him to flounder enough that Jericho gets the drop on him, _and_ the three count. He can't really see, his eye watering against the foreign assault that it had endured, and he starts to wonder if he'll ever be able to open his eye normally again.

As he stumbles to the back, Alex is waiting for him and follows him to the trainer's office, keeping him walking steady whenever he winces and shies away from the bright lights overhead. "It's ok, Mike," he says quietly, a strong grip on his elbow keeping him moving ahead. When Mike tries to rub at his eye, Riley grabs his arm, keeping it away from his face. "No, man, don't do that. You might make it worse. Just hang on, we're almost to the trainer's." Pushing the door open a few moments later, he guides his former NXT pro inside and eases him down on the couch, settling in next to him to wait.

"Thanks," he mumbles, barely able to focus on anything but the burning sting in his eye. "Wait, where's my belt?"

Alex smiles slightly, pressing the title to his bare shoulder. "Right here, Mike. The referee handed it to me in the hallway."

"Thank God," he mumbles tiredly, clinging to it with one hand. "Where's the trainer?"

"He's coming. Just relax."

"I can't see," he responds grumpily.

"I know, it'll be ok. Trainer'll fix you up."

And he does, a quick exam finds that Mike's eye is a little inflamed but otherwise ok, he gives them eyedrops to ease the discomfort and sends them on their way barely ten minutes later once Mike is able to open both eyes. "Told you," Alex says with a small smile as they head back to the locker room.

"Hang on a minute," Mike says when he notices the sign on one of the doors they pass by- _Raw General Manager AJ Lee_. "I have to talk to her about something. Go on ahead, Alex. I won't be long."

Alex glances from the door to his friend and shrugs, not even questioning it. "Alright, Mike. See you in a little bit."

"See you," he nods vacantly, staring at the door intensely. Unlike Daniel, who had been too worked up to go see her earlier, spending the better part of half an hour pacing back and forth outside of this very room, Mike is the direct opposite. Calm, collected. He could go in and bitch about his eye and Christian cheating costing him his match but he has bigger plans for her.

Adjusting the title on his shoulder, he reaches up and knocks on the door, waiting until she says sweetly, "Come in!" _Here we go,_ he thinks, slowly pushing the door open. "Oh, Miz," she greets him, standing up. "What can I do for you? Are you alright? I heard you had to go to the trainer after your match."

He knows his eye is probably still bloodshot and painful looking but he brushes it off, grinning slightly as he makes sure to keep eye contact with her. _She likes men staring at her, well, baby, I'm not gonna take my eyes off of you._ It works almost immediately, her professional attitude slipping a little as she smiles back at him, looking almost coy in a sweet, innocent kind of way. It's still ridiculous that such a crazy, unbalanced chick hides behind this facade of hers. But unlike the first Monday they'd locked eyes, he's not going to let her sway him again, distract him from his current goal. "I have something to ask you," he says, leaning closer to her.

As he talks lowly, almost able to _see_ as she hangs on his every word, their eyes locked the whole time, she nods, intrigued. "I think... we can work something out, yes. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Miz. I'll look into it."

He grins, eyes flashing when he looks away, the spell seemingly broken as she peers up at him, head tilted curiously. "No, AJ," he says smoothly. "Thank _you_." She walks him to the door and quietly closes it behind him, his own mask cracking as his calm grin morphs into one very calculating and intense expression. _Like taking candy from a baby..._ That, _Daniel Bryan, is how it's done._


	114. chapter 114

Miz's face is too expressive for its own good sometimes. Anyone who looks at him- really, honestly takes him in- can tell he has something on his mind. Sometimes he gets this strange look on his face, like he almost wants to laugh, but holds it in at the very last minute. Like he has a secret, or a private little joke with himself. It weirds Alex out, the younger man having enough free time _to_ watch out for this strange expression since he rarely has matches and spends most of his time sitting around in his street clothes, watching Mike and everyone else prepare for theirs. But tonight it seems Mike may be in the same boat as he is, the fan-active poll he'd been put in being won by Rey Mysterio, so Alex only has more opportunities to mark these odd reactions from the older man.

"Mike? What's going on?" he finally asks when Alberto Del Rio is shown leaving AJ Lee's office, aggravated and frantic to get ready for his impromptu match and Mike looks like he wants to say something, or release the largest guffaw ever. Alex isn't used to being kept out of the loop, it's disconcerting.

"Huh?" the new Intercontinental champion mumbles, blinking. "What? Nothing's going on, Alex."

He almost wants to push the matter but for a brief second, Mike looks nervous, like whatever he's keeping is sensitive enough that if one outside soul learns what he's up to, the whole thing will be lost. Alex lifts an arm in a half-hearted shrug, deciding to respect his former mentor's need for privacy. "Alright, I just thought... eh, never mind, it's nothing." They sit in strained silence for awhile, Alex trying not to stare too blatantly.

For his part, Mike stays blase for the rest of the night until AJ announces that Kane and Miz will wrestle later on. "Oh, fabulous," he mumbles, staring at the TV screen with an odd look in his eyes. "Hey, A-Ri, I have some stuff to do before that match. I'll see you later?"

He blinks, startled. "Sure, Mike. Good luck." He watches, frowning, as Miz leaves the locker room and leans over, scraping his fingers through his hair when there's a knock on the locker room door. When it opens, a tech is standing there with a sheet of paper in hand, scanning over the room. Alex isn't expecting anything so he begins watching Raw once more, waiting for Mike's match... when the paper is thrust in front of his face, startling him. He jerks back and looks up, blinking in surprise to find the tech standing in front of him patiently.

"You've been put in a match," he tells him. "Against Dolph Ziggler. It's soon, so you're gonna want to get moving."

Alex gapes, takes the paper, and gapes some more as the tech leaves. "Uh yeah, wow. Thanks," he mumbles, quickly shaking the fog out and pulling his gear from his bag, so amazed that his hands are trembling. His first Raw match since those quick losses to Tensai... Maybe a chance to redeem himself. _Don't blow it,_ he tells himself forcefully. _You can do this, kid._

Time passes by quickly and the match begins; he's so focused he barely notices that Chris Jericho is on commentary, but oh it's obvious Dolph notices. They go back and forth for awhile and Alex gets some offense in, even though the Show Off shakes most of it off and he's really not sure what his chances are- he's been on a bad losing streak for the better part of a year when he _does_ have matches, and though he's loath to admit it, it's eaten away at his confidence. But Mike's luck had turned around with one solid victory- and maybe his could too, so he hangs on for as long as he can, waiting and praying for a chance.

A chance that comes when Chris Jericho forgoes his seat at the commentators' table and instead climbs atop it, cell phone out. Alex dimly hears something about Tout, while still trying to recover, and whatever it is that Jericho had said really gets under Dolph's skin, distracting him to the point that Alex sees his opportunity. Scrambling forward he uses whatever's left of his strength to grip Dolph's tights and tangle him backwards, rolling him up for the 1... 2... 3! Afterwards he rolls out of the ring and stares blankly at the ceiling. _I won. Holy crap, I won!_ Sure, winning with Jericho's help isn't the cleanest of victories but Miz wasn't his mentor for nothing- he's not about to scrabble over the hows and whys. Not now, anyway.

As he stumbles to the back, Mike is waiting for him at the gorilla position, a wide grin on his face. "You won!" he exclaims, slapping Alex on the back. "Hey, man, that's fantastic." As Alex leans against the wall nearest to him, unable to stop grinning long enough to talk himself, Mike glances to the side. "My match against Kane is next but hey, soon as I'm done there, we'll go celebrate, ok?"

"Yeah, man, sounds good," he finally manages to say, nodding as Mike brushes past him to head to the ring. He wanders the hall, still smiling as he finds a monitor to watch Mike's match. His luck, however, wasn't near as good as Alex's this week. Kane just can't be taken out, no matter what Mike tries, and soon enough he's felled by a chokeslam that seems to shake him to the core.

Alex cringes sympathetically and returns to the gorilla position, staying in the shadows until Kane has gone by, everyone keeping their distance from the imposing figure. As soon as he feels it's safe, he ventures forward just in time to take Mike from a referee. Mike takes one look at Alex and groans, "Son of a bitch."

"It's ok, I got ya. Come on." He eases him down the hallway, careful not to jostle his back or neck too much. "Do you need the trainer?"

"No, I need a stiff drink," he mumbles, fumbling for his Intercontinental belt. "Ugh." Alex adjusts it around his shoulder, making sure it won't fall, and urges him along.

"Almost to the locker room, Mike."

"Wait, no, wait," he suddenly snaps, starting to struggle. "I need to talk to her- I said _stop,_ Alex," he repeats, almost causing himself to faceplant into the cool tiles as he pushes the younger man away.

Alex holds him steady, however, looking up to find that they're in front of AJ Lee's office. "Why, Mike? I'm not sure that's a great idea with the mindset you're in right now."

"I'm not going to repeat Del Rio's moment of stupidity," he says wearily. "I just need to discuss with her something... important. Trust me, Alex. It's going to be fine. Besides, she already stuck me in a match with Kane. What more can she honestly do to me tonight?"

_Considering she'd thrown two of her love interests through a table only a few weeks ago, well..._ Alex wisely bites his tongue and helps Mike to the door. "Do you need...?"

"No," he refuses, knocking quickly. "You can stay out here, I'll take it from here. Then when I'm done, we'll go get our stuff and celebrate your victory."

When she urges him to come in, he slips painfully inside, leaving a flabberghasted Alex behind. "What is going _on_ tonight?" he mumbles, more confused than usual with everything that's going on.

He won't be receiving any answers this night, however, as Mike comes out as tightlipped as he'd gone in. He does, however, look a little more confident and somewhat appeased. "Come on, A-Ri. Let's go party it up right." His walk is even more sure, as if whatever had happened in that office those few minutes had been an insta-cure, erased every ache that match had caused him.

Alex shakes his head, not sure where even to begin with all of the thoughts and questions swirling around in his head. _Mike, what are you up to now?_


	115. chapter 115

Last week had seemed promising. Yeah, Mike had lost to Rey, but he didn't let it get to him, focusing instead on celebrating what had seemed like Alex Riley's big break through- the easiest way to gain attention, by getting a victory. Of course some idiot naysayers would claim it to be nothing but a fluke but Mike and Alex had agreed a long time ago that winning by any way necessary meant, sometimes, taking advantage of a situation. Mike was equally proud of his former protégé and certain that, given the opportunity, he could do it again easily.

But that was last week, and this was this week. Not only did AJ Lee announce- over Twitter- that Mike would be facing Rey Mysterio for the Intercontinental title at Summerslam, but Alex was once more ignored like last week had never happened. The kid had become basically nothing more than a pawn in Jericho and Dolph's pathetic little game of one-upmanship and it annoyed the former champion beyond belief.

Mike shakes his head, hands flexing. For a GM who he had thought would perhaps have the sensibilities that her predecessors hadn't, she sure was making a lot of the same mistakes. "I knew she was crazy, I didn't know she was stupid too," he mutters, staring blandly at the monitor as Piper's Pit drones on and on and on. Jericho had been voted to be on the show, and it was a train wreck- Piper was rambling over everything being said, yelling random things and not making a whole lot of sense.

"What?" Alex asks suddenly, appearing out of nowhere and startling him. "Talking to yourself, Mike? Or do you too have a Lil' Jimmy now? I'm not standing on him, are I?"

Mike turns and grimaces at him, rolling his eyes as he remembers back to the Awesome Truth days and how truly ridiculous it had been, pretending to be on Truth's side for those weeks. "Oh please, I would retire myself if I ever lost it _that_ badly."

"Geez, what is with Piper tonight?" the younger man finally asks after a few more moments of watching Ziggler and Jericho both look confused and a little aggravated with the legend who still keeps talking over all of them- including Vickie, which, trust even the local loud mouth, Miz knows how difficult _that_ can be.

"I don't know but it's time to put a stop to it." Mike grabs a mic and turns for the gorilla, quickly heading out. As he passes by the tech team around the gorilla position, he almost has to laugh- they too look disturbed by what's going on in the ring. He announces that he's taking over Piper's Pit, even tries to take the microphone away from Roddy when he reaches the ring but the Irishman fights him, the two of them eventually ending up in a tug of war over the equipment.

_Finally_ punches are thrown and Roddy stops being relevant, the three men fighting amongst themselves up to the commercial break. Yet another match is made through Twitter as AJ Lee, it's announced over the titantron, tweets that Miz vs Dolph vs Jericho will start... next!

He glowers at the screen, shaking his head. _My matches deserve to be announced on TV, not on some website! I deserve better than this! Most socially active GM... ugh, what a joke!_

The match goes back and forth, all three of them taking ridiculous amounts of damage. Miz hits hard on the outside, and then they all chain up for a superplex off of the top, Mike taking the worst of it of course. It all ends when he's dumped unceremoniously to the outside and Ziggler gets the upperhand on Jericho, pinning him. Mike's not sure how, he doesn't really care. Holding his head, he gingerly makes his way back up the ramp and blinks, surprised to find Alex isn't waiting for him there.

He winces and continues on his slow, torturous way, finding the locker room that they had been sharing this evening. It's dark and quiet inside, only the soft murmur of Alex's voice and a faint glow coming from Mike's laptop. Curious, Mike slips inside and catches the tail end of Alex's comment. "... I guess people were right and last week will just be seen as a fluke, if I can't even get on TV again to show that I'm more than just a cheap roll up victory..."

Mike's breath seizing in his throat at the pure emotion in Alex's voice, all he can do is listen as, yep, Morrison responds quietly. "Look, man, it's a tough business, no one knows that better than I do. Just keep doing what you're doing, someone will hopefully notice some day and if not... well, just know that it's obviously not from your lack of trying, right? I heard the audience response last week, people still love you. If the WWE's too blind to see it, well, that's on them, not you."

"I know you're right," Alex replies with a sigh. "It's just... it sucks."

"I know. Trust me, I definitely do. Just hang in there, huh?" Alex nods and John shifts, the Skype screen freezing for a moment before catching up to real time. "So... Mike's match is done, is he lurking around there somewhere that I can't see?"

Mike and Alex both blink at once, blue eyes locking as he's finally spotted, Alex grinning sheepishly as he realizes. "Uh, hope you're ok with me borrowing your laptop for a minute, Mike."

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly and drops next to Alex, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he stares at the computer curiously. "Well, what do we have here. A rogue Morrison on my computer screen," he teases. "What's up?"

John shrugs. "Nothing really. Alex and I decided to critique your match together. Hope you don't mind."

"Ha-ha," he snaps. "Obviously it was rated A for Awesome, right?"

"Well, on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being tonight's Piper's Pit and 10 being our WWE title match last year, I think we agreed it was a 7. Right? Seven?"

Alex chuckles, swatting Mike away as his fingers begin digging into his arm in aggravation at Morrison's teasing. "Yeah, something like that."

"Anyway, I'm glad I have you both here," John says after a few minutes. "With Summerslam on the horizon-"

"Or Sumerslam," Alex interrupts, unable to stop himself as he thinks back on the "Did You Know?" title card from earlier in the show. "Whoever did that needs a proofreader."

"Yeah, Sumerslam," John laughs. "Anyway, so since you both will be in LA, I'm thinking we should hang out when you two are free this weekend. It's been too long, and I still owe Mike those fireworks, right?"

Mike smirks. "Hey, that's right. You do. But I can do you one better." He nudges Alex, grinning when his friend looks over at him, curious. "Come back to LA with me early, and someone..." He raises an eyebrow at John. "...will comp us tickets to his standup show on Wednesday night."

"Oh of course, look at this- the big time movie star, hitting me up for free stuff. Yet again." John sighs, his lips twitching. "Fine, fine. If I must."

"Damn straight you must." Mike laughs when John glares at him, turning to look at Alex. "Soooo, you in?"

Alex hesitates for only a second before nodding. "Hell yeah, I'm in."

Mike's smirk turns into a pure, pleased grin. "Great!" A few days in LA, spending the time with his two best friends, before Summerslam Axxess and the pay per view itself, sounds like the perfect way to unwind, especially for Alex. His disappointment-tinged words continue to echo in Mike's mind as they figure out the rest of their plans for the next few days. _I wish I could do more to help him,_ he sighs. _But I can barely help myself right now._

Even so, before the show ends, he finds himself back outside of AJ's locker room. The easiest way to make sure your suggestions are at the forefront of someone's mind is to make sure that they see you often- not enough to become annoying, but just enough to be a little nudge. A reminder. He knocks quietly and puts on his most confident smirk as she urges him to enter.

Her eyes light up as she sees him and she stands, looking somehow even smaller in her business suit. "Oh, hello, Mike," she greets him, hands behind her back as she shifts from side to side, a dreamy kind of look on her face. "How are you?"

"I'm better now," he says quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. _Marine Homefront had definitely had its advantages,_ he thinks, acting for all he's worth. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she says, a small blush spreading across her face at his actions. "Is there something you needed from me?"

_Yeah, matches not announced on Twitter... Alex being used properly... there's a lot of things I need,_ he thinks, relieved when his emotions apparently don't register on his face, her bright, gleaming smile still fresh on her face. "Do you remember what I asked you a couple weeks ago?"

"Yes of course," she responds, blinking up at him.

"I'm not trying to seem pushy," he tells her, leaning in just enough that she can feel his warmth. "I'm just really interested in knowing if it can be done. If it's possible."

She smiles up at him, growing even pinker at his closeness. "Well, of course, if the board agrees, anything can be done. I've already begun discussing it with them. I'm not sure how long it will take, exactly, for a decision to be made... Everything is happening so quickly- we have Summerslam, and Saturday Morning Slam, and they're still trying to get WWE Network off of the ground... there's a lot going on, but I promise you, we haven't forgotten you or your request. When I know, you'll know. I'm doing everything I can to speed this along." She rests a hand on his upper arm and squeezes gently. "Please be patient."

He nods. It's a believable answer, for the most part. A lot _is_ going on. Even if the skeptic in him hates it, he knows he has no choice but to tread carefully and accept this- especially if he's going to achieve his goals at the end of it. "Alright, I will. Thank you for keeping up on this for me, AJ." He takes her hand and pats it a moment before easing it to his lips, eyes locked on hers as he gently grazes a kiss along her knuckles. Releasing her slowly, he turns and slips out of the door, leaning against it like it had taken all of his energy just to do _that_. And, in a way, it had.

He knows if he makes the smallest mistake, says even one word out of line, he may lose his best opportunity. And so he accepts the matches against Mysterio, and the grueling triple threats, and various other things that an Intercontinental champion of his caliber shouldn't be degraded into doing. If all goes well, it'll be worth it in the end.

Alex is waiting for him at the rental car and he grins over the top of the vehicle at him, pausing by the passenger's side. "LA, here we come!"


	116. chapter 116

They arrive early afternoon on Tuesday, both men wiped out. Neither had slept well the night before, Mike restlessly tossing and turning in his bed, and Alex... well, Alex just couldn't stop pondering how easily his victory against Dolph had been ignored- it had barely been addressed this week, and he's sure by next week it'll be all but forgotten. He hates it- his one moment, his one chance, he had _won_ and it still accounted to nothing.

But arriving in LA helps, a little. One look at the pale blue sky and faint smell of salty ocean in the air and his troubles slowly melt away. Mike drives and they both take in the sights, their individual exhaustion leading to a quiet ride through the congested highways and roads. Alex hadn't been here in months, and it's been quite awhile for Mike too, he'd been so busy with touring and the movie, so it's almost like they're seeing it all over again for the first time.

When they pull up in front of John's apartment, he's actually sitting on the front steps of his building, taking in the sun. "You waiting for us?" Mike yells out to him, the first words he's spoken since they've actually gotten off of the plane and it startles Alex until he too looks out and spots the third member of their trio.

"No, what gives you that idea?!" he calls back, standing up and joining them in the parking lot, slapping Alex on the shoulder as he goes by to get the bags out of the trunk. "Hey, man."

"Hey, John." He and Mike end up shouldering each other a couple of times, jokingly fighting over who will get at their bags first before Alex steps back, hands held up in surrender.

Morrison rolls his eyes before joining them, dropping an arm over each of their shoulders. "So, by the looks of you both, I'd say the first thing you will want to do is... Uhh, sleep?"

Mike makes a face, shrugging him off before turning to analyze Alex. "We really look that bad?"

"Worse," John cracks, smiling innocently when they both glare at him. "Easy, easy. Your choice- you can catch some sleep in my apartment, or change and conk out on the beach. What will it be?"

They had both been cooped up in hotel rooms, locker rooms, and planes for the past couple of weeks pretty much nonstop, so it's almost a no-brainer, their eyes locking. "Beach!"

"I'll try not to dump _too_ much sand on you," John mutters as he leads them inside to drop off their things.

They're sprawled out on the beach, a ridiculously sized umbrella blocking most of the sun's rays from their bodies, when first Mike's phone squawks "AWESOME!", _I Came To Play_ immediately following it, just for Alex's to proceed with _Say it to my Face_ immediately afterwards. Both men groan and stir, Mike almost rolling off of the beach towel into the sand as he flounders for his phone, half asleep and very disoriented at the double shot of Downstait. "Hello?" both say at once, Mike awkwardly making it to his feet and stumbling off so he can hear easier. "Ok... yeah, sure," Alex sighs into his phone, flopping back against the cool towel as he ends the call, shutting his eyes. "Dammit."

"What was that?" John asks, rejoining them while shaking some water from his hair after giving up on surfing upon noticing they're both up. "WWE?"

"Of course," Mike grouses. "I have a match on Smackdown. So much for spending the rest of the week in LA."

Alex grimaces. "I can do you one better, I have a match on Superstars."

"Well, crap."

With time now slipping through their fingers, they head back to John's apartment. They only stay long enough to grab a couple of things and they're back on the beach, a huge box between them as they lug it over to the very same cove they had used the year before for this very purpose. "You better have gotten the good stuff, Morrison," Miz warns him, barely waiting for them to put it down before he's digging into the contents.

"What do you take me for?" he scoffs, pushing Mike over into the sand and away from the box. As Alex rolls his eyes and laughs at them, they both look through the fireworks while Mike furiously shakes silt and who-knows-what else from his hair.

"Wow," Alex breathes as he looks at all of it.

"Well, I have A-Ry's approval. Now what about you, O Awesome One?" Before Mike can even attempt to get payback by pushing him over, John steps aside and lets him at the box, smirking when a look of awe overtakes his face.

"Holy crap, John, what'd you do, raid a whole fireworks' manufacturer?" His eyes gleam. "C'mon, boys, we've got some explosions to set up."

It's illegal, most of the fireworks they have set out, but they'd all agreed last year, and it seems to have held up in spades this year- if you're going to do it, better do it big or not at all. Once the box is empty they all stand around waiting for the sun to finish going down, John content to absorb what remains of the warmth as the water licks at his toes, the other two higher up in the beach, waiting to set off the first couple of waiting rockets.

At 9:15, it's finally dark enough that Mike grabs his lighter bought purposely for this and lights the first one, stepping back to stand with the others as the fuse grows smaller and smaller, finally shooting the firework into the dark sky, the loud bang and brilliant flash that follows making them all grin. Alex takes his turn, and then Morrison, and they keep shooting them off for the next half an hour until all of the fireworks are shot off, the sky smokey and their ears ringing from the noise accompanying each one. "Well, it's a month and a half late," John says, "but was it a good replacement for missing July 4th here?"

"Yeah, it'll do," he grins, smirking over at them as they both roll their eyes at him. "Now which of you are doing cleanup?" He almost can't complain when they work together, each grabbing him by an arm and tossing him into the surf, well aware that he's deserved that one.

Wednesday is spent lounging yet again on the beach in the morning and afternoon, until it's time for Morrison's standup comedy show. Alex sighs, thinking that perhaps he could move here. Florida's home, but there's just something about LA. And both Miz and Morrison living here is just even more encouragement to at least consider it... He doesn't say it outloud, but he does tweet about it, and when Mike checks his phone and coughs, obviously just reading the recently sent tweet, all Alex can do is grin a little. _You never know,_ he shrugs, leaning back against the towel and relaxing. "I'm gonna go swim," Mike finally says, frustrated at his former protege for not explaining himself.

"Alright," Alex says, too comfortable to even consider getting up. That is, until two bucketfuls of water is splashed across his chest, leaving _him_ floundering and gasping. "Holy crap!" he cries out, quickly on his feet and after the laughing former Dirt Sheet hosts, chasing them far into the ocean.

"You might rethink thinking about moving here by the time we're done," John says, his eyes still bright with laughter as they stand a few feet apart in the water, Mike trying to hide from Alex by staying underwater as long as he can. When he finally resurfaces, Alex is waiting, dunking him back under. "Or maybe not- living here means you get to torture Mike more."

Alex just grins, finally letting his NXT pro back up for some air, barely disturbed by his glowering and sputtering. After a few more hours at the beach, they all go back to Morrison's apartment to get ready for the stand up comedy show. Alex has to leave early the next morning to make it to Superstars, so he packs what he's not wearing at the moment and sets the bag out by the door so he won't have to do much before the flight, nor make a lot of noise and risk waking these two up.

"You know, he's doing another one on Saturday, I guess. A bunch of the boys are going to be there. Maybe we should go too... and, if I'm feeling generous, actually buy the tickets this time," Mike suggests as they're driving over in his car, John having left for it before them to prepare.

Alex laughs, trying not to focus too much on his upcoming match. He's not ready to give up being relaxed or having fun, just yet. "Sure, why not."

Two and O. He stares around at the Superstars crowd and just laughs. He's actually on a roll! First Ziggler, now McIntyre. And this was a legit victory, no one could say it was a fluke. He's just made it backstage when he hears his phone ringing, Mike's name flashing. "Hey," he greets him, still trying to catch his breath, rehydrate, all of that fun post-match stuff.

"Hey, congrats on another win," Mike says through a small bit of rustling in the background as Alex grins.

"Yeah, man, congrats- I think if you keep facing former rivals of mine, you might keep up a nice little winning streak for yourself," John cuts into their conversation, Alex only grinning further as he thinks about the two of them crowded around a small cell phone on speakerphone.

"Oh, is that the trick to it all?" He laughs. "I'll keep that in mind." He towels off, taking a deep breath. "Well, it's obvious you all've missed me terribly and all but I'll be back in LA tomorrow for Axxess. Mike, you'll be back Saturday, right?"

"Yeah. Can you believe they're dragging me to Smackdown to team with _Rhodes?_ " He groans. "But as always, I will make it _awesome._ "

"Of course you will," John says dryly. "We'll be watching."

"You better be! I went to your stand up yesterday, it's the least you can do!"

"Oh please," John snickers. "I heard you, you were laughing harder than everyone else in the building."

"Sympathy laughs, John, sympathy laughs."

"Yeah, _right."_ As the former tag team champions bicker amongst themselves, Alex only laughs, changing into street clothes so he can leave.

Alex thinks he and Mike's planes probably pass each other mid-flight, his coming and Mike's going, as he lands to find John still loitering around the airport, hands in his pockets and sunglasses on top of his head. "Long time no see," he greets him with a grin, slapping an arm around his shoulders and leading him to baggage claim. After grabbing his duffel, they're out, driving back to Morrison's apartment- and the beach. "I have some red tape to handle around here today, so feel free to make yourself at home... or go on out to the beach, whatever you want. I'll be done in a few hours and we'll take it from there, ok?"

Alex nods, somehow feeling strange. He hadn't really ever been to John's apartment without Mike there too, even though he and John were good enough friends just on their own... But every place feels a little odd without Mike's loud, boisterous attitude, his take no prisoners view of life. Those weeks he had been filming had been near torture for the younger man, though he'd never admitted it: the arenas, even with all of the people filling them, had just seemed empty, devoid of all energy.

He sighs and sinks into the couch, eyes already fluttering shut. Sleep is a rare commodity for most of them, all embracing it when they get the chance to just lay, stretch out somewhere that isn't a hotel, and rest. John's soft steps across the kitchen floor and rustling of papers become a bit of a soundtrack to his rest as he dozes, only coming to now and again, just to sink back into the warm embrace of peace.

He's not sure how long he's slept when John slaps him on the foot, smiling almost apologetically as Alex sits up with a jerk. "You're going to miss Smackdown... and supper," he teases slightly, sitting at his feet when he quickly scoots up to make room for his friend, running his fingers through his hair. "Get it while it's hot." He points to the plate of food on the coffee table, the smells immediately overwhelming Alex's still sleep-muddled mind.

"Best host ever," he mumbles, grabbing at the chicken and potato wedges waiting for him. "Mmm. Smackdown?" He blinks, looking up at the TV. John chuckles, unmuting it as he sits back with his own plate, full to the brim with vegetables and a turkey sandwich. They watch and eat quietly until Miz's match, which his team ultimately loses. "Well, that's sucky," he mumbles, his vocabulary taking a hit since he's still half-asleep.

"Yeah, hopefully it won't affect him on Sunday."

The call to Mike following this is much more sober than the call to Alex had been, all the Intercontinental champion willing to do is complain about Cody and Rey and everything else he can think of. John and Alex just listen quietly, letting him rage himself out until finally he falls silent, dropping onto a bench. "I won't lose this Sunday, I can't. This belt... it's the only thing that makes AJ Lee listen to me at all... I can't..."

John frowns, Alex too noting the tension in Mike's voice. "It's ok, Mike. Things will work out."

"No, you don't understand!" he yells. "I can't _lose,_ John! It's the only chance I have to... to-" He cuts himself off, cursing under his breath and now both Alex and John are uneasy, not liking the way this conversation has gone. "Never mind," he snaps. "I ... will not lose this Sunday."

"Of course you won't, Mike," Alex says, trying to sound supportive. "You're going to hold that Intercontinental title for a really, really long time." As he waits for a response, he can't help but wonder what exactly is going on between AJ Lee and Miz, staring over at John. He'd love to tell Morrison, but if he's wrong, and whatever's going on between the two is something private, well... It's not his place to talk about his friend's business. He's not the gossiping type.

"Damn straight," he breathes, finally calming down slightly.

They're all too busy to hang out through the rest of the weekend, John still busy with preparing for various stand up comedy shows, and Mike and Alex both tied up with various autograph signings and Axxess responsibilities. To Alex's relief, on Sunday, Miz retains his Intercontinental Title after a solid, back and forth match with Rey, and he looks overjoyed as he walks back into the locker room, all tension hereby drained from his shoulders. "Congrats, Mike. I knew you could do it."

Mike grins. "Thanks, A-Ri. Hey, I have a couple of things to do... and then we'll go out and party, yeah?"

"Sure, man." When Mike leaves the locker room, Alex counts to five before following him stealthily, somehow unsurprised when he walks right to AJ Lee's office, only adding to the former NXT rookie's suspicions. "What _are_ you up to, Mike?" he whispers before ducking away, not wanting to linger around long enough and get caught, risk ticking his friend off once more.

It's not the end of their meetings, however, Alex walking out of catering on Monday night in time to see AJ hanging on Mike's every word, her soft brown eyes locked on him as she leans into him. _Holy crap,_ he thinks, ducking out of sight once more. They're talking too lowly for him to hear but he does catch the small smile on Mike's face as he leans forward and runs a finger across AJ's cheek, nodding at her.

"It'll be my pleasure," he overhears as Mike starts to walk away from her, her eyes following him. When it's announced that Mike and Daniel Bryan will tag team against Zack Ryder and Kane later on, Alex thinks some of it makes sense- but most of it still doesn't. When Mike abandons Daniel to Kane's wrath, which gets turned on an unfortunately out of it Zack, Alex wonders if that's what AJ had Mike do- and why. _What are you doing, Mike?_ He's not one to worry about Mike, well aware that he is quite capable of taking care of himself, but AJ is so unstable... he can't help but feel uncomfortable for his friend.

This could end very badly.


	117. chapter 117

After Raw, Miz is off- heads to London. When he had tweeted that he was going to be worldwide in the next few weeks, he wasn't kidding. London, back to America, over to Australia, back to America... His head spinning already, he stares out of the window. This life, as hard as it can be, definitely has its perks, especially to those who love to see the world. The autograph signings and commercials that he films there goes well, and he's sitting around tired and bored early Sunday morning, picking at the couch he's sitting in, watching some show on the BBC. Turning it down so he can just hear the soft droning of the British accented people, he picks his phone up and, not even minding the international charges, he dials Alex's number.

It rings a few times and he's starting to wonder if maybe the kid is still wrestling during the current house show, but finally it's answered, his voice strained and a little breathy. "Hey, Mike."

"Hey, I wasn't sure if I'd called while you were wrestling or what."

"Nah, man, I just wrapped up. Beat David Otunga. You know they're giving him this whole ridiculous presentation with his posing? Like, special music and lighting and ... Yikes. I pretty much _had_ to save the poor crowd from that one."

Mike grimaces. "I don't even want to picture that. So how was the crowd?"

"Good, Peoria had a lot of energy."

"No two Zacks this year?"

Alex laughs at that, remembering the year before when somehow Zack had managed to be at both the Peoria house show they had competed in that year _and_ on Smackdown. "No, I've only seen one. So far."

"Thank God. One of him goes a _long_ way."

"Aw, he's not a bad guy."

"Maybe not bad, just really, _really_ annoying." Alex laughs and they sit quietly for a minute before Miz overhears one of the techs in the back, saying something. "Hey, man, if you have to go, I should get some sleep anyway. I'll be heading over tomorrow for Raw."

"Alright, Mike. I'll see you soon then."

"Bye." Clicking the phone shut, he leans back against the cushions and sighs, staring at the ceiling. If only he _could_ sleep, too many thoughts and plans rattling around in his skull...

By the time Raw rolls around, Alex, despite having sounded perfectly normal on the phone the day before, keeps giving him odd looks. He notices, it's hard not to- the younger man's gaze is difficult to ignore, impossible to shake. When he doesn't _see_ him, he feels it like a heavy weight between his shoulder blades. He _almost_ feels bad, knows that he's only been acting even stranger since winning the Intercontinental title, and keeping his plans from his former protege isn't helping things. He would like to tell him but the kid literally has no poker face, one minute too long with the wrong person and all of his careful maneuvering would prove pointless. He can't have that, no matter what.

Word can't get out, he doesn't want the guilt added onto his disappointment should things not play out the way he hopes they will. So he keeps quiet, goes to visit AJ just to get away from the odd stares aimed his way. She's sitting primly in her office, head tilted as she assigns officials to this match and that, Miz smirking as he finds Jerry hovering outside the door, obviously itching to discuss what Punk had done the week before to him. King says nothing, trying and failing to ignore him as he smirks over at him, cockily rubbing his hands along the sleek Intercontinental championship.

Once the half-dozen referees leave the room, AJ walks to the door and peers from side to side from Jerry to Miz. "Mike," she finally says with one of her dreamy smiles. "Come in, please."

One last confident smirk at Jerry and he brushes past her, pausing only momentarily to smile down at her in the doorway, their bodies just close enough to be suggestive, let her feel his warmth, before he enters the room, adjusting the title belt across his shoulder. She shuts the door calmly behind them and turns to face him, her eyes gleaming as she watches him look at the various posters and pictures covering her walls. Finally he turns to her and takes her in, subtly licking his lips. "You look pretty today," he tells her lowly, smiling as she flushes anew.

"Thank you." Trying to return to professionalism, she shakes her head roughly. "What can I do for you?"

He walks up to her, brushing a hand across her arm before running his fingers along her palm, not quite touching but not quite moving away either. "I missed you," he mumbles. She smiles, all pretenses failing as he leans in, pressing a faint kiss to the side of her mouth. When he pulls back, her eyes are fluttering open, glinting. "I'm glad you're coming with to Australia."

"I missed you too," she breathes out, leaning into him.

He discreetly pulls back and her face falls slightly, until she notes his hand still teasing hers. "Not here," he reminds her, smiling faintly. "We don't want a repeat of your issues with Daniel, do we? People thinking that you're just being used for your power."

"Right," she nods. "Well, then." She clears her throat, steadies herself. "On that note, I need to talk to you about your opponent tonight."

He'd rather talk about the board, if there had been any advances in that, but by the time she tells him who he's competing against, he loses that train of thought, suddenly seeing red. He barely clings to his temper, wanting so badly to snap at her. "Cena? Why him?" he finally asks, his dark blue eyes narrowed as she examines a sheet of paper with the various matches the board had approved for the evening. He feels like he's back in 2010, getting overshadowed by the Chain Gang Soldier yet again.

"Because we think it'd be good to have a Wrestlemania rematch, and with Rey still injured from the concussion, it will give you the chance for a big win leading up to Night of Champions." She smiles up at him. "How does that sound?"

He breathes heavily, nodding impatiently. "Fine," he finally mumbles. "I _will_ defeat him, no doubt about that." She nods as he turns and leaves, finally letting some of his anger out in a fierce glare to King.

"Things didn't go so well?" his former rival smirks at him, before knocking on the office door. Mike storms away as she beckons him in.

His anger and impatience makes him sloppy. One off moment and he loses, just like that. Alex watches quietly as he throws his things into his duffel, backing away whenever Miz looks at him warningly. "Let's go," he snaps, unable to stand being in the same building as AJ right now. He can't risk his temper getting the best of him, all of his carefully set inroads to the suseptible GM failing _now_ when he's so close.

They're in the rental car, driving back to the hotel, when Alex brazenly turns the thrumming radio off, the silence shocking both men at its suddenness. "What did you do that for?!" Mike snaps, about to slap his hand away and turn it back on, needing the eardrum blasting distraction, but Alex holds on steadily, turning in his seat to stare at him.

"What is going on with you?" the younger man demands, his lowly spoken words sounding all-encompassing in the silent car. "Talk to me, Mike. What are you up to with AJ?"

Mike shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment before training them back on the road. "There's nothing going on, Alex," he says through gritted teeth. "Just the same tired crap. Can't you tell?"

"Mike-"

"DROP IT!" he finally yells, slamming his fist roughly against the steering wheel so hard that it cracks. "I said it is nothing, so let it go!"

Alex falls silent immediately, his eyes impossibly wide in his pale face. Not another word is spoken the car ride to, or the time spent, in the hotel as they prepare for the trip to Australia. Mike can't resist a glance over, finding almost a look of relief on his former NXT rookie's face when he realizes that they're _not_ sitting together on the 18 hour flight. As much as it hurts him, he's relieved too. Less time that he might crack, the burden of it all slowly becoming almost too much to bear. _If you only knew..._


	118. chapter 118

Three wins in a row. It's far from being able to claim a fantastic win-loss record, but it's there. It's his. He's beaten Dolph Ziggler once, and Drew McIntyre twice, and it feels good. Alex Riley steps into Superstars that Thursday, knowing that this night could make or break his momentum completely. Say what you will about Jinder Mahal but he's tough, scratching out quite a few victories against him in the past. _I can't let him do it again,_ he thinks, trying to focus on the evening. Not allow himself to think about anything else. Like Mike and whatever crawled up his ass the past Monday. No, can't think about that at all.

He sighs. _It's hopeless._ He shakes his head, shouldering his bag. No matter how determined he is to make his record 4-0, the fact that Mike is hiding something _else_ from him continues echoing in the back of his mind like an annoying bell that won't stop chiming, not loud enough to garner a lot of attention, but enough to distract those who _can_ hear it. He's not being nosy, he just honestly wants to help Mike with whatever it is he's got going with AJ, and damn, it really stings that, even after almost two years, the older man _still_ doesn't trust him with things like this. _Bet if I hadn't broke away from him last year, he would gladly tell me anything I wanted to know,_ he thinks grimly. _Hell, I bet if Morrison hadn't been fired, he would've told_ him _... But as he likes to tell me, he can take care of himself... so. Let's see how_ that _goes..._

He's not sure what goes wrong in the match against Jinder, exactly. He feels sloppy. Slow. A little distracted, sure. But yet again, the Punjabi competitor eaks out yet another victory against him and his slowly growing win record slips through his fingers, his eyes narrowed as he lays on the ring apron, staring up at the lights blinding him. He hits his fist against the mat before getting up, trying to show optimism for the fans still cheering for him, trying to encourage him despite yet another loss.

That Monday, he's wandering around the backstage area when he oversees Miz once more hanging around AJ Lee's office, a stack of papers in his hand. Alex rolls his eyes, turning on his heel and trying to get away before he's seen. He knows, though, that's impossible, unable to ignore the weight of Miz's stare as he walks purposefully away. "Alex. Wait!" He sighs, grimacing though the flood of feelings that his former mentor's voice causes him to experience. "Wait, wait." His running steps slow to a quick walk once he catches up with him, Alex still not turning to acknowledge him. "I'm sorry, ok? Look, stop for a minute, dammit."

Finally Alex does stop, turning harshly to stare at him, lips twitching downwards. "What do you want, Mike? It's obvious you wanted nothing to do with me before Australia so what's changed now? Are you lonely?" Something ugly's whirling within him, something he hasn't felt in quite awhile and he hates it about as much as he does the whole situation, the look on Mike's face. "You miss Morrison and you turn to me, is that it?" He shakes his head, not even sure where this all is coming from, just that he's been through enough the past few weeks with all the secrecy and Miz's sneaking around with AJ. "What _do you want?!_ " He feels like shaking Mike, take that whiplash look off of his face, maybe force him to talk.

He licks his lips and Alex stops, waiting expectantly for _something,_ anything to happen. "I... I." He groans, scrubbing his hands through his hair, down his face. Alex notices distantly that he's shaking but it does little for him, his expression still as tight as before. "I don't want things to return to how they were a few months ago. I don't want to argue with you, Alex."

"Yeah, well, I don't want it either, Mike, but you're hiding things and snapping at me over things I don't even know about, and... Since when do you care about AJ Lee?!" He lowers his voice when Mike looks askance at him, stares at his boots. "I just want to help you, Mike," he says, unable to keep the sadness from his tone. "I can't do that if you won't _talk_ to me."

"Come here," he mumbles, snagging Alex's sleeve. "Come _here,_ " he repeats, dragging the taller man through the halls and into an empty locker room, shutting the door behind them. "You have to promise me one thing before I tell you anything."

Alex shrugs listlessly, the fight fading from him rapidly upon his earlier admission. "What?"

"You can't tell John any of this." That attracts Alex's attention and he looks up to find a sort of desperation in Mike's gaze that he hadn't seen in a really long time, probably since the night he'd lost the WWE title.

He steps forward and rests a hand on his shoulder, blinking. "Of- of course, Mike. Mums the word... What is it?" The current Intercontinental champion leans into his touch, breathes deeply. Rubs at his eyes, and looks more tired and worn than Alex has seen him in a long time. He can tell easily that it's _not_ just because of the 18 hour flight back from Australia, worries that it's something serious. "Mike, are you sick?"

The long, awkward pause that follows leaves Alex all the more worried until some of the tension is shattered by Mike's abrupt, rough laugh. "Oh, hell," he grimaces, shaking his head. "No! No, I'm not sick. It's... it's. Well..."

"What is it?" he asks, confused and still worried.

"Just... listen." As he begins to talk, Alex sits down on a nearby bench, floored.

Later on, Mike's words echo in Alex's mind as he watches Raw. They had just finished talking and left the locker room, both men quiet and thoughtful, when a frazzled AJ ran up to them, barely glancing over at Alex as she grabbed Mike. "Miz," she had breathed, a certain look in her eyes causing Alex to back away slowly. "I need you." As he subtly leaned closer to her to listen, Alex left quietly, shaking his head.

Now Mike is on commentary alongside Michael Cole for the next two and a half hours plus, poor guy, and it's obvious he's a little off of his game despite all of the action going on around him, his mind elsewhere. Probably in the same place that Alex's is at currently. _Well,_ Alex thinks, picking at some lint on his sleeve. _I wasn't expecting this... Thankfully I don't have a match tonight, I would have_ no _chance of being focused at_ all. He smiles faintly. _Of course Mike would make things interesting..._ He hopes that AJ will be able to hold her declining sanity together... but as the night proceeds along, this looks less and less likely. How exactly Mike manages to not let on through the rest of his commentary that this is a _bad, bad thing_ , Alex has no idea. "What are we gonna do?" he mumbles, disturbed by how quickly this all is snowballing around them.


	119. chapter 119

Mike glares on mulishly. His Intercontinental title in hand, he's staring down his tag partner of the evening, face still throbbing from that kick that Cody had landed on him- accidentally, _sure,_ but how careless! He had had plenty of time to stop...! "You cost us that match," he spits at the younger man, who looks about as angry as Miz is feeling.

"You should've just stayed down, I was trying to stop the pin!"

"And what? You end up tripping on your own two feet and I get pinned because I was waiting on _you?_ " He sneers as Cody flushes, his fingers flexing at his side. "Watch yourself, kid. You do _not_ want to go there with me. I learned a long time ago trust has no place in this business- of course _I_ would be able to get myself out of a pin like that! I didn't need you!" Overwhelmed by anger, he pushes the younger man aside as he walks off.

"Oh yeah? Like you never trusted John Morrison or Alex Riley?" he spits out, not even flinching back as Miz rounds on him, his eyes dark with warning and disgust.

"You aren't half the man or competitor either Morrison or Riley are. Never act like your name deserves stated alongside theirs."

Cody laughs bitterly, rolling his eyes. "I would hope not! One was fired months ago, and the other... well, the other... hmm, I don't know, didn't he lose on Superstars again last night?"

Miz sneers at him, trying not to reveal just how deeply his words have dug into him. "When exactly is the last time _you_ won a match again? Wasn't it around the time you won this baby?" He shifts the title belt upon his shoulder, smirking as Cody's narrowed eyes track it, an almost hungry look on his face. "Too bad you'll never touch it again..." Turning sharply on his heel, he leaves the bristling young man behind, smirking to himself as he goes.

Just any other night. Like many nights in the past. At least that's what it starts off like. But isn't that the way it goes?

Mike stares blankly at the Monday Night Raw match board and shakes his head, Alex Riley standing alongside him. "Are you kidding me? I mean, they have to be joking, right? Three hours to fill and... this is what we get?" He frowns at the very first match listed- his teaming with Antonio Cesaro vs Kofi Kingston and Truth. "I am getting so sick of tag matches." He looks sideways at Alex, biting his lip before he says anything else. _At least I'm not getting completely overlooked,_ he reminds himself, dropping an arm around Alex's shoulders before dragging him back towards the locker room.

"So you think Truth will try anything?" he asks after a moment, scuffing his shoes on the tile, slowing them both down.

"I doubt it, but it's possible, I guess. Hopefully Lil' Jimmy will distract him," Mike rolls his eyes, resting his title on the bench before sitting down next to it. "Heh. Ugh." He scrubs at his eyes, slowly going about getting ready for the match. "I'm not even sure who my opponent for this Sunday will be," he mumbles, pulling his boots on as Alex glances from him to the TV, where CM Punk and Bret Hart are currently arguing.

"Rey again?"

He shrugs. "It's possible. Unless he gets injured in the next six days." Smirking, he sits down, wrist tape in hand. _There's always the chance that it'll be Rhodes too,_ he thinks, reflecting on their confrontation in the back during Smackdown. "Ok, time for me to go," he sighs, still dreading this tag team match as he pats Alex on the back before heading out.

"Good luck," Alex calls after him as he pushes the locker room door open, the commercials echoing from monitors scattered here and there.

He casts a dismissive glance at the US champion and Aksana waiting nearby the gorilla position before turning his attention back to his brilliantly white title, smirking when his music starts. Unfortunately his bad luck with tag matches continue and, despite Truth barely reacting out of the ordinary towards him despite their easily combustible history, he and Cesaro still lose. He storms back up the ramp, almost twitching with anger as he goes back through the motions, pulling his clothes back on and throwing his scattered wrestling gear and everything else back into his bag.

The only thing that keeps him from grabbing Alex and leaving early is the knowledge that Rhodes and Mysterio has a match later, his calculating mind working through different outcomes for this Sunday. Almost two hours later, he walks through the solemn hallways, keeping his eyes diverted from distracted colleagues and techs, even _his_ focus split as he watches the end of the match from the gorilla position, rolling his eyes as Cody wins- his own words from Smackdown coming back to mock him.

Taking the opportunity as Rey lays motionless on the mat, he runs down and attacks the masked superstar, moving fluidly despite the dressy wear he is currently clothed in. He's completely forgotten about Rhodes still being out there until he's grabbed under the arm and neck, roughly maneuvered over to crash into the mat, left to writhe around in his now-wrinkled clothing. Slams a fist on the mat as Cody stands over him, full of confidence and ego, dropping the Intercontinental title over his chest. _That's not how I expected that to go,_ he thinks through a wheeze, hand instinctively going for the belt. "Damn..."

He makes his way slowly back to the backstage area, once more overwhelmed by how quiet and subdued everything in the back is. People are not rushing around as they always are, working desperately to get things done during the broadcast. The wrestlers scattered around are quiet, most looking worried or scared. He's about to go find Alex, encourage the kid to leave, when he sees a familiar form leaning between two trunks, almost completely hidden in the shadows. He sighs, heading her way. "AJ?"

Head whipping up, she looks at him, eyes wide and tear-filled. "Oh. Mike. Is... is there something you need?" She wipes quickly at her eyes and turns to face him, releasing a deep, shuddering breath as he joins her, rubbing a thumb over her cheek to brush away what she'd missed.

He shakes his head slowly, knowing- for once thinking beyond his own motivation to get her affections- that this is _not_ the time to further his agenda, or discuss what had just happened in the ring between he, Cody and Mysterio. "Are you ok?" Her face falls, her already-questionable grasp of control failing before him, and, possibly for the first time since all of this began, it hits him: She may be general manager but underneath it all, she's really just a 25 year old girl who'd had her heart jerked around by three different guys for months just to be thrown into a position of power that she probably barely has an idea on what to _do_ with, or how exactly to handle it when things go wrong... "Is..." He licks his lips awkwardly. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Her eyes gleam wetly in the faint light behind him as she blinks up at him, tilting her head. He's not sure what to expect when she finally asks quietly, "Can you just... hold me? F-for a minute?"

All former thoughts and opinions wiped clean from his mind for now, he nods slightly, stepping closer to her. As she meets him halfway, he wraps his arms around her, struck anew by just how small, vulnerable she truly is, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. "It'll be alright," he whispers soothingly, fingers stroking down the soft brown hair cascading down her back, her hand curling around his shirt as she clings to him, trembling. "It will." They stand like that a long time, his eyes closed as he waits for her to calm down.

He knows he can't promise any such thing, really, but something in him just dwells on the fact that everything will work out alright in the end, the deeply hidden optimist within him refusing to believe any other end result.


	120. chapter 120

Miz loses to Sin Cara. Alex blinks at the TV screen as it happens, not sure why exactly that sticks with him. But apparently it isn't important to _just_ him as, while he watches, there's a confrontation in the back between Miz, Rey Mysterio and Cody Rhodes- Sin Cara injecting himself after awhile, pointing meaningfully at the title snug across Mike's shoulder like that's the only way he can possibly lay claim to the thing.

Teddy makes his presence felt after a bit, announcing that at Night of Champions, Miz will face all three other men in a fatal four way for the Intercontinental title. Alex winces, knowing that that's pretty much the worst odds any one man could have in a title match. He had competed in one, after all, for the United States title last year... it had been impossible to keep track of everyone, even try to figure out a good strategy to keep any kind of momentum going, the match's dynamic shifting at the smallest thing. He feels for his former mentor, even more so when he slams into the locker room and sits down heavily, his jaw working viciously. "Mike-"

He holds his hands up, obviously a temporary plea for silence as he tries not to completely lose it. "Dammit," he finally hisses, closing his eyes. "Dammit, dammit, dammit." He takes a deep breath, releasing it like it's the only thing keeping all of this tension within him- Alex can't help but wonder if it's something he picked up from Morrison- before turning to look at the younger man. "Well, isn't that fantastic?"

Alex smiles mirthlessly at the sarcasm in his voice. "I'm sorry, man. Last minute title match announcements suck- then for there to be three other guys..." He squeezes Mike's shoulder, feeling as some more tension leaves him. "But I'm sure you'll be fine. If anyone can make it through this, it'll be you."

"Thanks." They sit quietly for awhile, listening as Smackdown continues around them, before Mike's phone beeps. He reads it, his smirk only growing as he snaps it shut once more. "John," he explains to Alex, leaning back against the wall. "Just repeating basically what you just said." He chuckles as Alex looks offended.

"Guess I need to talk to him about stealing my lines," he grouses in an overly exaggerated tone of voice before nudging Miz's knee. "So speaking of Morrison... I heard a podcast with him and the Curtainjerks guys... is it true that you spent over four minutes counting his hip revolutions at a house show years back?"

Mike's face turns an interesting shade of red, eyes wide and lips parting in shock. Alex laughs as he dives back for his phone, obvious by how fast he's typing that the text he's sending is full of caps locks cursing towards his former tag partner.

That Sunday, Alex watches from the back as the US title #1 contendership battle royal carries on without him. He's not sure why he was overlooked for it but he's still happy for Zack Ryder as he fist pumps back up the ramp, grinning widely as he makes his way back to the gorilla position. "Hey, man, congrats," he tells him, fist bumping him when he reaches him.

"Thanks, bro!" he exclaims, eyes gleaming with pleasure. It amuses Alex that, no matter what kind of victory Zack gets, the guy always treats it like it's Christmas morning anew.

"Good luck later," he calls after him as he dashes off to, who knows- lord it over Curt Hawkins or something like that, probably. He turns his attention back to the monitors- Miz's match is first up once the preshow ends and he hopes beyond hope that his former NXT pro has some good luck heading his way this evening as well.

The ending to the match is confusing and it almost seems like Sin Cara's won at first but no- Miz stands tall and pulls the unwanted mask from his face, an egotistical grin overwhelming his face as he's handed the Intercontinental title. He still has the mask in hand as he meets up with Alex, laughing as he drops it into a nearby trash can. "Well, looky there," he says smugly. "Even Sin Cara blinding me with this damn mask couldn't keep me from success!"

Alex laughs with him, shaking his head as they look over at the discarded colorful mask. "Congrats, man."

"Thank you, thank you." He shifts the title onto his shoulder before clapping Alex on the back, leading him down the hall. "What do you say to some catering? I'm starving."

"You haven't ate since Friday, have you?" he asks needlessly, knowing that Mike gets like that when there's a worrisome challenge on his horizon. Mike stays quiet and he sighs, walking a little faster. "C'mon then."

The next night, Alex stands outside of AJ's office, his head tilted as he tries to hear what's happening inside. Mike had left him here before ducking inside, not wanting to add to her paranoia by inviting him along for their conversation. He has his suspicions anyway, watching as various people go this way and that. He hadn't been sure what the backstage energy would've been like after the past week's Raw, but everyone seems to have rebounded nicely. It's good to see.

He's about to wander off elsewhere- not sure exactly _how_ long Mike's going to be in there with her, or what is going on on the other side of that door, or if he'd even want to know- when the door is opened, Mike coming out with an unhappy grimace on his face. _Oh boy,_ Alex thinks as he shuts the door behind him, his expression only growing more annoyed the further away he gets from AJ's office. "What'd she say?" he asks after a moment, struggling to keep up with the champion as he storms down the hallway.

"Get this," he says, rounding on the younger man once they're away from the busiest part of the hallway, standing close to the exit. "I was all but begging her for some news on what the board had to say. She looked me in the eye and said things were at a standstill, that she hadn't heard anything since the last time we talked." He stews quietly for a long moment, picking anxiously at non-existant lint on the straps of his title belt. "Can you believe that? Then... she has the gall... to suggest that, instead of dwelling on this all night, since she doesn't have a match scheduled for me, I start a talk segment tonight."

Alex frowns at him, obviously not following this logic too well either. "Wait, so- she can't give you what you really want and thinks that a talk segment will make it all better?"

Mike scoffs, scraping his fingers through his hair. "She's trying to distract me. So I mockingly suggest to her that we name it Miz TV." His eyes gleam as A-Ri shakes his head, recognition dawning on his face. "Yeah, and she doesn't even catch _on_ , in fact she loves the idea. So now... that's what I'm doing tonight. AJ apparently also thinks it's a good idea that Booker T be my first guest."

Alex laughs awkwardly. "God. You sure know how to pick 'em, Mike." He just rolls his eyes in response before walking outside to get some fresh air and wait till later, when his show will be. The younger man follows, content to stay quiet and just _be_ for a little while.

Mike handles it as well as he can, not even letting on that this is really bad deja vu for him, and once he introduces Booker T out, he doesn't have a lot to say until he calls out Ryback, who quickly sets to demolishing the furniture in the ring, chairs and couches going flying this way and that. Alex's eyes widen as he watches, wondering what exactly Mike is thinking when he walks _towards_ the ring instead of away from it, just barely dodging the second couch as the monster superstar slings it out towards the entrance ramp, the Intercontinental champion looking as unsettled as Alex is feeling when he just barely jumps out of the way.

"Good God," Alex mumbles as Mike quickly returns to the backstage, pushing him in front of him as he heads for the exit, not interested in the slightest in hanging around for any reason, unable to shake the paranoid feeling as if Ryback is already storming towards them, ready to attack. "You know you're supposed to move _away_ from the rampaging monster in the ring, not towards him, right? Do John and I have to re-train you in survival skills or something?"

"Just _walk_ ," he orders tightly, only stopping long enough to grab their bags, slinging Alex's to him, before he continues on, never so relieved as he is when he's finally safely in the rental car heading back to the hotel.


	121. chapter 121

"Hey," Alex says as Mike leaves the hotel bathroom, looking up at him. There's something about his expression that Mike doesn't like, in fact it worries him. He frowns at the younger man for a moment as he crosses the room, stuffing his street clothes in his bag. "Can we talk?"

"Sure man, you know we can." He straightens back up, kicks his bag against the wall and sits across from Alex, eyes fluttering as he sinks into the surprisingly soft hotel bed. It's been a long few days and he can't wait to just settle in and sleep until they have to get up and start the cycle all over again, but he forces himself to stay awake to hear Alex out. "What's up?"

Alex fiddles with his phone for a long moment, his brows furrowed. "Um, there's... I." He sighs, his hesitation to just come out and say whatever it is that needs to be said only adding to Mike's discomfort. "I've been talking with Dr. Andrews."

Mike stares at him blankly, not understanding. "Wait, Dr. Andrews? WWE's surgeon? Why?"

"You noticed... the last few weeks I've been wrestling with a heavy brace on my arm?" he asks lowly, his hand absently massaging at the arm in question. "I, um, have been working through weakness and pain for awhile now. In my knee too, and we thought it was something that I might be lucky and avoid needing surgery for but the latest tests have kind of confirmed that doing so will only jeopardize my future as a wrestler, risk shortening my career. So he's going to do both surgeries at once, and I'll begin rehab and hopefully be back competing soon."

There's a distant look in Mike's eyes as he listens, takes this all in. _Weakness... pain..._ He shakes his head, trying not to compare how a similar conversation with Morrison had gone the year previously, how it had only led to the eventual end of his time in the WWE. "How long?"

"A while. You, you were in Canada when it started," he admits lowly, almost wincing away from Mike as he expects the massive blowup that is sure to follow.

Mike looks like he doesn't know whether to yell or laugh, his face frozen in a tense expression with his lips parted slightly. "Oh my God," he finally hisses, standing and pacing between their beds. "Why do you and John do this crap? Over and over, it's like neither of you can learn a damn thing." He skids to a stop and grips Alex by the shoulders, staring down into his eyes. "Wasn't hiding the hip injury enough for you? What is it about telling me when you're injured that freaks you both out to the point that I don't find out until it's too late for me to _do_ anything?"

Alex licks his lips, eyes downcast. "Mike, please... It's not that we don't want to tell you," he insists, his hands coming to rest on top of Mike's. "You're always so busy with media, and then the movie, and everything else you film and do for WWE, I'm pretty sure John doesn't want to burden you... and neither do I. Telling you when you were stuck up in Canada, unable to leave without getting yourself in some pretty serious trouble, seemed needlessly cruel. So I kept it to myself, and then you won the Intercontinental title and it still didn't seem the right time to tell you, until I knew what Dr. Andrews was going to say."

This knocks the wind out of Mike's sails, his anger fading into sadness as he realizes he'll be on the road alone from now on, with no Alex or John to hang out with, and he sinks onto the bed next to Alex, shifting until he wraps an arm around his shoulders, squeezing slightly. "You two are idiots," he says slowly, lips twitching into a solemn grin as Alex rolls his eyes at him, "but you're not burdens." They sit quietly for awhile, Alex leaning into Mike's touch slightly. "When is the surgery? I wanna be there. And don't even think about arguing with me," he warns him when he turns to look at him.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he shrugs, lifting his hands in agreement. "Well, apparently... I'm going in on Wednesday." He tilts his head at Mike, smirking a little. "Don't tell anyone I told you but it seems ol' Cena needs surgery too and he gets first crack tomorrow."

"Of course he does. Wait, do you know how long he'll be out?" Mike's expression turns calculating but all of his hopes are dashed when Alex shakes his head. "Well, damn. Either way, a possible break from him? I'll take it."

"That's mean, Mike." Even so, he finds himself chuckling. "So we're ok, right?"

Mike stares at him for a long moment until he squirms anxiously. "Of course we're ok," he finally lets him off of the hook. "Just next time, tell me from the start. No matter what's going on, ok?"

Alex sighs. "Alright, Mike. I'll try. But I think it's John's turn."

"Oh hush, let's just... no one have a next turn, alright?" He huffs as Alex smiles at him.

Although he hates that it has to happen at all, Mike _is_ relieved that Alex's surgeries is scheduled on one of the few days that he has a brief break from media responsibilities. He's sitting in the Florida hospital's waiting room, tapping his foot and looking at his watch. The surgery'd just started and he knows it'll be a few hours at least, but that's not what he's counting the minutes about. Finally his phone goes off and he peers at it, rolling his eyes. "About damn time," he mumbles, getting to his feet and going down to the nurse's desk, pausing for a moment to just look.

John Morrison stands with his back to him, his hair looking as disgustingly perfect as ever, and despite his drastically reduced wrestling schedule, he still looks thin and toned and annoyingly put together. Even when Mike's in a suit and John's in jeans and a shirt, he still feels a little plain next to his former tag partner. He rolls his eyes and stuffs his hands in his slacks pockets before making his way over. "Took you long enough," he grouses, slapping a hand on John's shoulder as he jerks in surprise, turning around and smirking at Mike. "Take the wrong flight again?"

"Hey, you caused that to happen...! _Someone_ forgot to book the right tickets," John teases him.

"Oh sure, blame me and not your own faulty information," he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. They crack quickly, however, Mike breaking into small chuckles as John laughs at him. "C'mon, man," he says, dropping an arm across the back of John's pleather jacket and leading him through the halls of the hospital back to the waiting room he'd left. "Surgery just started so we'll probably be here for a bit. Hope you're not hungry."

"Well, while you're mentioning that," he hedges, grinning as Mike glares over at him. "What?"

"You ate on the way here, you jerk?" He looks innocent as Mike jokingly slaps at him, a harmless smack against his arm. "I don't believe you, no wonder you were late!"

John just grins as the people around them look on in curious confusion. "Well, if you'd let me finish," he smirks. "I brought you something too." He reaches into his duffel bag and pulls out a white bag full of something that smells so delicious that Mike almost tackles him just to grab it.

"Is that...?" He gapes into the bag, looking up. "Ok, I take back everything bad I said about you," he laughs, pulling out two white containers. "Chili and a cheeseburger," he mumbles, honestly surprised. "You remembered."

"Hey, nothing like some comfort food while waiting for someone to get out of surgery, huh?" He claps Mike on the shoulder before settling in next to him to wait.

"Let me guess, you got pea soup and a grilled chicken sandwich?" he asks, smiling slightly as John peels off his jacket and gets comfortable. He notices the disgusted looks coming from some of the people around them and, deciding to capitalize on it, takes a huge bite of his burger, chewing obnoxiously until they finally turn back to their own business.

The food is long gone, John and Mike listlessly watching some strange daytime show on the TV hanging over the wall leading out of the waiting area, when finally a nurse appears in the vicinity, everyone remaining looking up as one, anxious for news on their own loved one. Thankfully her eyes fall right on Mike, recognizing him from earlier when Alex had been prepped, and smiles. "Here for Alex Riley?" He stands immediately, flanked by John, and she looks surprised for a minute before turning to professionalism. "He's out of surgery," she tells them. "He's in recovery right now, the anesthetic should wear off soon and we'll send him to his permanent room then."

"Can we sit with him?" Mike asks, anxious to see his friend after waiting for so many hours. "The plan is still for him to be released tomorrow, right?"

She nods and smiles at him. "Yes to both, just stay quiet and don't disturb the other patients."

"Haha, yeah, Mike, quiet," John whispers only loud enough for Mike to hear. To his credit, he barely responds, only elbowing his former tag partner once the nurse is walking in front of them so she can't see. They quietly enter the room, nodding at a nearby family member by another bed, and follows the nurse through the row of beds, stopping next to Alex's.

"He's doing quite well," the nurse tells them softly. "He'll probably be in and out for awhile, this is normal. When he does wake up for a longer period of time, please tell Samantha." She motions to a nurse who's overlooking Alex and a couple of the other nearby patients, who looks up with a small smile.

"Hey are you on Smackdown this week?" John asks after a few minutes, leaning back in the uncomfortable hospital chair that he'd just lifted over closer to the bed.

Mike glances over, his hand trailing across Alex's forehead, brushing some of his ungelled hair back. "No, why?"

Morrison smirks. "Well, this is one of the few weekends I have no plans. What say you we spend a few more days in Florida, make sure A-Ri doesn't see a squirrel and freak out so severely that he ruins his own recovery before it begins?"

"I heard that," a tired sounding voice coming from between them stops Miz's response, both men looking over in surprise to find Alex staring up at them in a bit of a drugged daze.

"Hey look who decided to join the land of the living," Mike says quietly, looking up with a slight nod as John gets up and approaches the nurse. "How do you feel?"

"Floaty," he mumbles, eyes fluttering.

"Do you think you'll be able to make room for us along all of your sneakers?" he asks, smiling. Alex blinks tiredly at him, half-smiling until the nurse comes over to talk to him, Mike joining John at the end of the bed to give her room to examine him. "Looks like he's gonna be alright."

"Yep. Did you doubt it?"

"No, not really."

"Sure. Mother hen," Morrison teases him slightly. Miz just rolls his eyes, huffing as John laughs at him.

Raw seems oddly quiet after a weekend spent in Florida with John and Alex, Mike recalling finding Morrison looking on with a startled expression on his face as he finally gets a good look at the closet where Alex leaves all of his shoes, a new pair that had been on the porch when they'd arrived at Alex's house in his hands waiting to join the others. "Dear God, are they shoes or bunnies? I swear they're multiplying before my very eyes."

Mike laughs at the memory, sighing as he prepares for the match he has against Ryback tonight. He used to be able to tell himself that he could handle being alone and competing as a pure singles competitor but it had changed, between Morrison getting fired and all of those weeks he spent in Canada... He wishes he weren't alone, trying to get ready to go up against the freakish large man. "Damn, damn, damn," he mumbles.

The match goes about as bad as he'd assumed, Ryback dominating him early on. His shoulder starts throbbing after a throw that he lands roughly on and all he can think is _That's going to leave a mark..._ Even though the match seems to last a lifetime, he can tell that it ends pretty quickly, Ryback defeating him within two minutes. He trembles and tries to get out of there, get far away, as his shoulder protests each little movement. Thankfully Ryback has seemed to lose interest in him once the bell rings and he scrambles to the back, almost confused that Alex isn't there waiting for him. It takes him a minute to remember Alex's surgery and when he does, he feels even worse.

The trainer checks him over, puts some ice on his shoulder, and orders him to hold it there while he goes to look in on other superstars still cooling down after their matches. Mike sighs, feeling lonely. "Guess I better get used to this," he mumbles, wincing as he presses the ice against his bruised shoulder a little too hard.

He's still sitting there, eyes closed, when the paper sheet covering the cot crinkles next to him, his ears just barely picking up a soft sigh that sounds about as sad as he feels. His lips twitch slightly. "Hey, AJ." He can almost _feel_ the girl blushing as she looks over at him.

"Hi, Miz. Are you alright?" she asks softly.

He opens his eyes and smiles grimly at the girl. Her night had been nearly as bad as his and he had seen her in tears yet again- this time on national television- before his match, though he had been far from the right state of mind to actually go and see her without risking saying the wrong thing and jeopardizing everything. He knows it's a little hypocritical of him but he kind of hates Paul Heyman for going there with her- even though he too has his own agenda during most of his dealings with AJ, he finds it a bit despicable of the much older man to pull the proposal bit on her after her painful recent relationships. "Just sore, nothing I haven't dealt with in the past. I'll be fine." She tilts her head, probably trying to deduce if he's being honest or not. "How are you?"

She shrugs, her eyes dark with sadness and pain. "I'm alright." He just smiles sympathetically at her, tentatively resting his hand on her back as she leans over and rests her head on his shoulder. "Is this ok?"

"Yeah, sure." He _had_ been annoyed with her the prior week, MizTV being pretty much the exact opposite of what he had wanted, but the segment ending badly hadn't been her fault- that had all fallen on Booker T's shoulders, as had the match against Ryback tonight. The Smackdown general manager had put it all into motion... When she reaches over and rests her hand on top of his, he shifts his fingers so that they're palm to palm, slowly interlacing their fingers. He feels her smile against his shoulder, smiling slightly too as she relaxes against him. "It's all gonna be alright," he whispers. As she nods, he plays with her hair a little, smoothing it as it tickles against his skin. _I hope, anyway._


	122. chapter 122

Miz's bad week only continues as he arrives at Smackdown that Friday to find Booker T waiting for him. He eyes the general manager distrustfully, chewing on the inside of his cheek as the former wrestler tells him that, after lengthy conversations with AJ the last few days, he'd decided to make it up to Mike for what he'd done to the inaugural edition of MizTV by giving him some TV time on Smackdown- with Sheamus as his guest. It goes badly quickly, the Intercontinental champion forced once more to watch as, following Dolph and Vickie's interruption, his set is demolished, having to bail on his show again. He rages all the way to the back, glaring viciously at an amused Booker T as he storms through the hallways and ducks into the locker room where his things are at.

_No, no, no, no, dammit,_ he thinks, tangling his fingers in his gelled hair. _Hold it together, hold it together..._ He's still waiting for any kind of verdict on what he had gone to AJ about weeks ago, he can't lose it now. He slumps down on a bench, trying to catch his breath. The last time he had been involved with an unbalanced person- R-Truth- he had begun to be taken in by the madness and paranoia, believing Truth's rhetoric that someone was after them, that there was a conspiracy against them. It hadn't been until his tag partner had gotten himself suspended for drugs that he had realized the conspiracy was all in Truth's head- he had sabotaged himself from the start, and Mike wasn't about to allow him to do it to his career as well. Cutting himself free from that had been the best move he'd ever made...

But now here he is, loosely involved with AJ and yet again swirling on the brink of madness as things crash down around him; with Alex out recovering from surgeries and John just plainly gone, he'd lost his only support systems. He shakes his head viciously, knowing logically that the two men are only a phone call away if he really needs them, but still in this moment, he's never felt so isolated. _What do I do... what can I do..._

By Monday, he's a little more together, deciding to put the past week behind him and look at this set of events with a fresh gaze... until he's half listening to the open segment, watching with a grimace as AJ goes out to address Paul Heyman and Punk, Vickie and Dolph who are currently discussing taking over Raw as AJ's replacements. It's still stuck in his head, the look on her face last week as Paul had suggested they get married while Punk had laughed behind him, the two men seeming to enjoy AJ's reaction- up until she'd reared back and smacked the smarmy older man, skipping from the ring afterwards. He hadn't really thought that much of it, glad she had stood up for herself, but the more she talks, the more he hates it- of _course_ he had forgotten about the edict that she wasn't to touch talent or managers or...

"Dammit," he mumbles as she explains that she's been placed under evaluation and given an executive coach. He stews over this fact, pondering how it'll affect his plans, when Daniel Bryan of all people comes out and apologizes to her, all further conversation derailed when Kane follows his tag partner and starts lurking behind her, discussing what a good kisser she is. Miz makes a face, trying not to feel ill at how they're all leering at her following this. When the segment finally ends, he gets up and waits on a side hallway facing the gorilla position. As she walks by, he hisses her name, trying not to laugh as she stops short and spots him, forcing a smile while she skips up to him. "Hey, AJ," he greets her, brushing some of the strands of soft brown hair from her face.

"Hi, Mike," she says, eyes glinting in the faint light. "Is there something I can help you with?"

He looks around, watching as Kane and Daniel Bryan walk past where they're standing, yelling back and forth about their championships. Once they can hear each other again, he smiles down at her. "No, not really, I just wanted to see you before your coach took up all of your time."

"Oh," she waves that off like it's inconsequential. "I plan on getting rid of him as quickly as I can, don't worry about that." She stares up at him, a shrewd look appearing on her face. "You know, Mike, I haven't forgotten what you came to me about back when I first received this position. I haven't heard back from the board about it, but I will look into it tomorrow, I promise. I'm not sure exactly why they're being so unhelpful but I promise it's not dead in the water- I'll do all that I can to make this work."

He's heard similar things from her in the past but he can't really doubt her- it's his best chance to fix at least _something,_ after all, and he would be utterly dumb to turn his back on the possibility now. "Thank you, AJ. That would mean a lot to me."

She smiles sweetly up at him and, resting a hand on the applique of his new shirt, takes in the writing across the front. "I like this design, by the way," she tells him. "I may have to get one for myself."

He leans in, his breath gently tickling across her heated skin as she stares back, seemingly mesmerized by the look on his face. "It'll look awesome on you," he tells her lowly, winking as he pulls away. "Now then I have a match to prepare for. We'll talk soon, right?"

She nods, watching as he goes. He turns at the edge of the hallway, leveling one more heavy look at her before he disappears from her sight. Her smile slipping from her face, she tilts her head and stares distantly at the wall before coming back to herself, turning to walk resolutely down the hall to meet her new coach in her office.

Mike's match is against Zack Ryder and he sneers over at the Internet champion, mocking him with his true Intercontinental Belt, before the action begins. It's another short match, the kid trying and failing to get the upperhand. When he hits hard with the broski boot, leaving Mike grabbing his jaw in agony, it's like it's awakened all of the anger he's held the last few weeks and gave him a target in the younger man. He grips him by the shoulders and throws him roughly into the turnbuckle, immediately landing a harsh Skullcrushing Finale that leaves Zack sprawled out on the mat, easily pinned and defeated as Mike rolls back out, an intense look on his face while he rubs his jaw gingerly.

He watches later on as AJ orders the coach from her building, taking over guest referee duties during the main event. When she counts Punk's shoulders down to Daniel Bryan, he muses over how long she could maintain this position of power. If it will be beneficial to his wants, his needs... or detrimental. "Just hold on awhile longer," he mutters to the TV. "Don't do anything to screw this up for me... please."

He has no idea what he'd do if his plans crashed and burned around him... but just the fact that it's taken this long for the board to decide, well... He's not sure even AJ's power, shaky as it is, could push anything through right now, but he can't lose the last bits of hope that he has. Not now. If she lost her power, his best option would be gone. "I don't know what to do," he mutters. "I... need to... do something..." He stares at the calendar hanging on the wall next to the door, growing even more despondent as he realizes that Morrison's birthday is only days away. "Well, there's at least _one_ thing I can do." He leaves with his head held high, not willing to let an inch of weakness show as he makes his way to the rental car waiting for him.


	123. chapter 123

Early Tuesday morning. John Morrison smiles slightly as he stares out over the ocean just visible from his apartment window, absorbs the sun pouring down across his skin. His birthday is the next day and he wonders vaguely who will remember it. He knows Mike will be on the road, probably too busy to do much of anything as they prepare for the Wednesday night debut of Main Event, but Alex, maybe. His own various projects keeping him busy, he hadn't talked to the two as much as he'd like to lately, but he figures they won't blame him too much- God knows they're always busy doing this or that or the other for WWE.

He's about to go outside and take a walk along the beach, determine if the waves are worth anything, when there's a loud knock on his front door. He blinks and looks at it, tilting his head. _Who would come over at this hour?_ Shrugging, he gets to his feet and wanders over, peeking through the peep hole. When he recognizes who's in the hall, he chortles and hits his head lightly against the wood before pulling it open, staring back at his (sometimes) best friend. "What the hell, man?" he teases, taking in the blurry, red-rimmed gaze locked on him. "What are you doing here?"

Mike, grumpy, waves him off, obviously not in the mood for his theatrics. "Coffee," he groans out, stumbling past John into his apartment with the grace of a recently born calf. "Now."

John laughs slightly, following him inside and to the kitchen where he settles in at the floating counter, watching with a grimace as he wanders around idly, preparing the cup of coffee. "Sugar?" he asks teasingly, already knowing the answer to this. He fills a few spoonfuls, spilling it into the mug, adding in the creamer he'd started keeping around his place just for moments like these and stirring it until it's a smooth, chocolatey shade of brown. Once finished, he slides it down to Mike, who automatically grabs it and downs it like it's vital to his health. "Slow down there, tiger, or you'll be bouncing off of my walls. Again."

Squinting at him, the Intercontinental champion waves a hand dismissively at him before reaching out to nab John's untouched cup of black coffee resting nearby. "Hey!" he snaps, pulling it out of his reach. "Geez, man, why are you so zombie-like this early in the morning?"

"Red eye flight," he grumbles out, slumping down on the counter and looking woefully at the drink that had been denied him. "I didn't even get an hour."

John, reading between the lines expertly, begins to feel guilty. Sighing heavily, he scoots his mug back in Miz's reach and slides the sugar and creamer his way too, getting up to pour himself another mug of coffee. "Lemme guess, it was the only flight out to LA so you could spend time with the birthday boy, hmmm?" he deduces, holding his breath as Mike looks over his shoulder at him.

"Something like that," he mumbles, pouring another spoonful of sugar into his drink. "I think I'm getting too old for this."

Rejoining him at the island, he nudges his arm and swirls his coffee around, temporarily distracted by the wisps of steam billowing up from it. "So you're going to be on Main Event tomorrow, huh?"

Mike nods, pillowing his face in his arms as he leans over the sun-warmed wood. "Yeah," he mumbles. He's so glad to be back in LA, even for this brief period of time. Fall was taking over the rest of the States, bringing with it cooler temperatures and less sun, which leaves him perpetually chilled and cranky. Stepping off of the plane and into the balmy, blue skied weather of California had been enough to wake him up long enough to make it to John's apartment, but he had crashed quickly, barely able to keep his eyes open even with the warm coffee beginning to re-energize him. "Commentary I think."

John smiles slightly as he falls into a light doze next to him, knowing better than to disrupt his rest. Everyone knows Mike has one of the worst sleep schedules out of anyone in the WWE, had maintained it somehow for years now. He's amazed he hasn't dropped yet, especially with neither he or Alex to watch over him currently, so any sleep he can get is good. Even if it is had sprawled out across John's island. He even studiously ignores the drooling, making a note to scrub the wood clean once Mike is gone.

The sun's inching towards setting, the outside world glowing orange in preparation to ease into utter darkness, John now sitting on the couch within view of the kitchen, curiously watching a copy of CM Punk's new DVD that he'd found in Miz's bag- not that he was snooping for gifts or anything like that, no not at all- when the owner of said DVD finally stirs, grunting as he finds himself sitting on a chair, his face sticking to the island. "What the..." he groans, sitting up and grimacing along with John as his back cracks loudly in response to the movement after a long period of being in one position. "Damn."

"Morning, sunshine," John greets him with a grin as he pauses the DVD and goes to join his guest, to make sure he doesn't stumble off of the seat and crack his head open on the floor or something ridiculous like that.

Mike levels a glare on him as he slowly grows more aware, taking in the room around him. "How long did you let me sleep?"

"It's been a few hours, looked like you needed it." John shrugs, undisturbed by the glare leveled his way.

"That's my DVD... isn't it?" he mumbles, peering blurrily at the TV before catching sight of his bag yawning open at the edge of the couch. "Snoop," he huffs, slapping John on the arm. When his former tag partner laughs at him, he brushes past him and drops onto the couch. "Is it any good? I haven't had time to watch it all yet."

"Yeah, it's interesting. Maybe if we have time before you leave, I'll restart it from the beginning." When Mike sneers at him, he laughs and turns it off, placing the disc he was on back in its case. "There ya go, all safe and back in its proper place."

Rolling his eyes, the other man leans over and digs through his bag, finally finding what he's looking for. "Here ya go. This is from Alex too, he said to tell you sorry he couldn't come, he's not cleared for flights yet while he's recovering."

He raises an eyebrow at the shoe box that Miz presents him with, trying not to laugh as he considers Alex giving up one of his precious pairs of sneakers as a birthday gift for John. "Um."

"Just open them, it's probably not what you think," Mike rolls his eyes. He watches John's face closely as he finally shrugs and begins prying the box apart. When his eyes brighten in surprise, he grins. "I noticed yours were looking kinda worn down when I was here last. Alex used his contacts in the sneaker world to find the best of the best, I guess, so these should last you awhile."

John laughs, lifting up the brand new, sleek looking parkour shoes that make his old ones look ridiculously cheap. "Damn, you guys didn't have to do this."

"Yeah, we did. Gotta help keep you in fighting shape, right?" He blinks as soon as the words slip out, looking like he wants to punch himself for saying that. John stares at him oddly, visibly confused by his reaction to his own words. "Uh, anyway, to make up for me sleeping the day away, let me make it up to you. Let's go out and get some food or something."

Ignoring John's frazzled protests, he grabs his phone and tosses John's things to him before pushing him out of the apartment and to the car. "No arguments," he tells him. "Just _walk."_ John huffs, still stuck on that strange moment back at his couch, but obliges. They end up spending the evening out, wandering around beach-side restaurants and shops, just hanging out and falling back into old patterns from the Dirt Sheet days, making fun of people as they go and not even bothered in the slightest by the glares they receive by those who are unlucky enough to overhear them.

By the time it's been dark out for a few hours, the area still well lit by all of the stores and everything else, and Miz has to start thinking about getting some sleep before traveling on to Main Event's debut episode, John pieces it together on his own and, stopping, nudges Miz. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"You have a flight in a few hours and I'm kinda wiped out myself so what do you say we go back, get some sleep so you're not a cranky mess for the airport." He laughs when Mike glares at him before agreeing, the two of them slowly making their way back to the apartment, the other man's arm impulsively drifting across his shoulders in a lazy loop as they trudge through the sand. He can't speak for the other man but he's pretty certain that Miz is as reluctant as he is to return to reality- where they will have to go their own ways much too soon. With each passing day, he finds himself growing more settled into his life post-WWE, but there are more than a few things he misses about the business sometimes.

Getting to hang out with Mike and Alex without struggling to find time between their differing schedules is definitely one of them.

John hasn't watched a lot of WWE since being fired, hates the feeling of emptiness and dejectedness it brings up within him. He had kept his phone open, checking his emails regularly, after Laurinaitis' firing from a position of power. But it all was almost immediately dashed when no contact from the federation had come, his phone not ringing, no emails received. He hated himself for even considering such a thing as truly possible but he'd been unable to stop the brief glimmer of hope which died when more time passed with nothing coming of it.

But, wanting to see Mike's debut as commentator for an hour long show, he figures out what channel ION Network is on for his cable provider and turns it on that Wednesday night, settling down on the living room floor before the TV stand, shuffling through papers for various appearances he'd agreed to make over the winter. He only half watches, more focused on the commentary as Sheamus vs CM Punk commences, followed by a tag team match later on. He has birthday plans that night but had insisted that this hour had been left to him, no one really complaining over the prospects of enjoying LA in the dark ease of night despite it being a weekday.

He half-smirks listening to Mike, it's obvious that he's enjoying this, for once relaxing enough to let himself analyze the matches as not just a wrestler but a fan of the business as well. They had done it many a time in the past outside of the arena, especially when needing inspiration for the Dirt Sheet, but to see Mike actually be more _himself_ in a professional setting makes John feel calm, more relaxed also.

During the tag team match, he forgets all about the paperwork he's still trying to sort out when he hears Mike mention their time as tag team champions, crediting the upswing in his career to that period of time, and he can just imagine that it's been the first time he's even been acknowledged on TV in any capacity in a long while. _God, has it really been almost a year...? How time flies._

Once Main Event ends, he is already running a little late for his birthday dinner so he simply leaves a text to Mike. _Hey, watched tonight. Good job, you sounded really natural out there. I'm kinda surprised they didn't cut you saying my name out of the broadcast, haha._

Almost twenty minutes later, he stops outside of the restuarant and pulls his phone out, smiling slightly when he sees _1 unread text._

_Happy birthday, Jomo._

Monday afternoon. Morrison smirks, standing outside of the Sacramento arena. He doesn't feel comfortable going inside, imagines he'd probably be kicked out the instant he poked a toe through the door, so he waits outside, content to let the wind blow through his hair and sooth his nerves. He doesn't show it but yeah, standing outside of a WWE event and knowing that inside are dozens of his former colleages, well.

"So you're there now?" Alex asks from the phone which is resting on the dash of his car. "Haha, Mike's going to freak out." John laughs too, keeping a lazy eye on the street in front of the arena as they talk. "I'm not going to keep you, just wanted to see if you did go through with it."

"Of course I did, how often do I say I'm going to do something and _not_ do it?" He chuckles. "But yeah, I don't want to miss Mike's big arrival. Gee, I wonder what AJ Lee is going to do to him on his birthday... maybe another Miz TV so his couches can get thrown around some more?" _Or something worse,_ he thinks, though he doesn't vocalize this. "Anyway, talk later, A-Ri."

"Bye, John."

He cuts off the call and sits back, sighing as he looks around for Mike's car. With it being in state, he wasn't even going to bother with a rental, just taking his own personal vehicle back and forth, which makes this easy enough for John to pull off. _Finally_ he sees the bright blue shade of Mike's fancy sports car driving towards the arena's back entrance for crew and rolls his eyes at it before picking his cell phone up.

_Up for a visitor?_

Mike's answer, to his credit, is very quick and only makes John laugh all the more. _Ugh, where are you?_

_Across the street. What, you can drop in on me for my birthday but I can't do the same for you? Tsk._

_Depends on what you plan on doing while you're here._

John honestly hadn't thought that through. He almost expected just to stay at a safe distance from the arena all night, wait for Mike to be free so he could give him his gift in person afterwards. _Haven't decided yet._

There's a more lengthy pause here until finally a loud knock sounds on John's window and he jerks, looking up in surprise to find Mike standing next to the car, his arms crossed over his chest as he peers down at John. He opens the door and slips out, grinning almost sheepishly at his friend. "Well, you didn't have to come all the way over here to lecture me."

Mike's eyes glint in the sun before he turns on his heel and starts walking purposefully back towards the arena. John is frozen, watching in confusion, when the Awesome One turns back and glares at him, eyebrow raising. "Well? Are you going to stand there all night? Come on."

His jaw drops as he walks slowly after Mike, not sure what exactly he's got planned. "Um, Mike," he mumbles, trying to stop the Intercontinental champion as they near the arena, his well-hidden anxiety flaring up once more.

"Quiet. Here." He stops by his car and passes over one of his hats and a pair of sunglasses. "Put these on. You want to be _so_ sneaky, we're gonna do this up right." To his credit, John catches on quickly despite his brain feeling like it's wading through thick molasses, quickly stuffing his ponytail under the hat and blocking his eyes from view with the glasses. "Let me do the talking."

He stews but follows along, watching, unsettled, as they enter the arena and techs and other staff barely look sideways at Mike, only temporarily curious at his presence until Miz glares back at them warningly, his blue eyes cold as ice until they turn their attention back to what they'd been doing originally. "Here," he snaps, opening the door to what ends up being a private locker room assigned to him in respect of his role as Intercontinental champion. "You can stay in here, no one'll bug you."

He bustles around, dropping his bag in the corner and surprising John when he tugs the hat and glasses from his face, allowing his hair to cascade free from its confines. It's beyond weird to be back in an arena, here, now. _Leave it to Mike,_ John thinks in disbelief.

They sit down across from each other once he stops being a tidal wave of action, Mike staring blankly at him. "So what are you doing here?"

It seems silly now but Mike had flown back to LA just to spend a few hours with him on his birthday, so driving a few hours just to get here to do the same doesn't seem _as_ ridiculous. "It's your birthday, Mike. What other reason do I need?"

Another strange look, similar to the one that had been present on _John's_ birthday, flashes across Mike's face and he stares at his hands, looking unnaturally flushed. "None, I guess." He seems to be thinking through something, his fingers twitching against each other as he looks everywhere but at John.

"Mike, what's going on? You've been acting weird for awhile now." John makes a face when Miz's head shoots up, his eyes narrowing at him. "Don't look at me like that. You're just not yourself, man. You haven't been for weeks, since you returned to Raw after filming Marine: Homefront." No answer is provided and he sighs heavily. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

He shakes his head slowly, taking deep, awkward breaths. "No, John, you can't," he finally mutters tiredly. "Look, I have things to look into about what I'm doing tonight. I'll come back in a little bit, alright? _Try_ to stay out of trouble."

John nods, watching as he collects his title and a couple of other things, leaving the room. He's almost tempted to follow him, see if he can garner any kind of truth from what he witnesses, but he stays, not wanting to risk their friendship just because he's curious and a little worried. Alex had come to him awhile ago, worried about Mike's attitude, but he'd somehow just brushed it off not long after that, claiming that he'd just overreacted... which John highly doubts, overreactions were more Mike's style, sometimes even John's thing, but not Alex, not in the time that John had known the laidback younger man.

"Well, hopefully whatever it is, Mike won't get himself so far into it that he can't dig his way back out if he needs to," he sighs, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall to wait.

It's obvious early on that Mike is not thrilled with what he's provided with for the evening- an interview segment with Larry King. Even John is a little perplexed by the point of the segment, chuckling despite himself as Mike tries to force Larry and his wife to sing Happy Birthday to him, the three quickly arguing until Larry kicks Mike off of his show, calling out his real guest, Kofi Kingston.

John laughs, shaking his head as Mike antagonizes Larry's wife, being as skeevy and obnoxious as he can be until she throws a glass of water into his face. Wincing, Morrison watches on quietly as it devolves into a brawl between he and Kofi. He makes it to his feet as sounds of the fight become obvious all the way into the locker room, John somehow sensing by the noise levels alone as it nears the hallway, going to stand behind the door to wait.

As soon as he hears a loud bang on the doorframe, he forces the door open and reaches out, gripping ahold of Mike's suit jacket, dragging him into the room and forcing the door shut behind him before Kofi could regain his senses and go after him.

Mike leans against the door for a long moment, glaring at the ground, before he slams his fist viciously against the wood paneling. He's shaking, water still dripping down his face, and he barely even addresses John's presence as he grabs a towel from the adjoining bathroom and begins wiping down his face with brisk swipes of the terrycloth. "Dammit," he hisses, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to forget what just happened.

John would ordinarily be teasing him mercilessly but there's nothing more than silence, John now working on patting his suit jacket dry. He releases a tired breath before their eyes meet, blue clashing with brown as it had always done. "Do you want to go to Florida?" he suddenly blurts out, watching as Mike's face changes from annoyed and embarrassed to confused. "I booked flights for us both, red eyes. They leave in a couple of hours. It won't _exactly_ be spending your birthday with Alex and I, but as close as I could get, considering. What do you say?"

"I say that sounds pretty damn perfect," he says on a heavy exhale. "Let's go."

John grins. "You've got it, birthday boy."


	124. chapter 124

After arriving in Florida, John and Mike spend the day with Alex, helping him with rehab and just getting around his house, which gets easier by the day but is still obviously a cause of some pain to him. It sucks to watch the young man struggle but Mike's glad to be around to help, even if it's just for a few hours before he has to go back to his life, return to the WWE ring to commentate Main Event for the second week in a row. It also proves to him that there is _some_ improvement in Alex's condition since the last time he'd seen him right after the surgeries.

Being around his two best friends also helps to distract him from the humilation he's still feeling from Monday, how low he had felt after the segment with Larry King and his wife. Not that it was all AJ Lee's fault, she had no idea how it would go when she'd set aside time for it, but he can't stop almost feeling betrayed. Which makes no sense, he's simply using the girl to get what he wants from the business, but...

He catches a glimpse of her that Wednesday, lurking around in the back to oversee how things go, Booker T also hanging around, but he keeps his distance, honestly not wanting to even get into it with her here, now. Knowing if he did so, he'd probably say something he regrets.

 _She was supposed to be better than Laurinaitis,_ he thinks grimly. _Better than the Anon GM... better than all before her. She was supposed to_ help _me. What the hell happened?_

By the time the show begins, he somehow manages to put it out of his head and enjoy himself calling the Big Show vs Orton match. It's only when Kofi Kingston vs Michael McGillicutty begins that he grows more tense, keeping a close eye on the man who had been a part of his birthday humiliation. When the match concludes, he joins the West Ghana native in the ring and they exchange barbs for awhile. When Kofi challenges him to a match for the Intercontinental title next week on Main Event, he doesn't know whether to laugh or just Skullcrushing Finale him right then and there.

Unfortunately it ends with him staring up at the lights, Kofi standing proud overhead, after hitting a boom drop on him. He winces away from the visual of Kofi holding onto his title belt and struggles to his feet once his opponent is gone, disgusted with himself and the situation. Stumbling backstage, he immediately focuses on polishing his title belt and perhaps disinfecting it too, not even wanting to see one of Kofi's fingerprints on the gold plates or white leather straps.

He holds his breath as he walks by AJ, unsurprised when she looks up from the clipboard she's holding onto. "Mike-" she calls out to him.

He hesitates only briefly, turning to stare at her. "Don't. Trust me, you do _not_ want to talk to me right now. I'm not in the right mindset to even look at you." He storms off, needing a chance to clear his head, gain control of his temper before having to listen to the usual excuses from her.

She tilts her head, a sad gleam in her dark eyes as she watches him go, pausing only long enough to brush tears from her face before she turns and walks off, struggling to hold herself tall, not wanting to show weakness to the people always around looking for cracks in her wavering control.

Mike's mood isn't much better by Friday, only worsened by his being reminded every so often due to various recaps and things posted by WWE's twitter account about what had happened on Main Event, so he opts to do commentary on Smackdown during Kofi's match- against Big Show, no less. Mike smirks as he sits at the table and watches his opponent get manhandled by the much larger man, entering the ring once the match is over and standing over Kofi, title belt held high. _You think tonight was bad, just wait until Wednesday,_ he thinks viciously, sneering down at his barely responsive opponent.

Making his way to the back, he wanders the halls for a bit before leaving the arena, seeing no need to hang around. _What, and see more of Kane and Daniel Bryan arguing over their tag titles?_ He shakes his head, relieved yet again that he'd distanced himself from his former NXT rookie as quickly as he had.

He knows that he needs to think some things through- like the AJ Lee situation, and everything else going on with his career right now, but he opts instead just to go to bed, get his standard few hours of sleep before the next flight out. He's just sank into the sheets when his phone lights up the room due to a tweet from John- which ends up being a picture of him and Masters in Mexico, and he taps his finger against the screen for a moment before rolling over, closing his eyes tightly.

Truth be told, he doesn't remember a lot about Raw this week. The memories are faded, barely something he can grasp, like a bad dream slowly disappearing from his mind before he can even try to analyze it. He thinks he had another Miz TV segment, but it could be a false memory of one of the other previously horrible editions of his talk show, they all seem to end at his disadvantage... He _does_ remember feeling a sharp, intense pain between his eyes before things go dark, but other than that- nothing. When he comes to, the trainer is talking lowly to someone and there's a bright light in his eyes that only adds to his agony. He wants to turn his head but he's afraid that it'll only make him feel even worse, maybe inspire the dizziness he's feeling to turn into something much worse. He licks his lips, waiting until the buzzing in his head eases enough for him to understand what's going on around him.

Nothing gets better, his breaths coming out in desperate pants, until finally he hears a female voice nearby. Even through the unstoppable noise rattling around his skull, he recognizes it. "A...J?"

She's by his side in a second, hand resting on his arm. "I'm here, Mike. You're going to be just fine." She adjusts something on the bridge of his nose and smiles, smoothly reaching over to click the lamp nearby off, the light immediately dimming to a much more bearable level. "Alright?"

"My title," he breathes faintly, fingers twitching against his chest. She disappears from his sight for a moment before resting something heavy and cool against his hand, his fingers immediately curling around the reassuring weight. "Thank you," he sighs, eyes fluttering closed.

She remains, watching him rest for a moment, before whispering into his ear, "Mike?" When he hums, deep blue eyes opening once more, her expression softens. "Do you have someone to take you back to the hotel?"

He releases a hissed breath, grimacing. "No." Harsh truth, scarily easy to vocalize when his brain is this scrambled... "Alex is injured... John is... long gone... I'm all alone," he admits, turning his head slowly to look at her. "Maybe I'll just stay here tonight." Her lips quirk and he thinks briefly that she's going to laugh at him, his head hurting too much for him to even feel angry at the prospect.

"No, you're not," she tells him calmly. "You're not alone, and you're not staying here tonight." She looks across at the trainer and nods at him. "Let him stay here until the show is over and I wrap up some business, and I'll make sure he gets back to his room safely."

The trainer nods, resting a hand on Mike's arm to gain his attention. "While you wait," he tells him, "I want to evaluate you to make sure there's no signs of a concussion. We'll have to examine you tomorrow as well, but as long as things come back clear tonight, I'll release you into Ms. Lee's hands."

"You don't have to," he tells AJ faintly, barely noticing as the trainer prepares the things he'll need for said exam.

She smiles at him, waves it off. "Of course I do. You're one of my best superstars, I have to make sure you get back to your room safely, right?"

"I was awful to you last week," he says quietly. "For weeks, really." His eyes feeling heavier by the second, he lifts a hand and brushes against her arm until she wraps her fingers around it, holding on securely as he drifts. "I'm sorry." Her touch shifts to rest against his forehead as she warmly strokes his hair, murmuring to him so softly that he barely catches half of it.

When the trainer begins to evaluate him, she's gone and he can hear Vince distantly from a monitor in the hallway while the contract signing wraps up, Punk's new opponent being announced as Ryback. He sneers just to wince as the trainer chastises him for moving while he's putting sutures in the gash along his brow.

How exactly AJ Lee, all 100 pounds of her, is supposed to get Mike to his rental car and then to the hotel room, he's not sure, but she somehow manages it. The chilly October air wakes him up enough that he can take most of his own weight but she still remains by his side, supporting him with one of his arms wrapped around her shoulders as they walk slowly through the dark parking lot. "What about your rental?" he asks her, eyes fluttering as she eases him into the car, making sure all of him is securely in the passenger's side before shutting the door.

"One of the perks of being the boss," she says with a grin, winking at him before putting the car into drive. "One of the techs will be driving it back to the hotel. Don't worry."

He thinks if he'd been in full control of his mental capacities that _worrying_ would be exactly what he would be doing, especially with her behind the wheel of his rental, but he's in so much pain, the sutures tugging annoyingly every time he does anything from blinking to taking a deep breath, that he thinks he wouldn't even think second guess letting Hornswoggle drive, if it just meant that he'd get to lay down and make his surroundings stop spinning for five minutes.

Once they've made it through the hotel lobby and to the elevator, she smiles over at him as he continues to cling to the Intercontinental title, bracing his weight on the cool silver bar on the back wall. "You're really proud of owning that belt, aren't you?"

He nods, regretting it as his vision spots for a moment. "Ye-yeah," he mutters, relieved when she supports him once more as he wavers, the weightlessness of the elevator as it glides up through the hotel floors only adding to his disorientation. His eyes heavy with some emotion she can't figure out, he stares down at her. "What happens if this injury causes me to lose it to Kingston?"

She stays quiet, her fingers tightening around his midsection as the elevator's beeping grows louder, Miz's floor nearing. "I don't know what you mean."

"If... if I lose, will you..." He takes a deep breath, well aware that it's just the pain that's making him off-balanced, the brief fear that he'd felt when the kick had landed and he'd regained consciousness in the trainer's office that he'd been seriously injured, but he can't stop the words pouring from his mouth. "Will you begin to ignore me like Laurinaitis? Will..." He takes a breath. "Will you start to conspire against me, like the Anon GM?"

The elevator doors opening at that moment keep her from answering, her hold on him tightening as she guides him into the carpetted hallway, staying quiet as he fumbles for his room key. Taking it gently from his trembling hands, she unlocks the room and leads him inside, leaving the door open a bit, the light from the hallway guiding their path as she assists him to the bed, making sure he's safely settled in the sheets and comforter before finding the light switch, flooding the room in a soft yellow light and pushing the door shut. He's half asleep just in the short amount of time it takes her to rejoin him and she sighs, brushing her fingers through his hair once more. "It may seem like I've forgotten what you asked me to do," she tells him quietly. "But I haven't. I'll talk to the board again. I promise."

Kicking her sneakers off, she stretches out onto the bed next to him and stares at the ceiling. She's far from tired, tempted to go look at a 24/7 gas station they'd passed on their way here, but he looks so vulnerable in this moment, his skin pale around the strips from the sutures. The trainer had also asked her to keep an eye on him, explaining that even though the neurological tests he had done came back clear these things could be sneaky and he didn't want him alone. Rolling onto her side, she watches him breathe deeply for a few minutes, her lips twitching upwards fondly. "Just rest, Mike. Everything'll be ok. I promise."


	125. chapter 125

He loses. After waiting for another all-clear from the trainer on his follow up evaluation and trying his hardest to rest on Tuesday to be at the top of his game by Wednesday night, the Intercontinental title is pulled from his grasp by Kofi Kingston. It feels like a loss in the family, as stupid as it may seem. He thinks he may drown in the devastation as he wanders blankly through the halls, his shoulder feeling so naked without the title belt that had been with him for the past three months.

When Josh Mathews corners him for one of his worthless interviews, Mike can't keep the pain from his eyes or voice as he goes on about how it's akin to losing a lung or other vital organ. Even though it's only been a short period of time, it's already an itch to get the title back that he just can't quite scratch, making it known that he wants his rematch ASAP, to erase this night from his memory and replace it with his reclaiming what's rightfully his. Once Mathews leaves, the door slips open yet again and he doesn't need to look up to recognize who's standing before him now.

She sits down next to him and kicks her legs back and forth like she's swinging on a playground instead of sitting on a bench in a locker room where various WWE superstars are milling back and forth. "I'm sorry you lost," she tells him quietly. He doesn't say anything and she reaches over, undisturbed by his still clammy skin, pressing a hand to his ( _bare)_ shoulder. "Mike?" When he finally looks over at her, eyes still welling with pain and confusion, she smiles wanly at him. "I've talked to the board again."

He watches her as she talks, taking it all in quietly. When she finishes, he nods vacantly, that look still in his eyes. She sighs and rests an arm around his shoulders, pulling him towards her. They sit like that for long moments, Mike barely able to do much more than breathe and stare at the wall as the time ticks past.

As soon as he's away from her, his steps slow and methodical, he pulls his cell phone out, resting it against his forehead as the cool casing soothes his aching forehead some. Pressing 3, he dials in and listens as Alex answers, sounding careful and sympathetic in his greeting. "She can't do it," he chokes out, unable to vocalize it completely. He knows that A-Ri will understand.

"Oh, Mike," he mumbles, sounding as disappointed as Mike is feeling. "At least you tried? That's the important thing?"

He keeps quiet for long moments, staring blankly at the wall, Alex's attempts at consoling him falling on deaf ears. "Don't tell anyone about this," he finally says, voice cracking mid-sentence. "Keep it between us. I don't... don't want him finding out I failed."

"You know I won't, but Mike, I don't think he'd be mad- I think that, you know, he'd be... glad that you would go to all of this trouble for him."

Mike shakes his head, sighing loudly. "John deserves better. And if I can't get him that, then he doesn't need to know that the board is uninterested in rehiring him at this time. So please, Alex, don't say anything."

"Ok, man. I promise."

Mike had been promised a lot the last few days, none of which came true, but he knows that Alex will hold true to his word. "Thank you."

**Thursday** he spends in a haze, staring blankly at his phone, which has a picture of him, John and Alex from his birthday. He has the Intercontinental title across his lap and all three of them are grinning into the camera, and he wonders if he'll ever be that happy again. It's not just the title loss eating at him, though it's killing him on a professional level. Hearing that dreaded _no_ from AJ regarding Morrison's employment hits him on a level he hadn't foreseen, makes him want to rage and rage and never stop. He had had such high hopes, that he could get John his job back, and have his best friend back where he'd belonged but it all slipped through his fingers like water.

He leans forward and scrubs his hands through his hair, trying to breathe. "What do I do now?" Sometimes his blind focus is shattered by phone calls- Alex, and AJ and... yeah, John too. He stares at the various names flashing across his screen and breathes deeply. In. Out. When the phone goes dark once more, he rocks forward and peers at the picture that resumes filling the small space, his focus on the easy-going look on John's face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Even when he was at his lowest, unable to even get a foothold in gaining his fellow wrestlers' respect enough to earn a peaceful spot in the locker room, he'd never like _this_ much of a loser.

The next day he forces himself to function like a normal human being. He sleeps a few hours, he eats a hasty breakfast before going to the arena, and he waits for Smackdown to start. Eve is nearby, telling Slater, McIntyre and Mahal about the West Virginian's match against Brodus Clay before turning her attention to Miz. She smiles professionally at him, her eyes bleeding contempt as she walks over, adjusting her glasses. "Mike," she greets him formally. "Booker T wanted me to let you know he's decided to start the show off with another edition of Miz TV. Your guests will be Team Hell No."

He shrugs listlessly and one of her rigid eyebrows raise curiously but she says nothing, walking primly off to continue handling her business. "Just what I needed," he mumbles, stalking off to prepare for the talk show. The only worthwhile moment is when he announces that he's challenging Kofi for his rematch at Hell in a Cell before Team Hell No interrupts him. Of course it devolves, Kane and Daniel constantly arguing, until Big Show, Dolph and Vickie make their way to the ring, all of them arguing as he stands aside and throws his hands up in disbelief and disgust when Booker finally shows himself. He mocks the GM, pointing out how blatantly predictable the man is in his match making skills- just for Booker to throw him in a solo match against Orton, the other four into a tag match.

**The** general focus isn't even _on_ his match, the titantron taken over by the view inside of Alberto Del Rio's skybox that he's overseeing the match from, Ricardo Rodriguez by his side as they talk lowly about the match, looking for weaknesses in Orton's offense or defense in preparation for the match they're to have at Hell in a Cell. He tries to fuel his anger into achieving a victory but nothing comes of it, Orton quickly taking him out of the game with one of his sudden RKOs. He rolls out of the ring afterwards and listens listlessly as Orton tries to get Del Rio to come to the ring, the Mexican aristocrat refusing and claiming that their confrontation will happen when _he_ decides it to.

He laughs, remembers when he used to have that kind of control over his career, way back when he was the WWE champion. Back before people like Booker T decided when he'd do what, and how, and where and... Slapping his fist against the padding covering the concrete floor, he stumbles to his feet and to the back, ignoring everything around him. The only good thing about it being Smackdown is that AJ isn't here, and he won't have to endure her solemn, guilty stare. He knows she had tried to help him, feeling the failure possibly as much as he had, and that he shouldn't take it out on her... but it still stings. Even worse than that is the simple fact that he _has_ no way to release all of his pent up anger.

Alex is still off in Florida, rehabbing from the surgeries, and John... He closes his eyes and shakes his head, knowing that he should at least _call_ the man. He even makes it as far as pulling out his phone, staring down at the screen. At the picture that's still his wallpaper, of the three of them. Running his thumb thoughtfully over the image, he closes his eyes and hits 2 before he can second guess it. He listens blankly as it rings... rings... rings. He's about to hang up, deducing that John's out somewhere, or fast asleep, when finally it clicks. "Hello?"

He stutters and sucks in another deep breath. "Um, hey, man." He snorts at how awkward he sounds, trying to shake it off.

"Mike? What's up?" John wonders, quickly cluing into his awkwardness and proceeding carefully.

"Oh, uh, I just needed a distraction after Smackdown... so I thought you'd be more likely to not be doing much of anything between you and Alex." It's a lie, really, he just couldn't think of anything else, his mouth once more working quicker than his brain.

**To** John's credit, he knows his best friend well and only laughs it off, Mike picturing him shaking his head in exasperated fondness. "Oh, thanks," he mumbles through a chuckle. "What's been going on?" He barely gives Miz a second to answer before taking in a deep breath. "I, um, heard about your title loss. I'm sorry, man. I know how much that belt meant to you."

Mike hums slightly. "Yeah, it sucks... but you know, now I get the prestige of beating Kofi down for it and taking it back at Hell in a Cell." He releases a breath of his own before smirking balefully, wishing not for the first time that he could see his best friend. "Thanks, though."

"Is there anything else going on? You've been acting... oddly for awhile," he ventures carefully. "Alex noticed it too, but he dropped it after awhile so I thought maybe things were leveling off for you... but after how you were acting the last few times I've seen you, well." His voice lowering, he seems to not be sure where to go from here. "I just want to make sure you're doing alright."

Just that question chokes Mike up and he shakes his head, hating himself- AJ- the situation- WWE's board- for not being willing or able to do more to get John back where he belonged. "I'm sorry," he finally mumbles.

"What? Sorry for what?" He sounds even more worried now and Mike groans, knowing that he's just placed himself in a really horrible place. He can't tell John, but keeping it to himself is killing him when all he wants to do is scream at the top of his voice, go on a rampage in the Connecticut offices, and... "Mike. Talk to me or else," John warns him, "the next time I see you I'll beat it out of you."

He half-laughs, half-sniffs and rests his phone against his forehead, unable to stop thinking about that night that he had wrestled John for his last match in the WWE- he had been in denial even then, refusing to accept that John was leaving, it only smacking him upside the head when he'd been deemed the winner and John had been helped out of the arena. He had known, on some level, that this thing with AJ would more likely than not fail, but... he had wanted it so bad, believing that he could achieve it, get John his job back, have their little trio back, force his life to return to normalcy- when he was relevant as WWE champion, Alex and John both by his side and not scattered on either side of the country. He can hear John's muffled voice coming from his phone so he reluctantly returns to the conversation, understanding that he can't just leave him hanging without him starting to place phone calls to anyone willing to check on Miz. _The last thing I need is Zack Ryder on my ass or something,_ he thinks before finally spitting out, "I failed. I am so, so sorry."

**"Failed** at what? Mike, you're starting to scare me," John says, his voice so low, so soft, like he's afraid one wrong word would shatter whatever remains of his former tag partner. And hell, for all Mike knows, he might be right.

And so he talks. He tells him how the wheels had slowly begun turning when he'd returned from filming Marine: Homefront, how he'd won the Intercontinental title, and AJ had been put in as General Manager and Mike's innate ability to manipulate situations had come to the forefront yet again, his charming the girl for weeks encouraging her to go to the board and push for John to get his job back. To his credit, Morrison remains quiet through all of the story, though he does make a funny noise deep in his throat when Mike confesses his end goal had been to make the board of directors rehire him. By the time words are failing him, his brain as numb as his body feels, he falls silent and waits. Expects John to blow up at any time, but it never comes.

"You did all of that for me," he finally mutters, sounding awed and a little conflicted.

"Not that it did any good for either of us," he replies, feeling tired soul deep. He wonders if he sounds as bad as he feels, knows that it probably doesn't matter- John had always been able to read him impressively well, no matter how much bravado he tries to use. "They ended up being uninterested and I lost the Intercontinental title." He drops back against the wall, feeling the cool surface solid against his bare neck. "I hoped for too long. I..."

"You did the best you could," John says, sounding a little more himself as seconds tick by. "Mike..."

"Yeah?" he sighs, knowing that this will probably be the moment when John lays into him, lets him have it for interfering on something he might not have wanted to begin with.

"... Thank you," he says warmly, and even though the words surprise Mike, he can just imagine the look on John's face, how his eyes must be gleaming with emotions similar to the ones in his voice right now. "That you would do all of this, just to get me back in the business, well... I'm kind of floored, to be honest."

"You're my best friend," he finally mumbles, _kind of floored_ himself. He had _not_ expected this kind of reaction from the prideful man, certain that he'd be in big trouble for even considering such ridiculous measures. "What's the point of having a best friend if they're not by your side to torment at any time?" He smiles slightly, picking at the bench. "Or to be there for you when things go to hell."

There's a long pause and he wants to slap himself, take back the words that sound _way_ more accusatory than he'd ever intended. "You know if you ever really needed me, all you'd have to do is ask and I'd be there as quickly as possible, right?" Morrison finally says, a small smile flitting across Mike's face.

"Yeah, Johnny. I know. And vice versa, yeah?"

"Yeah, Mikey. I know too."

By Monday, Mike is a little more collected. Hell in a Cell is inching closer, the vibe in the backstage area reflecting it as everyone carries on with their duties, most looking unsettled or even more tense than usual. He has his eye on the prize for this Sunday but, of course, WWE has one of their little polls running about who should face Ryback and- lucky, lucky him- he wins the _honor_ , unable to wiggle out of it no matter how hard he tries, claiming he's also trying to help Ryback out before his match this Sunday, and all it gets him is that Ryback comes out _then_ and the match begins.

It seems go by in the blink of an eye and afterwards he's left aching, his whole body protesting the rough treatment he'd suffered during that match. He now understands how exactly his poor couches had felt, eyes closed as he sits in the locker room awhile later and half listens to the commentators going on and on about how AJ's just arrived with Vince McMahon. Glancing up, he catches sight of her face and thinks he knows what she's going to say. She looks devastated and reluctant as Vince helps her from the limo and leads her out to the ring.

Sure enough, after waxing sentimental on her humble beginnings in this very state, she admits that allegations had been made to the board that she was fraternizing with a superstar. His mouth goes very dry as she explains that, due to this, she has resigned as GM. Eyes growing cold and selfish, he glowers at the TV, wondering if the superstar the reports had been about were _him._ And what that could do to his career, his title match this Sunday. Getting up, he walks to the gorilla to wait for her.

With Heyman and Vickie out there taunting and belittling her, it takes awhile for her to come, his glower fixed first on Punk's associate and the new managering director of Raw as they storm past him, equally angry and disheveled. Finally she makes her way through the curtain and comes to a dead stop upon catching sight of him waiting for her. "Mike," she greets him, once more adjusting her tie anxiously.

He pushes away from the wall and circles around her, eyes hooded and thoughtful. "So fraternizing with a superstar... anyone I know?" he sneers, anger starting to boil over that they'd maybe been caught.

She waits, her fingers digging into her palm, until he's face to face with her once more. "It wasn't you, if that's what you're getting at."

He hesitates, somehow only feeling worse at this. "Oh really? How many guys have you been fraternizing with then?"

Her eyes flash as she looks up at him, not losing her nerve even a little. He's _almost_ impressed, even as she struggles to breathe normally. "Not that it's any of your business, but I had a working dinner with Cena." He looks even more angry at this, but she ignores the twitch in his jaw, choosing to explain herself in full just once so she doesn't have to think about it again and again. "He'd just had surgery and I wanted to make sure he knew that I'd do what I could when he seemed unhappy with 's claims that he'd be back in two to three weeks, so he wouldn't feel railroaded to rush a return and risk injuring himself further. After these claims, I chose to resign to try to keep his name out of it. Nothing more, nothing less."

He shrugs, still not seeming too thrilled with the prospect even though he knows now that she was only trying to be a good boss. "So I see." They stare at each other, the tension fading off into awkwardness, and he sighs. "I have to go." Giving her a once over as she tries again to adjust her clothing, he mumbles, "Sorry things played out like this for you. I'm sure you'll bounce back though, you're resilient."

She nods, looking incredibly young in the moment, her lips parting as he turns and walks away. "Mike?" she calls out. When he pauses, she slumps in on herself a little bit. "I didn't just resign for Cena." He stops and turns back around, brows knitting in confusion as she hugs herself, shuddering slightly. "I really did want to help you rehire Morrison." She licks her lips, eyes dropping to the side. "I wanted to make you happy. And when the board told me in no uncertain terms that they weren't interested, no matter how hard I'd tried to sell it to them over the last few months, I just knew... I knew they saw me as nothing more than a little girl who had no good ideas of her own."

Pieces of the puzzle fall into place all of a sudden and Mike swallows. "You resigned partially because of... because of me?"

She slowly shakes her head, eyes shining with tears. "Because I _failed_ you," she explains faintly. "I'm so sorry I couldn't make them listen to me. I really did try." She finally breaks down, covering her face with her hands, and he groans, always weak to her misery.

"Hey, hey," he says quietly, walking back up to her. "C'mon, shhh. It's ... it's not the end of the world, huh?" He wraps his arms around her and strokes her hair, relieved that now they could do this and he wouldn't have to worry _as_ much about who saw. "It's fine. I, I talked with John. I told him what I was trying to do, what the board said." He sighs, eyes crinkling with disappointment. "He seemed ok with it, I think he was more surprised than anything that I went to those lengths to try to get him back here." Her face pressed into his chest, listening as he talks, her sobs slowly fading into hitched breaths, he smiles faintly against her hair. "Everything- this whole situation with Cena, the board, all of it, it'll soon seem like just a bad dream. You'll see."

"I hope so," she says, voice muffled as she leans closer in an attempt to absorb his warmth.

"It will," he nods confidentally, tightening his hold on her. When he finally lets her go to talk to Cena, he does feel a good deal lighter. Even though it still hurts that the Morrison thing'd fallen apart on him almost from the get-go, at least now he has a definite answer. It's like a great weight off of his shoulders, leaving him clear to focus on this Sunday and regaining his Intercontinental title. _Hope you're ready, Kofi,_ he thinks viciously, reaching up to touch the stitches along his brow, reminding himself of what the West African native had done to him. _When it comes around,_ this _little cut will seem like child's play when I'm through with you._


	126. chapter 126

Wednesday night, Miz is back at commentating. He'd had his staples removed, leaving the cut red and a little sore but healing. He's relieved to look _this_ much better so soon after the injury, the image in the mirror of himself leaving him cringing every time he'd caught sight of it. The night goes as well as can be expected, even when Cole digs in a little too much that he'd lost his Intercontinental title, and all of the aftermath, including his loss to Ryback the prior Monday. _Remember the days when he was pro-Miz?_ he thinks with a careless sneer, trying to keep his temper in check.

AJ resigning from her position of GM is also talked about and Mike takes a deep breath, the pain and anger from the past week having sufficiently faded away, till he just feels bad for her and a bit guilty for his overreaction at Raw. Thankfully she hadn't seemed to mind that much; considering how she'd been treated in the past by people like Punk and Bryan, his temper had probably barely dented her already shattered self-esteem. He watches the recap, examining the oversized view of her shame spread across the titantron. _Yeah, if she's at Raw Monday, I definitely need to apologize again. Or something... At least I have a few days to think._

His mood continues its upswing when, while he's driving from the arena to the hotel, his phone begins lighting up repeatedly. Curious, he waits until he's at a stop light and checks it, unsurprised and a little humored to find Alex tweeting repeatedly is the cause of his phone flashing like a beacon in the night. He skims through the few tweets, stopping on the second one with a small smile on his lips, Alex announcing that he's about done with rehab and will be back where he belongs soon. "Well, finally," he whispers, before noticing the light has turned green. Laying the phone down, he turns his focus back to the road, still unable to stop smiling. He might not have both of his friends back, but at least Alex will be by his side, to help keep his temper in check and, hopefully, celebrate his future Intercontinental title reclamation.

After spending Thursday as low key as possible, trying to refocus himself on regaining his title Sunday, he walks into Smackdown Friday just to be greeted by Teddy Long. "Playa," he says before Miz can walk past him, the most must see superstar's face scrunching up in annoyance as he turns slowly to face the senior consultant to the GM. "Booker T wanted me to let you know that you're going to wrestle Yoshi Tatsu later tonight."

He almost wants to laugh, unable to keep the sneer from his face. "And?" he asks. When nothing else comes, Teddy staring back at him with a confused look in his dark eyes, he shrugs and continues along his way. _Yoshi Tatsu? Really... really?_ Of course, the match is laughably easy- even the minor headache he's still suffering from now and again thanks to the healing cut above his brow- the match against Ryback not having helped it in the slightest- can't distract him enough for Tatsu to get the upper hand. Once he's pinned the younger man, he leans against the ropes and looks out over the audience, ego on display. _This will be Kofi on Sunday, the Intercontinental title will return_ home.

Dropping back to the mat, his self-confidence only grows as he returns to the back, eyes trained straight ahead as he passes various other competitors hanging around, whispering and gawking as he goes. He ignores them all, grabbing his things as soon as he's back in the locker room and leaving the arena. After all, there is no reason for him to stay.

He's just re-entered his hotel room, still depressingly empty, when his phone rings. He sighs and fishes it out of his jeans pocket, answering it without looking. After all, it can only be one of two people. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mike."

"Hey, Alex," he responds softly, dropping his bags before walking out onto the balcony overlooking the hotel parking lot. "How's it goin'?"

"Pretty well." His smile is obvious even by just the tone of his voice and Mike finds himself smiling too. "So, heard you're gonna be in another movie, huh?"

Mike chuckles, pressing a thumb below his injury on the bridge of his nose. "Oh, they finally announced that, huh?"

"Yeah." He laughs along with his friend before falling sober. "So, you're really ok, right? I know that this whole AJ thing and the Morrison stuff hit you hard..."

Mike sighs, realizing that his friend is still unaware of what had happened after that. "John and I talked. I told him," he admits lowly.

After a brief silence, Alex clears his throat. "How did he react?"

"Better than I expected. I think he was mostly shocked, but like you said... he was surprised in a good way that I'd go so far to try to get his job back." He smirks. "This is where you tell me 'told you so'."

"Maybe later. So see any interesting tweets lately?" Alex hints after a few moments.

Miz laughs. "So subtle, A-Ri. I think I read that someone's rehab is ending soon. But I could be wrong, you know how busy I've been lately." He can hear Alex's eyes rolling from here. "But seriously, I'm glad for you. It'll be good to have you back."

"I can't wait to be back," he says honestly. "You never know how much you're going to miss something until it's gone, huh?"

Mike smiles mirthlessly, nodding faintly. That cliche could be used towards him and so very many things he hadn't realized were important to him until it'd been too late, the pure amount of time he spent taking things for granted smacking him upside the skull. "Yeah, that's for damn sure, Alex. For damn sure."

Sunday, he tries. He really, really does, but the slight momentum he'd held on Friday doesn't last. Of course Yoshi Tatsu isn't on the same level as Kofi, even Miz has to admit that. So he loses, his best chance at getting his Intercontinental title back slipping through his fingers. He tries to hold it together, breathe in and out and...

But oh God, it's hard. He'd spent so long on top of the world, thinking that he'd get John his job back, Alex would come back from rehab, and his Intercontinental title run would last, and last, and last, and...

But none of that happens: now he's alone and titleless, and on top of that, AJ has been replaced by Vickie Guerrero. He's glad for her when she's rehired as a diva on Monday, though it's obvious that Vickie has her own agenda with that one. He's even happier when he doesn't have a match that night, relieved for a small breather, a chance to get his head back on straight... instead he opts to commentate during Kingston vs Cesaro, unsurprised when the current Intercontinental champion can't keep his focus on the match, coming over to aggravate Miz... It's not until the match spills out to the outside and Kofi sends Cesaro into Mike's lap that things just stop, he can't breathe or think, barely stand. Next thing he knows, he blinks and he's in the ring, attacking Kofi and making the match go by DQ.

He and Antonio try working together and succeed for awhile, but then his former tag partner runs down and saves Kofi. Seeing Truth for the first time in weeks brings back uncomfortable memories for him. He glowers over at him and shakes his head, standing on the outside with the US champion. He just knows if Teddy Long was around this would become a tag match, but he figures that there'll be plenty of time for that on some other show.

He keeps a distracted eye on the rest of the show, watching as AJ wins, then loses, against Beth Phoenix, and he feels bad for her but something tells him his own night isn't over, the Survivor Series team matches being announced soon. _If they have any sense,_ he thinks, _they'll use the Miz. Hell, if not me, then who?_

Sure enough, his name is the first Paul Heyman announces and Miz gleefully joins Team Punk, trying not to roll his eyes too hard as first Del Rio, and then Rhodes Scholars, are announced as the other three members of Team Punk.

After hearing who else would be on Team Foley, Miz feels even more confident but it goes by the wayside, with the rest of his tag partners' expectations, when Ryback runs down and assists Team Foley in just laying them all out, trashing them.

"No," Mike grunts as he lays outside of the ring, struggling to breathe. "I can't lose another one. I _won't..."_ He stumbles back to the hallways leading to the locker rooms and slumps down against a trunk, scrubbing his hands through his hair. He's about to pull himself together and move when a hand rests on his lower back, the touch familiar and comforting.

He looks up to find AJ smiling slightly at him. "Are you alright?" she asks lowly.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He turns to face her, leaning against the trunk. "How are you? Saw you got your job as diva back."

She rubs at her neck and he thinks she's probably still sore after that attack from the now-fired Beth Phoenix. "I'm ok," she hedges. "Just glad to be able to compete again. As much as... I enjoyed being the boss..." Her dark eyes drift as she thinks about the past few months. "I missed wrestling a lot. It feels good to return to what I really know."

He smiles, understanding exactly what she means. In the time that he'd spent filming Marine: Homefront in Canada, his hunger to return to competition had been like a raw ache. "I'm happy for you."

Her eyes brighten. "Thank you."

As she ducks her head, brushing some loose strands of hair from her eyes, he watches her. Even though she had failed at getting him what he wanted, he finds that her company isn't that bad. He's not sure what exactly they are, acquaintences or friends or what... but for now he's just glad to not be completely alone in this business. Figures she has to feel the same, especially since Cena'd made it clear there was nothing between them. "Hey," he suggests on a lark. "Why don't we go get a drink?"

She looks surprised, blinking slowly, before nodding. "Sure, Mike, I'd like that."

He nods back, pushing away from the trunk to walk alongside her to the exit... and as her small hand reaches out and curls around his as they go, he looks down briefly but doesn't shake himself loose, even squeezing her fingers slightly.


	127. Dead of Night

Mike "The Miz" Mizanin sighs, shaking his head. There's nothing more widespread than the rumor mill of a WWE locker room. One person says one thing, another hears it a certain way- most of the time _wrong, wrong,_ wrong!-, and before long the whole arena is whispering about something that, perhaps, has a ten percent chance of even being close to correct. That commercial for Raw 1000 which was a big game of telephone basically wasn't all that far from the truth, all of the wrestlers falling victim to it at one time or another. This week's rumor was that something huge was to be announced for Halloween, some kind of televised special- _perhaps to air on the WWE Network, if that ever gets off the ground. Yeah, right._ The rumor only picks up speed when twenty Superstars are urged to meet up in the main locker room and wait for an announcement.

"This is ridiculous," Mike grumbles to Alex Riley, looking around at all of the wrestlers milling around, some looking excited, some looking anxious. "How long are we supposed to wait to see what this so-called big announcement is?"

Alex is just about to answer when there's a faint knock on the door, AJ Lee skipping inside. "Good," she says, voice bright and cheerful as she smiles around at her talent. "You're all here." Even Mike falls quiet, forcing down all surliness, as she stares at him, her smile not wavering once. "I've thought long and hard about all of this- and seeing that Halloween is my favorite holiday, and I know it's quite a few other people's favorite as well, I thought we should do something special to honor the holiday."

The buzz only grows as Mike looks around at his fellow competitors, Hunico and Camacho nearby, mumbling quietly amongst themselves. Ricardo Rodriguez, of course, has Alberto's ear, and Curt Hawkins and Tyler Reks are probably already discussing their costumes or something ridiculous like that. Alex tilts his head, also looking around. "What do you think she's got planned?"

Mike shrugs. "Who knows." He had been getting closer to her for a few months by now, his ultimate plan- to get Morrison his job back- on the forefront of all of his actions, a little seed of an idea he had had back when he had first returned and was put in an intergender tag match against her, her distracting him costing him and Eve Torres the match in the end, just for her to be made GM of Raw a short while later. He had never expected it to last _this_ long, however.

She continues smiling at him before turning to face the other men scattered around the room. "I have conferred with the Board of Directors, and they have agreed and worked alongside me so that at the end of the month, this Halloween, we will be hosted by a hotel in Charlotte, North Carolina. "

More whispers, more gossip, and finally Mike speaks up, tired of the confusion and general uncertainty. "What are we going to be doing there? Sleepovers? Maybe we can all do each other's nails?" he snarks, making sure to smirk charmingly at her to take the edge off of his words, keep her calm and on his side.

"No, Miz, nothing like that," she says sweetly. "You all will be competing, of course. There are twenty rooms in this hotel; you all have to fight your way through each one, until you arrive at the hotel roof. Whoever does so will be rewarded handsomely at the top."

The whispers around them grow even louder, some men sneering at the prospect of what she's describing and others honestly intrigued by the prospect of a _handsome reward._ Miz watches her for a moment, shaking his head slightly. "That's kind of crazy," Alex mumbles to him once he's sure AJ isn't paying any attention to them.

"That's AJ," he responds grimly, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

The smile on her face doesn't waver as she takes in the differing responses of her talent, clapping her hands together to get their attentions. "Alright, everyone! It's time to get ready for the evening's Raw. I'll see you all later." Skipping like a girl twenty years younger than she really is, she leaves the room as exurberantly as she'd entered.

Mike sighs, wondering why exactly he had to get himself involved with her. _John, the things I get wrapped up in because of you._

Weeks pass, the various superstars looking ahead to what promises to be the strangest, most intriguing challenge of their careers. Between live events, Raw, and Smackdown, they all end up converging many times, some of them content to just talk about the upcoming Halloween, but others use it as another way to further their agendas in the business. Alberto Del Rio hypothesizes one Monday that each reward will be carefully selected for each individual superstar, and from that point on Miz can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, upon winning, _his_ prize would be Morrison getting his job back, like he had been desperate to have happen for months now.

By the time it's finally Halloween, even those who had been unimpressed to outright angry over the idea seems to have come around to the prospects, a kind of tense excitement in the air as the twenty men who had been selected by AJ Lee travel by bus to the hotel selected for them. Raw that week had been held in Charlotte, North Carolina, so it had made sense for them all just to remain in town until this, so they then could travel on to the next place for Superstars or Smackdown, wherever their next matches were to be held.

Mike, sitting next to Alex, looks over his shoulder at those sitting on the bus behind them. It's a grey, rainy day- perfect for something ridiculous like this being held on the most _haunted_ day of the year- and he can't see too far but he can list off all invited to this thing in his sleep, having spent hours upon hours pondering, scoping, researching what all he might need to do to achieve victory. There's no proof that what Del Rio had said has any chance of being possible, but if it just happens to come true, well... Mike can't let the opprotunity slip through his fingers. Not after _this_ long. He wonders if, at the end of this, he will merely remember this bus trip as the light at the end of the tunnel- his best friend gaining his job back, and...

But, no, he can't get ahead of himself. For now... Well. He takes a deep breath, trying to refocus. Yeah. So. Daniel Bryan, Kane, Alberto Del Rio, Ricardo Rodriguez, Santino Marella, Zack Ryder, Dolph Ziggler, Cody Rhodes, Heath Slater, Wade Barrett, Ted DiBiase Jr, Randy Orton, Hunico, Camacho, Tyler Reks, Curt Hawkins, Epico and Primo Colon all fill the seats behind them. Eighteen vastly different superstars, all with a multitude of weaknesses and strengths, that he will have to destroy completely in this challenge. _Totally manageable._ He sighs.

"You alright?" Alex asks, glancing over at him.

"Sure, why wouldn't I be?" he responds, smirk bitter and tight on his face, tone sarcastic. "I'm gonna be stuck in a hotel with eighteen of my favorite people overnight while we fight for some mysterious prize! I'm... AWEEEEEEEESOME!" Alex laughs a little bit at the word that now just slips out that way automatically from his former NXT pro now. "At least you're here, it might not be completely unbearable," he mumbles, wondering briefly what exactly Alex's reward would be _if_ he somehow won. Wonders if the kid had pondered the exact same thing through the weeks, knows he probably has. Those in this business are the most competitive, desperate for a chance to prove themself, grab that brass ring. If he didn't care, he wouldn't have made it _this_ far.

When the bus finally pulls to a stop in front of a large building, Mike looks out, counting. Based on window placements, there appears to be five floors, windows dark and omnious in the gloom. He hears Alex swallow thickly and looks over, nudging his friend. "Frightened, Alex?"

A-Ri rolls his eyes, huffing slightly. "No! Look at the name of the hotel."

Mike stares, grimacing. "You have _got_ to be kidding me." Scattered across the front of the building lies the words _Infernal Palace,_ words dark and foreboding in the shadows of the light washing across it from below. "Dammit." They exchange wary glances before joining the line to get off of the bus, no one really in a hurry to see inside now. There's a strange kind of aura about the place that even Mike can't deny, shivering as he drops down from the bottom step, hitting the ground before the tall building. _Creepy damn place,_ he thinks grimly, shouldering his tote bag as the driver digs out their various bags and things.

Alex joins him a moment later, his own bag in hand. "Do you feel that? Kind of... cold and... and... I don't even know how to describe it?"

Mike nods shortly, his narrowed blue eyes locked on the building. "Yeah, I do," he mumbles, feeling perturbed and... somehow lonely, despite the crowd of his fellow superstars around him. Like a cold finger is creeping down his spine, he shudders. "Come on, kid. Let's get this show on the road, huh?" He tries to put on a brave face, despite filled with trepidation: IF it feels this bad outside, how in God's name are they supposed to survive _inside_ for hours while competing for some mystery prize? Not for the first time or last, he hates that AJ has the level of power that she does to force them all into stupid stuff like this. _My life has become a crappy horror flick,_ he sighs, pushing the door open and holding it for the others to file in before slipping inside too.

The door clicking shut behind them sounds like a death sentence echoing through the empty hallway.

After dropping their bags around the front desk, they all stand awkwardly, taking in the earthy shades of green and brown all over everything, cream borders accentuating everything. The furniture looks old, the carpet beneath their feet well-worn and maybe a little musky-smelling, the empty front desk made of varnished, cherry wood. "This is charming," he says sarcastically, making a face at Alex as he laughs at him. "Seriously, what are we supposed to do? Start fighting here?"

Alex has just shrugged when a referee walks into the room, peering at them briefly before placing a laptop down on a bureau nearby. A video takes over the screen, AJ Lee's vissage appearing on it. She looks like she's standing outside, her hair whipping this way and that in the wind. As he continues to fiddle with the device, AJ's voice greets them. "Hello, everyone," she says as the man walks to the side so they can see their General Manager. "Can you all hear me alright?" She pauses until finally there's a chorus of _yesses_ , causing her to beam. "Great! So let's get started, hmm? To the right of the elevators is a hallway full of rooms. We have marked the doors you are assigned to- there are two on this floor, and four on subsequent floors." She tilts her head as the wrestlers mumble to themselves, some standing close enough looking to the side at the hallway she had mentioned, getting their first glimpse of what is to come. Mike is curious but remains by the door, his arms crossed grimly over his chest as he waits for her to continue.

"The last room fought in will be the penthouse," she explains, seemingly unaffected by the slow, steady rain that is currently drenching her dark brown hair and clothes. "There will be two of you entering there, but only one will exit. Whoever survives will have a straight shot onto the roof, where I am waiting for you. You will then learn what your prize is to be."

Alex makes a face, shifting next to Miz. "Is she going to remain up there the whole time we're going from room to room?" he mumbles, eyes wide.

"It wouldn't surprise me." They exchange glances, both disconcerted by their careers being dictated by such a weird, unpredictable girl.

All eyes turn back to her as she speaks again. "One last thing: Fighting can only be done _in_ the rooms. If anyone gets out of line in the hallways or stairwells, they will forfeit their place in the contest. Begin!"

The referee holds an arm out towards the hallway, waiting patiently as the twenty men stream past him into the room with a large 1 on its door. Mike and Alex are the last two inside, both jumping a little as the door squeaks shut behind them, another echo that compounds in the quiet space around them all, adding to the unsettling tension in the room. "I hate that sound," Mike mumbles, stepping away from Alex just enough to keep his eye on everyone. They all stand there, uncertain what to do. It's a hotel room like many others they'd all seen in the past- a bed, desk, couch, and TV, with a view outside into the parking lot, closet to the side and... not much else.

As they all try to gain their bearings in this strange setting for a match of sorts, Mike examines them all, taking in their expressions. If anything, this kind of setting would be most beneficial to Wade Barrett, considering he spent years all out brawling in plain clothes, but Mike puts that out of his head, relieved to find that most of them look as conflicted and uncertain as he's feeling- there are no ropes here for the highfliers to show off their flashiest moves, no ring aprons to go vaulting off of. Nothing but furniture to crash into, decorations to use as weapons, walls to collapse against. It's going to take a lot of getting used to in a very short amount of time if any of them want to survive past this first room. And, although none of them are sure _what_ exactly they're competing for, it's obvious just by looking that they _all_ want to do just that.

Things start quickly, Heath Slater dashing after Zack Ryder and punching him solidly in the jaw, the sea of humanity slowly dispersing as guys pick opponents and begin brawling, Mike going right after Ted DiBiase while Alex takes on an approaching Dolph Ziggler. It becomes hard to keep track of anything that's not directly in front of him as he punches Ted and kicks him, the third generation superstar gasping and struggling to get the upperhand, until Mike roughly slams him onto the bed, the momentum sending him dropping over the other side, where he doesn't move at all.

Turning sharply, the Intercontinental champion examines the room with narrowed eyes, taking in how Ricardo and Del Rio are holed up in a corner, Ricardo shamelessly clinging to Alberto's sleeve as they murmur to each other, watching the ensuing war raging before them and slipping out of reach whenever any particular brawl gets too close to them, the Mexican aristocrat's grip on his ring announcer's tux tight as he ensures that the younger man keeps up with him. Miz is about to pick his way through the room and take his frustrations out on the two men when there's a loud, vibrating _thud_ across the room and almost all of them look up in time to see Camacho slam Orton into the door, dazing the Viper. The large man grabs a downed Hunico- showing visible signs of Orton's assault that had sent Camacho to his rescue, rambling loudly in Spanish before knocking on the hotel door which is pulled open, Camacho responding by pushing his friend through it before following him. As soon as they're gone, the door is shut securely by the waiting referee, everyone pausing in the melee to look at each other.

 _So_ that _is how it's done,_ Mike thinks, a little disgusted and amused by just how simple escaping this room truly will be. "Well, it's easier than getting tossed over a top rope, I suppose." Spinning around, he clocks an advancing Santino Marella in the throat, stepping over him as he chokes and struggles. Unfortunately his original target is now across the room, Del Rio's focus on Orton as Ricardo holds him back for him, their plan going awry as Orton snags him around the neck and slings him over his shoulder into Alberto, sending them into the opposing wall. Hunico and Camacho advancing had seemingly woke everyone up, the fighting much more concise and nonstop now.

He's stopped by both Primo and Epico, a solid drop kick sending him back against the desk, where he grimaces, holding his side. They dive at him but he steps aside at the last minute, both men crashing into the desk, which promptly collapses under their weight, leaving them in a heap of wood and bruises. _Our first casualty,_ he thinks almost mockingly. _Well, I'm definitely not paying for it._ Storming away once more, he grabs a woozy looking Daniel Bryan, slamming him face first into the wall nearest before grabbing Alex under the arm, dragging him away from the madness and towards the door.

"Mike?" he asks, sounding breathless and a lot out of it. "What- what are you doing?"

" _We_ are getting out of here," he tells him. "Let the riffraff kill themselves, we can take the opportunity to recoup outside and prepare for the next room." Ignoring how Alex almost seems ready to argue with him, Mike reaches for the door, just to suddenly be grabbed by the hair and dragged back, Alex slowly turning to watch as Tyler Reks holds him in a chokehold, snarling down at him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demands, shaking him slightly. Mike's about to pass out when there's a flash of light reflecting somehow in front of his vision, a sound of shattering glass close to his head and Reks drops like a heavy weight, releasing Mike. He gasps and sputters, choking, as Alex reaches for him, supports him.

"Careful!" he exclaims, keeping him off of the floor as best as he can. "There's glass all over the place." At Mike's curious glance, Alex grins sheepishly. "Used a vase, man. He went down like that." He snaps his fingers before pushing his former mentor towards the door. "You're right, let's get out of here." Alex knocks this time and follows Mike outside, grinning as they join Camacho and Hunico, leaving the sixteen others to rage behind them. Once the door is closed tightly, they line up in the hallway next to the other two men, staring at them in distrust as the amount of people outside slowly grows, Barrett and Curt Hawkins following, pulling along a still disoriented Reks.

Kane follows shortly afterwards, a bloodhungry smirk residing under his mask. The seven other men avoid him, looking away as Heath and Zack somehow manage to brawl out of the room, exchanging blows and insults until an impatient Wade intercedes, glaring at them both as he separates them forcefully, sending Zack back towards where Mike and Alex are at and away from his former teammate. Somehow, Epico and Primo gets out next, Miz watching them impassively as they glare at him, obviously still stinging from what he'd done to them. He snickers slightly as they pass, Alex looking on in confusion.

Daniel Bryan stumbles out next, mumbling viciously "no, no, no!" under his breath as he glares at each and every one of them, mumbling to himself as he stops short, staring up at Kane before standing huffily next to him, ignoring the Devil's Favorite Demon when he smirks down at him. Ricardo and Del Rio follow next, Alberto dragging the breathless ring announcer along with him as their loud Spanish complaints fill the hallway, Miz rubbing his temples when the volume in the small area grows with each passing second, tag teams and enemies alike content to pass the time arguing or discussing what to do in the next room.

Finally the door opens yet again and Orton throws Dolph out, smirking viciously as he crashes face first into the opposing wall, the line of wrestlers slipping aside so he doesn't crash directly into them. The Viper then walks out calmly as if he hadn't just spent the last half an hour fighting his way out of a room with 20 other men struggling to do the same. He saunters over to Dolph and pulls him up by his hair, snarling at him. "This ain't over, showoff," he declares before releasing him roughly and going to stand elsewhere in the line.

"Who's left?" Mike mutters, listening as struggling, much more muted, but still audible, comes from the room. He rubs his throat as Alex looks around at the people around him.

"I think Santino, Rhodes and Ted DiBiase."

"Fantastic," he sighs, crossing his arms mulishly over his chest. _This prize better be damn good. Like, a million dollars, or unlimited title opportunities or..._

His thoughts are interrupted when the door opens once more and Ted and Cody tumble out, a ball of flailing fists and legs as the two fight into the same wall that Dolph still rests against, the angry man pushing them off of him so roughly that they almost end up rolling back into the room before the referee can shut the door on a groggily yelling Santino, leaving him inside.

Mike sighs. "So that's it? Onto the next room?"

The referee holds a hand up, muttering into his headset, before turning to face the line of incensed, anxious men before him. "Follow me." There's some minor pushing and bickering but, AJ's words first and foremost in their minds, they stay on their best behavior as they follow the man in the striped shirt through the darkened hallway.

"This is kind of creepy," Alex mutters.

"It's Halloween, we're in a hotel called the Infernal Palace. Of course it's creepy," Mike responds. "Just keep reminding yourself that there's no squirrels here and you'll be fine." He chuckles as Alex huffs at him.

Finally they reach the room, the door held open for them as they file inside. Unlike the room prior, this one only has a small set of windows side by side and a few of them take a minute to look outside at the gloomy evening stretching out before the hotel, adding to the eerie feeling of the room. Unlike the first room, it's not decked out like a traditional hotel room. If anything, this looks more like a conference room: spacious floors, a long table in the middle of the room, plush chairs scattered around and... nothing else.

Mike exchanges an uncertain glance with Alex, who shrugs as they take it all in. "Well, then." They stand aside as the rest of the competitors trail in behind them, taking it all in with equally disquieted expressions on their faces. A few of them jump when the door is slammed shut behind them, Mike _definitely_ not one of them. Not at all. Ahem. He swats Alex before he can laugh at him and turns to face the rest of the room.

Ricardo, Alberto, Epico, Primo, Hunico and Camacho- Miz figures they may as well just be called The Os, but then his mind starts going in weird places so he stops that train of thought quickly- are all clustered together, whispering and probably conspiring together. Finally people start moving as Daniel, Kane, Reks and Hawkins all go after Orton, Hawkins getting slung into the wall for his trouble before the other three overwhelm him. Hawkins rejoins the fight a second later, the four of them sending Orton into the middle of the room, where Daniel hits off a rough enzuigiri to the side of his head that drops Orton to his knees, just for Tyler to clothesline him as soon as he's back up.

Dolph and Heath, oddly enough, are working together against Zack and Ted, alternating between taking the two on but the instant that they start to rally, the redhead backs off. "Hey!" Dolph yells at him when he leaves him high and dry, running off to go after a nearby Epico.

Mike is laughing at the stupidity before him when he feels someone poke him on the back. He swings first, asks questions later, which he's glad for later when it ends up being Cody, trying to sneak a Cross Rhodes on him as soon as he'd turned around. Cody falls hard into the wall behind him and Mike kicks him, grabbing him by the arm and slinging him once more into the wall. "You tryin' something, huh?" he snaps, holding an elbow to his throat. "Not gonna fly, sor-ry," he singsongs, smirking as Cody glares back at him, incensed.

His attention, however, is divided when he hears someone impact with the wall on the other side of the door and looks over to find Alex slouched near the light switch, gasping and twitching in pain. Before he could peel himself off, there's a black blur as Ricardo Rodriguez pulls him away and pins his arms to his back, Alberto right there, punching and insulting the former NXT rookie between each blow. He pushes Cody to the side and takes off, tackling Del Rio off of the younger man, who regains composure fast enough to get some space and elbow Ricardo harshly in the face. The ring announcer is like an octopus, however, holding on tightly to Alex, and it takes another elbow (this one pretty much dead on to the throat) to make him release, Alex stumbling off as Ricardo collapses to the floor, hands scrabbling at his throat as he struggles to catch a breath.

As soon as he's clear, Mike pushes Alberto roughly towards Ricardo and grabs Alex, dragging him away from the snarling Mexican. "Are you ok?!" he demands, fingers digging into Alex's neck as he guides him into the middle of the room, away from all of the fighting.

"Yeah," he grunts. "They just overwhelmed me. I'm alright." Mike nods, sighing in relief, as they take a minute to regroup, relax a little and take in what's going on around them. Everyone is fighting close to the walls, which leaves the middle of the room clear for them to stand around the table and stare. Del Rio is still near Ricardo, waiting for him to regain his own composure, while Camacho and Hunico are working over Reks and Hawkins. Daniel and Kane are actually working together against Epico and Primo and- Mike looks up in time to see Wade get the upperhand and slam Orton into the wall next to Cody before sauntering over to the door and exiting, cool as can be.

Mike scoffs and, noticing movement out of the corner of his eye, pushing Alex aside in time for both of them to sidestep a rushing Heath who runs face first into the opposing wall, groaning as he clutches his face. "AAGH I'm gonna get you for that!" he yells, turning back around and trying again, just for Mike to simply clock him right in the jaw, sending him again to the floor, where he stays for now. They exchange glances, Mike huffing before he pushes Alex yet again into the melee, joining him as they target, individually, Zack Ryder and Dolph Ziggler. They're all in the middle of their own physical altercations when the darkening room is lit up, the door opening to reveal a light on in the hallway.

"HEY!" Cody yells, scrambling for the door and failing to stop Ted DiBiase from escaping as it's slammed almost on his fingers, the young man inching away just in the nick of time, eyes wide in his pale face. "Son of a bitch!"

Miz smirks at his angry yell as he continues on Zack, punching and kicking the man until he somehow gets his second wind, volleying back with punches until they both stumble away from the other, Ryder getting enough distance to run forward once more, cracking Mike in the throat with a clothesline that leaves him on the floor, gasping. He's the next out of the room, Miz sneering at the door as it slips shut once more. Slamming his hand against the carpetted floor, he lunges to his feet and grabs Alex by the collar, punching Dolph when he tries to come forward once more. When the Show Off hits the table and just stays there, winded and sweaty, he pushes Alex towards the door, intending on making another hasty exit.

They're stopped halfway there, however, by Daniel Bryan and Kane, who sneer at them in their own, deranged ways. Mike glares back at Kane, trying not to show how intimidated he truly is, Alex next to him staring Daniel down. The former proteges of Miz have no love lost, to be honest, both having competed against each other fairly often back when Alex was Miz's right hand man. They both go in swinging, Alex taking Daniel by surprise. Unfortunately, Miz isn't as lucky and his fist gets caught mid-swing by Kane, who grabs him by the neck and throws him into the opposing wall, hitting a few choice punches along his jaw and chest.

He's about to black out, the Devil's Favorite Demon's rampage just a little too much even for him, when something slams into Kane's back, throwing him forward into Mike, who slumps down to the ground as Kane turns to yell at an off-balanced Daniel. As the tag team champions fall into a screaming match, Alex ducks around them and grabs Mike by the shirt, pulling him up and to the door. Through the haze, Mike keeps a tight hold on Alex's arm so his forward motion keeps the younger man with him, the two of them slamming against the door. As the referee opens it for them, they stagger out and hit the wall, both panting for breath. "Dammit," Mike groans, rubbing at his face. "This is going to be a long night."

"We've only made it through two rooms," Alex realizes with a grimace. "If there are nineteen of us to be eliminated, then... Damn."

"Seventeen more rooms, not counting the penthouse," Mike mumbles, hating Alex's math as much as he does, if not more. "Enjoy the break while you can, then." Alex nods and they stand back and watch as their competition trickle out of the room: Primo and Epico support each other out first, even just the short time that the door is left open enough to let Kane and Daniel's unending arguing echo out into the hallway. "CLOSE THE DOOR!" he finally snaps at the referee, despite the man already being in the process of doing so. He ignores the glares leveled his way, crossing his arms over his chest, visibly bored with waiting.

Unfortunately, Daniel, Kane, Del Rio and Ricardo are the next four to escape, Daniel and Alberto locked up in a fierce power struggle as Ricardo is clinging to the much larger Kane's back, trying to keep him from going after Del Rio. As soon as they're through, two things happen simultaneously- Daniel trips and falls, accidentally snagging Alberto's ankle and sending him face first into the wall and Kane gets ahold of the squirming Mexican on his back, sending him over his shoulder onto the unforgiving hallway floor. Everyone winces as he lands hard close to Alberto, immediately rolling away and grabbing at his back. Kane is given all of the space he needs as he storms down the hall, Daniel oblivious to the other wrestlers inching away from them as he follows him down, yelling at him the whole way as he argues back with him as if the torment they'd just rained down upon the two men still laying at Mike's feet hadn't even happened.

They're still down there, Alberto trying to collect himself and get to his feet, nudging Ricardo now and again, speaking lowly in Spanish, as others trickle out of the room. Dolph, Orton, Heath and Hawkins and Tyler all stumble over and around them, most of them barely bothered when Del Rio snaps at them crudely, kicking at them when they get too close to either he or a still struggling Ricardo. It's down to three in the room, Rhodes, Hunico and Camacho, when there's another door-rattling thud that the ref responds to, stepping back as all three of them struggle to make their escape out of the room.

Mike can't help but smirk as the former Intercontinental champion struggles against the two, Camacho's large hand falling on his back and pulling him backwards, viciously slinging Cody back into the room as he and Hunico rush over the doorway, safely landing in the hallway. As the door is slammed shut once more on him, he seems to smack right into it, the frame rattling once more before the youngest Rhodes' voice pierces through the barrier keeping him from continuing on. "NOOOO!"

"Well, you have to give it to them," he comments to Alex as they gingerly pass over Ricardo on their way to the next room, the referee leaning down by him to check if he can continue, Alberto watching on with a grimace as he stammers out an affirmative. "They're definitely keeping this interesting."

It takes a few minutes longer for this room to begin because they all have to venture up stairs, the next room marked to compete in being on the second floor. Everyone is tense, keeping an eye out for anyone to randomly attack, but the stairwell is dark and small and no one is stupid enough, thankfully, all eighteen of them making their way safely up to the landing, where a new referee is waiting to lead them to the third room.

As soon as they're all inside, the door is yet again closed, allowing them a few moments to take in the room before they begin. It's another regular hotel room, with a cabinet and bed, desk and chairs, and... this one even has a mini-fridge. _Yeah, this seems safe,_ Mike thinks with a grimace. Alex seems to share his thoughts, keeping close to him as they wait for the others to start _something_ , his fingers digging into the sleeve of his shirt.

With each room, tension grows until it becomes difficult to know what to do next, where to move. Everyone is hyper-vigilant, waiting for the first move. It finally comes when Dolph lunges forward and pushes Zack into Kane, who was currently yelling with Daniel, of course. The large man, still twitching from his argument, spins around and catches Zack roughly under the jaw, Mike rolling his eyes as he catches sight of Dolph slipping away to safety as his rival drops hard to the floor, writhing for a moment before Daniel catches Ted with a solid punch of his own, keeping him from taking Kane by surprise. As the tag team champions have one of their brief moments of teamwork, Mike and Alex wade in, targetting Hunico and Camacho.

Circumstances keep them from escaping this room early, every time one of them try to make it to the door barricaded by this competitor or that. Alex even is starting to look frustrated when Mike roughly knees Barrett in the back, trying anything to get through. The room looks less full, like others have escaped while they'd been waylaid by various people, but Alex can't suss out who all's gone. Finally he hits a rough clothesline on Wade as Mike attacks his knees, toppling the vicious Brit so they can move around him. The path to the door is clear now- or so they think, until Hunico and Camacho get in their way, the taller of the two blocking the door so they can't notify the ref on the other side to let them out.

Miz grits his teeth, not in the mood for this. "Move," he snaps at Hunico, punching him roughly. The cholo falls back but spins around, clocking Alex before elbowing an advancing Miz right in the jaw, sending both of them off-balanced. He grabs Camacho and the two escape the room, smirking at the two floundering men as the door is shut between them.

"Oh my God," Alex grimaces, trying to hold them both upright as Mike collects himself, still reeling from the ridiculous strength behind Hunico's punch. "That did _not_ just happen."

"Come on," Miz snaps, pushing him towards the door. A few knocks later and the referee is back, opening it for them and watching, perplexed, as they stumble through, glowering at the line of superstars there ahead of them. "Dammit."

"Luckily it's not a race," Alex grumbles, standing against the wall as they begin to wait for the rest to trickle out, only five competitors still within that room. Finally Ryder and Barrett escape, leaving DiBiase, Ziggler and the Colons inside.

The four men are vocally fighting against the door, the referee watching closely as all four stumble out of the room. "Now what?" Mike mumbles, anxious to move on to the next room but unsure what will happen if they've all escaped. Alex shrugs, the tension growing as the referee examines the four men before him.

"Out!" he announces clearly, directing Primo, Ted and Dolph to join the others.

"Wait, what?!" the Colon cousins snap, realizing what this means. "No, no, he was right with me!" Primo continues to argue, unable to do anything as the referee ushers Epico back into the room and decisively closes the door. "Hey!"

"He'll be released from the room once you all are in the next room. Move," the referee orders, clearly not in the mood for their shenanigans. Mike sneers, wondering if they're all _this_ short tempered so early in the evening, how bad it'll be by the end.

Primo continues to look pissed off as he trudges behind the others, clearly not pleased at being alone in this thing from here on out, his sneer only growing when they arrive at the next room to find it's a sauna, various wooden seats built into the wall and basins of rocks around to add to the steam that fills the room when it's turned on. Mike and Alex both exchange glances, easily deciding to be more proactive in this room. They start right away, heading right for Camacho and Hunico to cut them off at the pass before they get the brilliant idea to resume what they'd started in the previous room.

Their rough fistfight quickly spreads to the others in the room, Daniel and Kane actually ceasing their arguments long enough to rush after a lurking Slater and Barrett, clearly looking for their own opportunity to get the upperhand somewhere. Laying out Hunico with a vicious forearm, Miz turns and helps Alex hoist the larger man up onto his shoulders, leaving him to bomb him right there on the unforgiving floor. They stand back-to-back, examining the room for a moment, before Zack gets just a little too close and Mike smacks the taste out of his mouth, sending him crashing into the wall opposite.

Alex barely seems to notice, taking a few steps to the side to block an incoming strike from Tyler Reks and return with a few of his own, sending the dreadlocked man back against the edge of one of the rock basins. As it teeters from his weight, Curt comes out of nowhere and clotheslines Alex roughly, sending him back into Mike. They're both knocked off-balanced, landing at Del Rio's feet, his and Ricardo's mocking laughter only adding to Miz's anger. Getting back to his feet, he lunges at Alberto, just for him to move and leave Ricardo open for attack. He's just barely punched the ring announcer, however, when something hard strikes along his neck and head, leaving him out on his feet, ears ringing. The last thing he sees before falling backwards is Alberto grabbing Rodriguez' tux and pulling him aside.

"Mike! Mike, come on!" Alex sounds frantic, his hands rough and frenzied against Mike's face. "Wake _up!"_ He groans, his head turning this way and that against a hard surface. His eyes shoot open in shock when Alex roughly slaps him, jaw dropping in equal horror at what he'd just done. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I had to do _something_ ," he mumbles, amazed that he hadn't ended up on his ass for that one as Mike stares at him, gingerly rubbing his jaw while he tries to regain his faculties.

"What the hell, Alex?!" he snaps, struggling to sit up. "What-"

"Del Rio knocked you unconscious, I had- I had to wake you up somehow, or you'd lose!" It floods back to him then, the contest and AJ's ridiculous idea- that he had gone after the Mexicans, just to pay for it. "You need to get up," he hisses. "More and more guys are getting out, we'll be the last two soon at this rate."

Mike stares around blankly, takes in how Barrett and Orton are struggling towards the door, Tyler and Curt sneering down at a scrambling DiBiase, his pained groans echoing through the room as Curt roughly kicks him in the ribs again, and again, and again. As he watches, Zack Ryder, still looking out of it- perhaps from his confrontation with Miz's hand earlier, or whatever had happened since- finally makes it to the door and staggers outside. "Help me up," he groans, waving a hand at Alex until he grips it and tugs Mike to his feet. "Go, go!"

They rush, Alex pushing Barrett out of the way and Miz doing the same to Orton, until they're safely out in the hallway, A-Ri immediately gripping Mike by the shoulder and helping him to the wall. "Come on, take it easy for awhile, huh? Catch your breath. We should at least have a few minutes until they all stop fighting and escape."

Mike nods, glaring at the referee as he begins to examine him, determine if he can continue through. Alex is right, there's at least five minutes between their escaping the room and when Barrett and Orton finally stop trying to kill each other long enough to exit as well, Curt and Tyler having made it out maybe a minute after Mike and Alex had. "Idiots," he mumbles, not that surprised that DiBiase is the one eliminated this time, after what he had witnessed from Hawkins and Reks in the room.

He's almost scared to see what will come next, but thankfully the next room is similar to the first one they'd been in on this floor, bed, desk, chairs, and other scattered furniture with the added bonus of carpet in case he should happen to get knocked unconscious again by one of Del Rio's- or anyone else's- enzuigiris.

He almost expects Primo to be the next to go, because of his being used to have Epico to fall back on. He had missed how exactly the Puerto Rican had survived the previous room, unconscious for the bulk of everything that happened in that room, but the kid is amazingly one of the first few out of this room, too. Primo ducks aside when Del Rio goes after him, snagging his ankle with his heavy boots and tripping him up until he lands hard against the desk, Rodriguez right there to support him despite showing his own wounds from the past few rooms. With a rude sneer, the younger man then dashes for the door and is out of sight, the first one out of the room.

Mike rolls his eyes, nudging Alex before they sneak up on the bickering Heath and Wade, both unable to alert the other before they're rushed from behind. Alex spins Heath and lands a solid swipe to his chest, winding the West Virginian while Miz exchanges blows with Barrett, which really isn't the greatest idea, quickly losing his upperhand in this battle until Wade pushes Mike back into the other two, giving Heath just enough momentum to sandwich Alex against the opposing wall, leaving them both down as the former Nexus mates wander off, bickering still about who-knows-what.

"Ow," Mike groans, scrambling over to where Alex is laying in the corner, not wanting to get caught up in something else before he's ready.

"What just happened?" Alex mumbles, dazed.

"Hell if I know." They sit there, recollecting themselves, until the door opens and Wade roughly throws Heath out into the hallway, following him with an annoyed sneer before joining him, their argument _still_ decernible through the door even after it closes behind them. "Fantastic, we're never going to get them to shut up," he sighs. "Between them and Team Friendship, AJ should've provided earplugs, that would've been the kind thing."

"I doubt she wanted to be _kind_ with any of this," Alex mumbles, wincing as he catches sight of Ricardo eating a stiff punch from Kane as Alberto corners Daniel Bryan, unaware of the lurking Big Red Machine behind him. They both watch as he grabs the Mexican aristocrat by the neck, slinging him backwards with one hand and into a staggering Ricardo, sending them against a nearby wall as Ricardo tries to support Del Rio's weight on already shaky legs.

Once they've caught their breath, the path to the door is clear, the tag team champions now fighting with Curt and Tyler on the other side of the room. "Let's get out of here," Mike says, dragging Alex to his feet. "Move, move." He pushes him steadily forward, ignoring everything else going on around them as they go. "Room five," he mumbles distastefully once they're safely out in the hallway, eyeing the referee who is waiting to allow the next wrestler out of the room.

"Only fifteen more to go," Alex responds softly. "Yay us."

"I'm never going to want to see another hotel for as long as I live after tonight," Mike sighs. They fall quiet, relieved that, somehow, Wade and Heath had burnt out of bickering, the only noise now being the competitors slowly trickling out of the room, looking about as burnt out as the first four are feeling. Most of the guys have managed to escape within the next few minutes, Alex and Mike comparing notes on who's left, agreeing after a few moments of confused back-and-forth that only Hunico, Camacho, Hawkins and Reks remain in the room. "Wanna place bets?" the former WWE champion asks with a sneer, shrugging when Alex doesn't seem that enthused in the offer.

Hunico is the next out, Mike getting a glimpse inside of Camacho trying to make it to the door just to get double teamed by the other two who drag him back inside. He's certain that the next ones out will be Hawkins and Reks, with Camacho getting eliminated, but from his vantage point, he gets to watch as they attempt this, just for Camacho to grab Hawkins once Reks is already past the threshold, the former tag partner of Ryder's yells of denial slamming through the hallway as the door is shut behind him, leaving him to Camacho's rough strength. When the door opens again, Hunico's friend saunters through as calmly as if he does this sort of thing every day.

Reks slams his fist against the wall. "You have _got_ to be kidding me!" He continues his little bitch-fit the whole way through the hallway to the next room, his eyes dark and forboding underneath his ridiculous hair. Mike makes a note to avoid the angry big man, nudging Alex and muttering the same warning to him.

It's obvious early on that Reks is out for blood, the loss of Curt somehow waking something up in the man that no one's seen for awhile. _Everyone_ stops what they're doing in the next room as the sound of a body crashing into something solid echoes around them, turning to find the much taller man kicking Primo in the side as he sprawls along a desk, breathing raspily and spasming slightly. It's a foregone conclusion as the rest of them all escape the room over the next ten minutes, leaving the Colon cousin down where he'd not moved since Reks decimated him so cruelly.

No one seems in a hurry to move upon realizing that the room that Primo is still unconscious in is the last one on this floor set aside for them, waiting by the stairwell for someone else to move first. The wait isn't long, however, as Reks storms up the stairs, obviously anxious to take his anger on out more people and unable to do it in such a small space. Mike's dread only grows as they all walk, subdued, up the concrete steps and file into the third floor, the hotel somehow growing more and more solemn and freaky the further they go.

Alex walks into the room yet another referee is guiding them into first, skidding to a stop and almost getting run into by his former pro, who snaps at him. "Alex! Move!"

"Mike," he mutters, licking his lips. "It... it's the weight room."

Mike skids to a stop at this too, taking a look at all of the equipment and potential weapons scattered around. "Dammit!" he hisses, catching sight of the blood-hungry expression on Reks' face. "Fantastic." They remain back to back once the glass door shuts, keeping an eye out for Tyler. Thankfully, the larger man has his focus elsewhere, picking up a weight with a small sneer on his face before going after the competitors on the other side of the room.

 _Everyone_ is desperate to get out of this situation, barely bothering to take a minute to fight anyone else around, simply throwing punches and landing kicks whenever their way to the door is blocked. It's become more about survival now, less about winning. No one thinks that whatever AJ has up her sleeve is worth their careers or lives, Miz hissing as Del Rio lands a solid kick to the back of his head, sending him face first into the wall before dragging Ricardo out of the room. He looks up as the Mexicans mock him from behind the glass door, their laughter quickly dying away when Reks appears and slams Zack Ryder face first into the glass, the Long Island Iced Z sliding down to the floor, barely conscious. He's tenacious, however, and tries once more to get to his feet just to get a shot to the gut by the solid weight that Reks hadn't let go of this whole time.

Yet again everyone flinches at the rough cracking sound that accompanies it, Mike only just catching sight of a nearby Dolph Ziggler's pale face as he watches his sometimes rival sink to the floor, barely moving. "Move, move," he snaps, grabbing Alex by the shoulder. _"Now!"_

 _They_ get out of the room in one piece, the referee looking troubled also as he peers in at a sneering Tyler Reks who seems content to stay inside and traumatize the others for as long as possible. Even as the others slowly, bit by bit, manage their escapes, Zack doesn't move once, despite all of the noise and cacophony around him. Alex looks truly worried once they're all free to move onto the next room, everyone keeping their distance from the crazed man, glancing behind his shoulder every now and again until they're out of sight of the exercise room, Mike's hand on his upper back the only thing keeping him moving straight ahead.

This one goes similarly to the previous, except this time it's Heath eating it as Reks lifts him up and slams him ruthlessly against the table by the window, all wrestlers nearby scattering away from the shards of wood as it cracks. Even Mike cringes at the sound, looking for a free path to the door to get away from Reks once more. Unfortunately he seems to be keeping a closer eye on those trying to make an easy escape, that being how he'd caught Heath so early on, so Mike is reluctant to even attempt... until the tall man's attention is stolen by Del Rio and Ricardo, standing back to back as they try to keep an eye on the whole room while making their way to the door.

Once Reks is heading their way, Mike locates Alex and slams Dolph aside with both fists, winding him and sending him away from Alex long enough to grab him and drag him towards the exit. "Come on, come on," he hisses to the off-balanced kid, relieved once they're out in the hallway safely. He examines those who had escaped ahead of them- Barrett, Ziggler, Team Friendship, and Orton- and sneers as he loops an arm around Alex's shoulders, leading him to a quieter part of the hallway.

"Who do you think will get taken out this time?"

"Slater, probably. He hadn't moved for awhile." As he walks by, he notes as the former Nexus leader's jaw twitches, rolling his eyes. _Hopefully we don't get stuck with two angry idiots out for vengeance..._ Either way his words are proven correct as they all make it out- but Slater, the door closed tightly on the carnage that had befallen the West Virginia native. None of them can ignore the tight stare that Wade has locked on Reks' back as they continue on to the next room, Alex and Mike exchanging glances. "If I had brought some money, we could bet on who will win _this_ upcoming confrontation," the former Real World contestant mutters as they all enter the room, unsurprised to find it's an exact replica of the previous room- except that this one, too, has a mini-fridge.

"Oh great," Alex mumbles. "Just what we need, little bottles to use as weapons." Mike half smiles, the door barely shut before the turmoil begins, Barrett lunging for Reks and hitting a few solid strikes to his jaw and upper body. As the rest shy away from those two, letting them go at it, Dolph bumps into Mike and immediately spins around, swinging out and clocking him straight in the back of the head, sending him back into Alex.

Hissing, he dives at Dolph and hits him back, the two of them brawling blindly until they end up in the vincinity of the quietly bickering tag team champions, Daniel and Kane continuing to snap back and forth "Yes!" "No!" and other nonsense while Kane lifts Dolph for a chokeslam and Daniel flips Mike around until he's held in the No Lock!, struggling desperately to get to something, do _something_ to break the hold. Finally he ends up in range of the mini-fridge's handle, opening it just enough to clock Daniel in the head with it, sending the younger man off of him with a cry of pain.

Getting back to his feet, he finds that Dolph has also freed himself, clinging to Kane in a sleeperhold that even the bigger man is showing effects of, sinking slowly to his knee next to the bed. Mike rolls his eyes and leaves them to it, trying to find Alex in the melee. He almost isn't surprised to find him caught between Rodriguez and Del Rio, Ricardo mocking him with slaps and Spanish babbling while Alberto wrenches back on his arm. He's on them within moments, throwing Ricardo backwards against the mini-fridge before kicking Del Rio in the side of the head, causing him to release Alex. When he stands, offended, and tries lunging, Mike steps aside and he overshoots by a far margin, Ricardo moving quickly to assist him as he stumbles.

The two struggle to maintain their balance, glowering at Miz and Alex before moving away, Ricardo's huffy Spanish still echoing in Mike's ears as he kneels down by Alex. "You alright?"

"Ye-yeah," he breathes, sweaty and gingerly rotating his arm. "How about you? I saw Daniel grab you but before I could get over there, well..."

"I'm fine." He glances around the room, taking in what's going on around them, before gripping Alex by the hand and helping him up. "You going to be ok?"

"Sure, sure." They move then, uncomfortably aware of how vulnerable they are here. They turn in time to see a flash of light glinting upon something glass, Barrett striking Reks in the head with one of the bottles from the mini-fridge. Alex winces as little shards of glass go all over, relieved even more for their heavyduty boots and sneakers. The tall man dropping to his knees, Barrett's on him immediately with a rear naked choke, wrenching back roughly every now and again.

Skirting around them, Mike keeps a tight hold on Alex and ends up by the door as a staggering Dolph Ziggler stumbles through it, following him. They both breathe a sigh of utmost relief once they're out in the hallway, pleased to be far away from Reks and Barrett's brawl. The further along the hotel they all go, the more damage they're all taking, the more desperate the attacks get. He's almost surprised it's taken this long for one of them to outright lose it, his eyes skittering to the side as he walks by a smirking Orton, who seems to be enjoying all of this madness.

A still annoyed looking Del Rio and Ricardo make it out next, followed by Daniel Bryan and Kane a few moments later, which leaves Barrett and Reks inside. The door had shut too quickly for anyone to get a good glimpse of what was going on inside of the room, Alex and Mike exchanging a glance as they wait to see the end result of this brawl. They're all starting to get restless from waiting when the door rattles with some force, even the referee looking unsettled as there's a hoarse yell inside, and more crashing. Finally all falls quiet and they hold their breath as there's a simple knocking on the door, the referee reluctantly opening the door. As soon as it's wide open, Wade Barrett saunters out with a deeply satisfied gleam in his eyes like he'd just won his first world title or something. Even in the dull light of the hallway, dark blood visibly stains his hands, only adding to the tension in the hallway.

Mike sighs as they head to the next room, making note to keep a close eye on Barrett from here on. _He's going to be difficult to eliminate._

The next room seems to go by in a blink of an eye. Barrett doesn't even seem to care who he's attacking now, the bloodlust from the other room seemingly waking up something in him- be it from his Nexus days, or from his bareknuckle fighting days, but he immediately dives into the sea of humanity surrounding him and begins waylaying anyone who gets in his way. Mike is just barely pulled to safely after one of his ridiculous elbows to the face by Alex, who drags him into a corner as far away from Wade as possible. He catches his breath and looks around, unsurprised to find all four corners taken by people desperate to get away- Daniel Bryan and Kane, Del Rio and Ricardo, Hunico and Camacho. They all appear to be waiting for their chance, whispering quietly to each other.

Oddly enough, Ziggler and Orton are in the middle of the room, trying to work together against Wade- or more like, trying to survive against him, just happening to be united in their goal. Mike actually realizes just how the field is narrowing, appreciating how much less opposition he has to work against now. He glances over his shoulder at Alex, wondering what would happen if, by some miracle, this comes down to him and his former NXT rookie. Deciding to cross that bridge when he comes to it, he squares his shoulders and looks back at the fighting still going on in front of him.

Wade apparently gets sick of waiting for the places in the next room to be filled and, slinging Orton over his shoulder into the wall behind him, the Viper falling to his knees basically at Ricardo and Alberto's feet, the older man pulling the ring announcer away just in case, grabs Dolph carelessly by the hair and drags him to the door, roughly rapping against the wood. Those remaining watch in confusion as, once the door is opened, he slings him out of the room and then turns to Orton, lips twitching upwards. Still out of it from the harsh landing, Randy's struggles are lame and unhelpful as he's dragged over to the door too and rudely tossed out as well.

The four teams in their corners all stand at attention, waiting to defend themselves against Barrett's rampage, his dark eyes passing from person to person as he weighs who to go after next. Daniel and Kane are pushing at each other, Kane annoyed at being used as a shield yet again by his tag partner. Ricardo nervously clings to his employer's clothes, mumbling in his ear, Alberto tilting his head just enough to listen to his suggestions while his dark, beady eyes are locked on the Brit. Camacho has a protective arm in front of Hunico, standing tense and obviously just waiting for the first move to be made against their corner, ready to defend his friend at all cost. On the other hand, Miz and Alex now stand shoulder to shoulder as they wait and watch, the former WWE champion holding his breath as Barrett's eyes pause on them briefly.

Mike blinks as he turns and attacks Camacho, sending him back against Hunico, who yells out in protest and tries to get around the larger man's off-balanced body to punch Wade, just to get an elbow to the jaw for his troubles. They can't get the advantage, still out of it from the bareknuckle fighter's surprisingly quick attack, and eat more precise, solid punches to the sternum and face before he alerts the referee to open the door and slings Hunico out, Camacho quickly following him into the hallway. He smirks, brushing his hands together as if rubbing off invisible dust from his palms before turning to the others. "Two down," he says smoothly. "Five to go. Who wants to stay, mates?"

All six of them stay in their corners, Wade starting to look impatient yet again, when finally they all come to a silent agreement, lunging for the tall man. He seems to have been waiting for this, however, side stepping into the corner that had once been held by Camacho and Hunico, the six all crashing into each other as a result. Mike groans, his head throbbing from where it'd crashed into Daniel's. _Well, that wasn't well-thought out,_ he thinks, trying to blink away the daze. The light shining into his eyes is blocked as something dark crosses over his face, large hands tight around Daniel's neck, lifting him ruthlessly from where he's laying next to Miz on the ground. Another knock on the door and Daniel's slung out into the hallway.

"Hey!" Kane snarls at Barrett, trying to attack him just for the Brit to sidestep _again_ and the Big Red Monster stumbles out of the room into the hallway, inadvertantly following his tag team partner.

Alex helps Mike to his feet and they find Del Rio and Rodriguez across from them, looking to be in the same unsettled, uncoordinated condition, as Ricardo tries yet again to support the taller Mexican aristocrat. _So, us four against Barrett... now what?_ Mike thinks, his hands clenching at his side.

Dark eyes passing from the former NXT pro and rookie to the wrestler and his ring announcer, Barrett laughs, his hands folded across his chest as he stands patiently. "So pathetic," he mumbles, Mike and Alex remaining quiet even as Alberto bristles, Ricardo muttering something in Spanish. He tilts his head, his smirk only growing as he examines them, eyebrow raised. "Hmm." Turning his attention to the other corner, he smirks at Mike. "Well, well. Lucky you, it's your turn, boys." He rushes them, Alex barely able to even lift his hands up in defense before they're both grabbed and dragged from the corner. Despite how long he had been out only months earlier for an elbow injury, Mike is startled and even a little impressed by his pure strength.

Alex continues to struggle, probably not wanting to advance in this fashion, Wade rolling his eyes and releasing him just long enough to elbow him harshly in the back of the skull. As he falls forward, Mike winces and catches Wade's glance, unsettled by the look there. "Hey, we don't want trouble," he finally says, holding his hands up. "Look, you want us out, we'll go." He's not sure why those involved had had problems with it anyway, Barrett kicking them out of the room meaning that they get to survive for awhile longer. He grips Alex by the collar, walking quickly to the door and trying to ignore how Barrett is closely following them. He raps his knuckles against the wood and sighs in relief once he drags Alex out with him to the dimly lit hallway where all of the still-recovering prior victims of Wade are scattered around, glaring at them in confusion.

"Why did he let _you_ just walk out?" Daniel grouses, still rubbing the arm that had smacked so roughly into the wall.

"Because, Bryan, unlike you, I know how to handle situations," he says, voice bleeding with disdain. "You alright, Alex?"

"Yeah," the younger man mumbles. "Who's inside still other than Barrett then?"

"Del Rio and Rodriguez." They're standing at an angle that they can see inside of the room and Mike's eyes widen as the door opens once more, Barrett holding a struggling Ricardo tightly by his tux jacket, shaking him as he tries to push him out of the room. Del Rio is nowhere to be seen, the ring announcer's panic visible even from out in the hall.

"Stop struggling!" he snarls at him, growing all the more annoyed when the younger man digs his fingers into the wood panelings on either sides of the door, trying to keep himself from getting thrown out and risking Alberto's disqualification from the contest. Suddenly Alberto appears, kicking Barrett in the back of the skull with one of his vicious kicks, Rodriguez's tight hold onto the door the only thing keeping him from spilling out into the hallway from the momentum of the large Brit falling into him before dropping to the side, landing with a hard crack knee-first on the thinly carpeted floor. Despite the trouble having passed right now, Del Rio looks pale and unfocused, barely noticing the wide opened door only feet away from him.

Ricardo, realizing his employer's weakness, moves surprisingly quick, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him out of the room. Alberto's answering grip on him is weak, the man still feeling the affects of whatever Barrett had done to him, and it slips away as a tattoo'd arm appears from the side, grabbing Rodriguez tightly by the back of the tux, dragging him back inside ruthlessly before he could step beyond the threshold to join his employer. It takes Alberto a moment to realize that he's alone, that the door had been shut once more, that... His dark eyes narrowing suspiciously, he slaps a hand on the wood separating him from his ring announcer. "Ricardo!"

But there's nothing to be done other than listen to the scuffle going on inside the hotel room, Del Rio ignoring the others behind him as he takes it all in, suspiciously pale under his tan. His shoulders are tense as he presses a hand to the door, obviously desperate to get inside and _do_ something, but unable to. After a minute, there's a loud crash that makes most of the wrestlers in the hall jerk in surprise, Alberto letting loose a snarl at the barrier keeping him from seeing the man he'd professed on national TV merely weeks ago was his only friend.

There's a knock and Del Rio all but lunges at the referee. "Open the door! Now!"

"Del Rio, I can't do it with you right here, take your place by the wall," the referee tells him, eyes wide with fear. They stare at each other for a long, tense moment, before finally the Mexican storms over next to Mike, staring harshly at the back of the referee as he unlocks the room, no one surprised when Barrett saunters out of there, looking like the cat that'd ate the canary. The ref swallows slightly as he shuts the door and turns to the line of wrestlers behind him. "Continue on to the next room," he orders the frozen superstars there as Barrett is already moving on.

After what he'd done in this room to people, not a one of them are in any hurry to follow him, but Del Rio moves forward once more, staring the shorter man down. "Get Ricardo out of there now."

"Per AJ Lee's rules, I am not permitted to open the door while you all are here- you have to continue on," he tells him.

"I do not care about AJ Lee's rules!" he growls at the man. "Get him out. _Now._ " When the official doesn't make any move to fulfill Del Rio's command, the Mexican aristocrat twitches like he's doing all he can to not punch the man before him, when Ricardo may need his assistance. "If he is injured and you have delayed in helping him, I will make you pay personally," he tells him. Turning sharply on his heel, he looks at the loitering superstars behind him and storms towards them, desperate to push things along so Ricardo can get taken out of the room and helped, if needed. "Move, perros!"

None of them are anxious to move ahead and meet up with Barrett, but there's a maddened look growing in Del Rio's eyes too and the last thing any of them want is another superstar losing it and going on a rampage, so they begin to file out. Probably still too slowly for the antsy Mexican's tastes, but at least they're moving, up another flight of stairs to the fourth floor and down a hallway to the room marked with a large, bolded 1. When they arrive at the room, Del Rio storms up to a waiting, sneering Barrett. "What. Did. You. Do?" he hisses, nose to nose with the man.

Wade only looks more amused and the rest of them exchange glances, unsettled all the more by this. Miz wonders who will go in this next room, certain it'll be either of the two glowering men, and his thoughts seem to be coming true as Del Rio and Barrett spend the first few minutes in the room just trashing each other, everyone else ducking aside as the two men lay it all out there, throwing each other into walls, against the furniture, any other surface they can find. They actually take it so far that, upon Barrett hitting the door hard and slumping down to the floor, it splinters. A minute later he reverses Del Rio's forward motion, sending _him_ harshly into the solid surface and they all hear as it cracks completely and bends outwards, the wood unable to handle both of the men's weight.

Collecting themselves, the Brit and Mexican make it to their feet and examine each other, Alberto brushing away blood from a cut on his arm as Wade wipes disdainfully at his mouth, smearing his own blood across his chin and only adding to their maddened appearances. With a rough snarl, Del Rio takes another run for him, this time clipping him in the side and sending him flying back once more into the already shattered door, everyone's jaws dropping as the door completely gives this time, falling out into the hall and bringing the two men with it. They all watch, shocked, as the two continue to fight and struggle on the outside until the referee pulls them apart, warning them repeatedly until Barrett storms off down the hallway and out of sight of those still in the door. Del Rio screams insults in Spanish out to him before huffing off in the opposite direction.

Alex coughs awkwardly. "Well, that was fun," he mumbles, half smiling as Mike nods. There are still eight men in the room, waiting for their chance to rush to the now-visible hallway. The referee has his work cut out for him, Barrett and Del Rio still a combustible situation, and having to watch out for those escaping the room to make sure no shenanigans continue on there too, since the barrier he would've used to monitor such things is now shattered in pieces on the hallway floor.

John Morrison stands outside of his car, taking a few minutes to stretch his legs, get some fresh air. Mike and Alex had invited him to North Carolina back when they'd first heard of this strange contest, the three of them not seeing a lot of each other since Summerslam weekend. It had somehow worked out, his responsibilities giving him just enough time to come here, hang out with the guys before they all have to go their separate ways once more before the week's Smackdown. It's a creepy evening, even he has to admit. He generally doesn't put much stock into such things, his cool not ruffled by much, but there's something in the air here... He's not sure what it is, exactly, just that he doesn't like it. At all.

"Be safe, Mike, Alex," he mumbles before turning back to his car to continue on to where they'd agreed to meet up once they'd been freed from whatever craziness AJ Lee had thought up.

Ziggler, always the extreme opportunist, tries taking a run for the exit but Orton is waiting, clipping him with a clothesline that sends him flipping to the floor hard. The Apex Predator sneers down at him before looking around at the others, still waiting on baited breath for anything else to happen. When no one makes a move, he turns and saunters towards the door, looking every inch the calm, emotionless snake.

The two remaining tag teams move at once- Hunico, Camacho, Daniel and Kane all rushing for the door at the same time, just to meet each other in the very small space. They all stare at each other, disdain and loathing on their faces, before Hunico lunges at Daniel, Camacho meeting Kane head on. The four men argue and exchange blows, not a one of them noticing as Dolph crawls past them and out of the splintered door, wincing as he shifts over the shattered pieces of wood to the hallway.

Mike and Alex exchange glances, heading hesitantly for the door themselves, when Hunico, overwhelmed by Daniel's punches and kicks, lunges towards Camacho, the larger man quickly extracting himself from his show-off with Kane enough to pull his friend away from Bryan, punching the approaching shorter member of Team Friendship solidly in the jaw and sending him to the floor, dazed. Kane, of course, takes exception to this and goes after Camacho, dragging him away from Hunico and sending him into the wall face first. Camacho, sinking to the floor, isn't a problem again as Kane boots Hunico clear out of the door, where he almost lands on a still recovering Ziggler.

Kane then turns back to a still downed Daniel, finding him glaring upwards at him. "What?"

"I didn't need your help!" he snaps.

"Yes you did."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

The two continue yelling over each other as Miz and A-Ri, taking a page from Ziggler's book, ventures past them and out of the door. It takes a few minutes before they realize that, outside of a stirring Camacho, they're the only ones remaining in the room. Still glaring viciously at each other, they finally leave through the destroyed door, Hunico only able to look on as his friend and tag partner makes it to his feet just for the referee to order him to stay inside, that he'd been eliminated.

The man kicks the wall as Camacho talks to him in Spanish, frustrated that he's unable to do anything to assist his friend. Finally he turns sharply and storms away, the others trailing behind him slowly. Between his tension and Barrett and Del Rio's implosions, the rest of them are all unsettled and uncomfortable with the situation they find themselves in.

"This is just getting better and better," Mike sighs, Alex's lips twitching as they walk shoulder to shoulder into the next room.

"What do you want to do?"

He glances over at the younger man, realizing that _yeah,_ they _could_ do something... "Well, now that you ask..."

As soon as they're all inside, the door shut securely behind them- for now- Mike takes off one way, Alex going the other. Neither give Barrett or Del Rio the chance to finish what they'd started earlier, Mike quickly punching Del Rio in the face while Alex elbows Wade in the jaw, both larger men off-balanced by the sudden attacks. Despite his best attempts, Alberto is still reeling from the damage he'd taken from Barrett prior, and can't quite get ahead of Miz, trying to lunge at him once some separation has been made between them, just for Mike to think quickly and drop toe-hold him onto the rough floor. He yells and rolls away, holding onto his face, Mike wondering briefly if his nose will look as bad as Wade's now before looking up for Alex.

His former rookie is standing on the other side of the room, winded and gasping in the corner as Barrett wails on him, fists moving so fast that Mike almost can't keep track. "HEY!" he yells, rushing over and slamming into Wade, immediately stopping his offense and sandwiching him between he and Alex. Pushing him back off, he throws him aside and drags Alex out of the corner. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he pants, wiping at his lips. "Never been better." He leans over, struggling to catch his breath as Mike rests his hands between his shoulderblades, watching Wade with a sneer. When the Brit rushes towards them, Mike finds that he too has been slowed down due to everything and easily pushes Alex aside, going to the left and letting Wade smack face first into the wall. Amused and feeling pleased to find both men down and out, he grabs A-Ri once more and moves to a more safer part of the room for him to regroup.

Kane and Daniel are in the corner, arguing as always, Hunico and Orton exchanging blows and Dolph is lurking around, watching all of them. Mike sneers as their eyes lock, considering going after him just for kicks, but the moment passes when Dolph ventures too close to the tag champs and Kane notices, quickly taking a step towards the bleach blond, who scampers back the way he'd come. Mike bites back laughter at this, distracted when Alex nudges him- Barrett is up already, their eyes widening as he stumbles their way just for Kane, raging still over Daniel's nonstop picking, to grab him by the throat and chokeslams him right then and there, startling everyone by the sound of his body slamming into the floor.

"God!" Alex mutters, cringing as the dark haired man writhes around on the floor, Kane ruthlessly stepping over him like it's an every day occurence. Even Daniel is silenced, unsettled by the vicious physicality his tag partner had just shown... reminded again that, should Kane ever lose control of himself, that could be him someday. That it probably will be.

Del Rio, a wicked sneer on his thin lips, walks right by him, pausing only long enough to roughly kick him in the chest before carrying on, a new determination in his gait- as if the sound of Wade choking and struggling behind him is some kind of soundtrack while he leaves the room, joining Team Friendship in the hallway.

It's pretty clear that things here are pretty much wrapped up, even Hunico and Orton's fight still on-going not reaching the levels of damage that Barrett had in a short amount of time, so Miz motions to Alex, walking around Barrett to the door. Neither say anything as Ziggler seems to also take the hint and head that way as well, the three of them exchanging wary glances. "Ladies first," Miz says with a rude smirk, holding a hand out to the door mock-gallantly, as Dolph glowers at him.

Alex laughs shakily, also feeling the effects physically and emotionally from the last few rooms, and pushes past Dolph, knocking rapidly. As soon as the referee opens the door, he slips out and takes a deep breath, relieved to be out of the rooms again. He's getting worn down with it all and Mike looks at him worriedly as he follows, Dolph slipping down into the shadowy hallway to wait for the foregone conclusion to happen already. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course I am," he mumbles. "I just... this is insane, Mike. What are we even doing this for? I mean, we don't know what AJ has planned at the end of this. It could be... a whole lot of nothing, you know? And here we are, injuring each other, losing our minds over it." He slumps down. "I'm sorry, it's just been a long night."

Mike sighs, leaning against the wall so he's shoulder to shoulder with Alex. "I understand, it could be really pointless. But you know what I kind of hope?"

"What?"

"That Del Rio was right. That the prizes are individualized. That AJ gives me what I've made obvious to her I've wanted from the beginning."

Alex stares at him, his eyes narrowing. "Morrison's job?" he whispers after a second, Mike nodding slightly. "I never even thought of that. Is that why you invited him here?"

"Part of it," Mike says with an almost sheepish shrug. "I wanted to see him, of course, it's been much too long... but, yeah, I wanted to be able to tell him face to face if I somehow survive this and win."

Alex's lips twitch slightly. "You're a good friend, Mike."

He laughs bitterly at this, nudging Alex. "Oh come on, Alex. I'm selfish and I'm annoying. Haven't you heard that about me yet?" But his eyes soften none-the-less as he stares at his feet. "I really do try to be, though."

"And you succeed." They stare at each other, smiling slightly, before the door is opened once more, looking up as one while Orton callously throws Hunico out of the room.

"Get out there," his deep, low voice snaps before he wanders out of the room too, looking pleased with himself as Hunico slumps against the wall, mumbling insults under his breath.

Miz can see inside the room from where he's standing, watching as the door is closed on Wade Barrett, who has just barely managed to sit up against the wall, hand held tightly to his mid-section, and is staring out into the hallway, his dull eyes boring into Mike's until the room is shut up completely. Shaking his head, the former champion turns to Alex. "C'mon, kid. Let's go."

They trudge down the hallway, their surroundings subtly changing due to a more moody kind of lighting, and for a wild moment, Mike things that Sin Cara will come out of nowhere and be a surprise entrant to the competition, but once he nears the room, he understands immediately. "No. _Way."_

"Way," Alex laughs at his exasperation, peering in through the glass doors of the place that they're to enter momentarily. "Ready to compete in a restaurant?"

"If I didn't know that AJ had a hand in all of this, I wouldn't believe it," Mike groans.

"Maybe they left some food behind for us," the younger man suggests, his lips twitching as his friend glowers up at him. "What, you don't want to be involved in a food fight?"

"No!" he groans as he follows him inside, blinking at the tables set up around the room, chairs balanced precariously on top of them, like the restaurant had been set up just for their convenience in killing each other further. "Crap," he mumbles, catching sight of Del Rio gazing around shrewdly. "We're screwed." The only slight positive in all of this is that Barrett had been eliminated just before they arrived here, the various potential weapons scattered around leaving Mike feeling ill.

Even Alex looks worried, weighing their competition. As if being stuck in a room like this with The Devil's Favorite Demon and The Viper isn't worrying enough, you throw in Daniel, Ziggler, Del Rio _and_ Hunico, and... well... "You might be right," he mumbles back. When the doors are clicked shut, both men startle slightly. "Well, here we go."

"Good luck."

"You too." They clap hands quickly before turning their attention back to the six men also waiting for their moment to strike, no one really surprised when Del Rio makes the first move, collecting a chair from one of the tables and brandishing it in front of him as both a shield and offensive item.

Kane's laugh at this echoes around the walls, creeping everyone out all the more. Daniel shies away from his demented tag partner and stands between a table and wall, hands held secure on the wood as he keeps an eye on his opponents, lips turning down in an unhappy frown. "Stop that!" he screams at Kane, shaking his head back and forth.

"Oh great," Mike sighs.

Del Rio and Hunico seem to get similar ideas, targetting the largest man in the room. Hunico dives at him, landing rough punches and kicks, knees to his sternum following, the Mexican aristocrat rushing closely behind and kicking Kane along the side of the skull when it seems he's about to rally, sending him to his knees briefly.

Orton seems content to leave them to this fruitless endeavor, turning his attention to a still lurking Dolph Ziggler. He smirks, shifting his position until the Show Off backs up right into him, stiffening. "Well, hello there," he mutters in his ear before dropkicking him solidly between the shoulderblades, causing him to faceplant into the hard tiles.

It's so dark in the room that Mike isn't sure _what_ he's standing by, thinking it's another wall, until Daniel ventures out from his hiding spot, surprising him as he rushes forward and drop kicks him right in the face, sending him crashing backwards into the walls, just for them to give and divide, sending him backwards into... the kitchen. He stares backwards at the various, gleaming surfaces, and winces as fresh dread wells up within him. "Son of a bitch," he breathes.

His hands twitching, he scrambles to his feet as Daniel follows him in, an intrigued look on the parts of his face not blocked by that uncontrollable beard. "Well, well, looky here. You found yourself a kitchen," he taunts Mike, the doors swinging shut behind them.

As he wanders further into the room, Mike swallows and looks around for something to defend with. "Better watch yourself, Daniel. This equipment around here probably touched a lot of meat in its day. We know you don't respond well to such barbariac things..." As the tag team champion sneers and gets even closer, his fingers passing along a line of silverwear and other utensils sprawled across the counters, eyes pausing curiously on a meat mallet, both men are surprised when the doors are slammed open once more, A-Ri appearing and repaying the favor by dropkicking Daniel before either can respond.

"Thank God," Mike grumbles as Alex grips his arm, standing between him and the snarling man struggling to his feet. "I didn't even know this kitchen was _here!_ "

"I wouldn't have considered it myself, except that Dolph managed to knock Orton out with his sleeper hold and tried to escape- just for nothing to happen, a referee was there but waved him off. The way we entered isn't the exit, Mike. I figured there had to be another door around here somewhere, and I kind of put two and two together when I saw you fall in here. So there should be a..." He wanders around the various islands and counters, peering through the equipment. "Yes!" He looks back at his former mentor, smiling brightly. "Come on, Mike. The exit's right here, through these plastic bins."

"What would I do without you, Alex-" he's in the process of asking, taking a step- or trying to. Something has a tight hold on his ankle and, already off-balanced from the precarious position he'd been frozen in since Alex had saved him, he topples right over, landing next to a viciously glaring Daniel.

"NO!" he screams right in his face, making his way to his feet.

"Alex-" Mike yells as loudly as he can, struggling anew and kicking Daniel in the knee, the shorter man crying out as his feet are knocked out from under him once more when Alex dashes up and clotheslines him against the counter.

As soon as Daniel's down, he reaches out and grabs Mike by the forearms, pulling him to his feet. "Are you ok?!"

"Yeah," he pants. "Thanks. Again." They only take a few moments, Alex making sure Daniel won't cause more trouble, and Mike catching his breath, before he fights to take a full breath. "You said something about a door?" He smiles as Alex's face lights up, immediately looping his arm across his best friend's shoulder. "Lead the way."

This door is more secure than the glass one they'd entered through, Alex and Mike knocking as one until the referee comes and lets them out. They're only out there a few minutes when the door is opened again to allow Kane out, dragging along a still discombobulated Daniel with him. Orton is next, followed by Del Rio and Hunico, both looking rather the worse for wear but decidedly better than Ziggler, who they can hear pointlessly banging on the door, his voice growing more and more ragged the longer he begs, yells through the door to be let out.

Mike _almost_ feels bad for him. But the show must go on, and thus it does. While they leave the restaurant behind, relieved to do so, Miz counts who's left. Counting himself, seven in total. They already knew one- the winner- would be going onto the roof, and the last two fighting this to the end in the penthouse... which means five ordinary rooms left. He sighs. _Well, as long as none of them are restaurants, we should be alright... I hope._

Similar to how it had ended up in the room that Rodriguez had been eliminated from, he and Alex are holed up in one corner, Daniel and Kane in another, and Hunico and Del Rio in the third, leaving Orton out in the middle of the room, as always the loner, watching them all with a lazy, careless kind of smirk. It feels like a weird version of spin the bottle when finally Orton's focus turns to Del Rio and Hunico, the smirk leaving his face rather abruptly. Mike releases a breath as he runs for the two, methodically taking them out with strikes and kicks.

Leaving those three to it, Miz and A-Ri turn to look at the door, unsurprised as Kane and Daniel, mumbling "NO!" "YES!" under their breaths, try to escape. "Oh no you don't," Mike decides, grabbing his former rookie and slamming him right in the jaw with a fist. Kane, confused, turns to see where his tag partner had gone just to get a dropkick from A-Ri, sending him back against the door. Luckily this one holds, though it rattles on its hinges warningly. While Alex struggles to hold his own against Kane, Mike sends Daniel across the room, where he crashes into the bed frame and falls back to lay against the edge of the mattress, touching his midsection with a dark grimace on his face.

Assured that, yet again, he'll be down for awhile, Mike turns to help Alex with Kane and sends him face first into the wall next to the door, not wanting to risk breaking it. Tired of dealing with Kane, and of listening to Team Friendship, he waits until he's sure Alex has a good hold on the still off-balanced Kane before knocking rapidly on the door. As soon as it's open, he grabs Kane's free arm and kicks the door open further before slinging him out into the hallway, dusting his hands off as soon as the room's shut up once more. "One down, four more to go," he sighs.

Hunico is getting trounced by Orton, the Viper kicking his arms, legs, head, anything he can think of to target, when Mike intercedes, kicking him in the back and freeing the younger man. Only then does Del Rio force himself away from the wall, heading over to help. Alex, not interested in the three on one in the corner, heads over to make sure Daniel stays down, finish what Mike'd started. He doesn't think he'll have to do much, just because of how pale and breathless Daniel's looking, but he gives a few half-hearted kicks, sending the original NXT season competitor further back against the bed.

Daniel's tired and in a fair amount of pain so when Orton rallies, taking out Miz, Hunico _and_ Del Rio with wildly thrown fists, Alex leaves him and ducks in as close as he dares, gripping Mike by his collar and getting him out of there, leaving Orton to take out his frustrations on the other two. He drags him to the door and pushes him outside, wincing as the sounds of ridiculous fighting continues on the other side of the door.

It's creepy, being out here alone with the piercing gaze of Kane on their backs, but the referee too is right there, and Alex doubts he'll do anything... for now, so he feels safer here than stuck in that room with the others ready to tear each other apart. Besides, they're both growing more and more beat down with each passing minute so he's relieved that they have this time to recover a little, catch their breath.

It's all too fleeting, however, as the referee opens the door awhile later and Del Rio stumbles out, breathless and far from his usually impeccable self. In any other situation, it'd almost be funny, but Kane's intense stare is on the door, obviously waiting for his erstwhile tag partner to appear, and no one is much in the mood for laughing.

How Hunico escapes Orton's assault, no one knows- perhaps the Viper simply grew tired at the lack of challenge, and let him go-, but he stumbles out of the room a couple moments later, running into the wall next to Mike with a pained groan.

Orton of course is the last one out, Kane snarling as the door is shut on his still downed tag partner. He punches the wall with one gloved hand before storming off to the next room, Mike shaking his head. "Great," he mumbles to A-Ri. "Just what we need, stuck in a room with yet another guy pissed because his associate's been eliminated or injured..."

"Or both," Alex mutters back as they walk side by side up the staircase to the final floor that will end with only two of them going to the penthouse. Neither men are sure if any of them will still have the energy to stand, much less fight, by then, but they're far from ready to give up. "The fact that it's Kane, well..."

"Yeah. We're screwed." Mike sighs, dropping a hand across Alex's shoulders as they continue on up and up. By the time they arrive on the landing, Kane is already pacing outside of the door, mumbling to himself as he flexes his fist. Both men exchange glances when the door is opened, the referee ushering them inside. It _almost_ amuses Mike that the official seems as desperate to wrap this all up as he feels.

Kane spends the first few minutes just skulking around watching them all, which doesn't encourage _anyone_ , even as Orton goes after Hunico, Del Rio wisely holding his hands up and keeping his distance as Randy lays into the younger man with wild fists and uppercuts. Mike is content to stay in the corner, looking on as everyone else gets into their own skirmishes, but it doesn't last as Alberto turns his focus on Alex, drawing him out of the corner with a rough right hand to the jaw. His eyes narrow as his former rookie tries to fight back, the angered Mexican aristocrat only swatting away every bit of offense he attempts like it's nothing, but he doesn't interfere, well-aware that A-Ri needs to handle this fight on his own.

It's only when Alex is distracted by the sound of Orton slamming Hunico face first into the wall behind him, opening him up to Del Rio's rough armbreaker against his knees and the proceeding armbar that stretches his already aching appendage in a way that arms shouldn't go, that Mike gets involved, dropping a hard knee across his midsection and sending him off of Alex, spitting out insults both men's way. Ignoring this, he grabs Alex and leads him away, relieved when the door's in sight- just for Kane to step out in front of them, his demented eyes peering down at them from behind his mask. Mike swallows and stares up at the tall monster, slowly pushing Alex out of the way to safety.

Kane's gaze is intense, like he's branding Mike, and it leaves him shaking, but just like that he steps aside, lips twitching into a vicious sneer. Reclaiming his hold on Alex's uninjured arm, Mike drags him to the door and out once the referee responds, unsettled.

"Mike, what was that?" Alex whispers.

"I think it was his way of telling me who his next target's going to be," the former champion whispers, dark blue eyes wide with horror. They watch quietly as Alberto escapes next, sneering at both men as he walks by, eyes lingering longer than neccessary on the arm that Alex still has held protectively against his chest. Mike glares at his back before hearing Alex mumble out a curse word turning to find Kane leaving the room, his eyes on them as well as he passes by. "This is becoming a nasty tradition," Mike mutters, disgusted at just how unsettled he is feeling. "Now, the trifecta?"

Sure enough, Orton is the third out, meaning that Hunico is eliminated. Mike looks away as the Viper goes by, not even wanting to know if he'll also be glaring at them. "A viper, a monster and an egomaniac enter a room..." he sighs, nudging Alex as he reluctantly heads for the next room.

"Who's the egomaniac again?" Alex asks after a moment, trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh, haha," Miz mumbles, lips twitching despite himself as he shoulderchecks his friend, almost sending him into the wall with an 'oof'.

They're almost at the next room when Alex comes to a sudden stop, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "No _way,_ " he hisses, eyes wide with amazement. Mike gives him a funny look until he too sees- the room they're heading to isn't some ordinary room, nope. It's, of all things, a game room with various arcade machines, a crane game, various other things scattered around to entertain bored people or children. "Mike, tell me I'm seeing things," he begs, almost choking on his laughter. "How are we supposed to fight in here?"

"The same way we did in a restaurant, I guess," he sighs, his headache only growing worse as lights flash around them, the machines making various sound effect sounds too. "Crap. I'm going to need the biggest tylenol after this..." His annoyance was nothing compared to Orton's and, to his relief, the Viper storms around the room, finding as many electric sockets as he can and pulling all out of the cords that he can, the room going blissfully dark and quiet all at once. "Hey, what do you know, he's good for something after all."

"Oh my God," Alex mumbles. "They have the old school Pacman games!" He flushes upon realizing the strange looks thrown his way by the other four men, Mike rolling his eyes at him. "Sorry," he mutters, refocusing on the mission ahead.

With the line of game machines on either side of the walls, it makes it even harder for the five 200 to 300 pound men to fit around the room, much less start any kind of worthwhile offense, and Mike isn't all that surprised when his boots snag one of the quarter machines nearby, sending him face first onto the ground.

Alex coughs and leans over, trying to help him regain his balance. "Are you alright?"

"Stop laughing, Alex, it's not funny," Mike snarls, which only makes the younger man fight his laughter even harder. "Dammit." They're just barely on their feet when there's a sick sound of shattering glass nearby, both wincing away from the noise instinctively. "What the-" His words die away as he finds Del Rio nearby, peering over his handiwork with a pleased eye: Orton is sprawled out, motionless, inside of one of the prize cases, DVDs scattered all over the floor around them. "Holy crap," he mumbles, stepping away from the glass as well as he can. He only grows more unsettled when he realizes that Kane is already out of the room, still feeling the lingering creepy sensation from the previous room's encounter with the Devil's Favorite Demon.

Del Rio pays them no mind as he saunters from the room, job done, and even though Mike's not looking forward to the narrowing playing field that will leave him and Alex to deal with Del Rio and Kane in the next room, they can't just stay in here and stare on pointlessly. "Come on," he mutters, heading for the door.

John sits on a balcony, staring out over the dark night sky. He feels a little strange and turns his eyes towards the large hotel just visible on the horizon where Miz and Alex are currently holed up, doing who-knows-what. _What's going on over there?_ he wonders, wishing not for the first time that he could be along side them, make sure things are going well. "Ugh." Needing a distraction, he heads back inside of the hotel room he's waiting at for them, trying to settle down enough to lose himself in meditation while time passes.

He's not sure whether to be relieved or aggravated that the next room is yet another average hotel room- at least there is no excess glass here, and there's more room for them to evade in, but it also means there's more space for Kane to move around in, also, and get a good hold on him for... whatever he has planned. However, Del Rio gets there first, attacking Miz with knees and punches, distracting him sufficiently from keeping an eye on Alex. He fights back as hard as he's able, whipping the Mexican aristocrat's head back with a vicious clothesline and following it up with a few punches of his own, keeping an eye out for any kind of weakness in the other man. There has to be _something,_ he knows, because they're all tired, worn out, and in an impressive amount of pain- kind of _have_ to be after going through sixteen rooms of this already- but he can barely focus on the offense he is managing to land, Del Rio's breathing as loud as his own and blocking out every other sound.

That is, until there's a horrible thud of something human hitting the floor behind him and, almost sensing it somehow, turns slowly on his heel, totally forgetting Del Rio behind him as his eyes lock on Kane holding Alex in place after a tombstone, sneering up at Mike before slowly letting the younger man fall to the rough floor below, thoroughly unconscious. Del Rio's laughter is breathless and a little manic, and it haunts Mike for a long while afterwards, as it meshes with Kane's equally as demented chuckling, the two men leaving them behind as they leave the room to continue on to the next to final room.

Mike knows what he has to do, but it sucks. He kneels down by Alex for a few moments, watching his breathing and checking his pulse, just to make sure. Although he's completely out of it, both things seem regular and strong and Mike releases a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging. "I'm sorry, Alex," he whispers, resting a hand on Alex's. "Hang on, ref'll be here in a minute. You'll be ok."

It's with no lack of trepidation that Mike leaves the room, unsurprised to find the hallway quiet and empty before him, its shadowy creepiness barely registering with him as he walks on alone to the next room, suddenly understanding how they'd all felt- Barrett, Hunico, Del Rio, even Kane himself. He's helpless, anger brimming under the surface, and all he wants to do is rearrange some faces right now. He knows it's not going to be an easy road, considering who he's going to be stuck in a room with shortly, but...

He can't bring himself to care.

Upon entering the room, the three remaining men stare at each other. They've all had varying pasts with AJ Lee- Alberto had had the least active road with her, merely getting put in an unexpected match after accidentally slipping and calling her crazy... Kane had been in a short relationship with her, while competing against Punk and Daniel, but had taken himself out of the race, even though sometimes Miz thinks there's still something there between them... and Mike himself, well. He's not sure what exactly's going on between them, but he definitely wants to win this contest just in case she's planning on giving him what he'd wanted since almost a year ago, his best friend's career back.

Finally they all move at once, Mike going after Kane with a hoarse yell, Alberto taking the opportunity to slam heavy fists across Miz's back while it's turned to him. Kane regroups quickly, however, and slams them both with heavy fists, knocking them away from him. When Del Rio tries to get him again, he boots him harshly in the face and sends him hard to the floor. Mike is a bit more cautious, wiping his face where he'd been punched.

Kane just smirks at him, tilting his head curiously. They stare at each other until Mike grows bored of it, rushing forward and landing a few blows that send him off-balanced, Mike's following it up with laced together hands to the skull knocking him to one knee. _Finally he's showing some weakness,_ Miz thinks with a glint in his eyes, taking a few steps back before dropkicking him, knocking him onto his back. Before he can attempt anything else, Del Rio re-enters the fight and kicks Mike in the back of the head, letting him slump down next to Kane.

Before the rich man can even take a step towards the door, the Big Red Machine sits up and looks right at him, lips twisting in a smirk that unbalances him, sends him back a few steps in the wrong way. There's no escaping it, however, as he gets to his feet spookily fast and grips Alberto by the throat, peering down at him with his infamous mismatched eyes. He peers over his shoulder at Mike as he effortlessly lifts the other man up, high into the air, before sending him crashing down onto the bed- the force of which cracks the frame, folds the mattress in two around the motionless superstar.

Mike can still feel his eyes on him as he turns and walks from the room as if nothing'd just happened. Getting to his feet slowly, the former Intercontinental champion swallows heavily. _This is it,_ he thinks desperately, stumbling for the door and leaving the room as the referee peers from him to Kane, standing by the staircase leading up the final stretch and waiting for the referee to allow them entry onto the penthouse floor, which is only accessible by a special keycard that he has. He's not sure how this penthouse thing is going to go, Kane seemingly determined on paying him back for what had happened to Daniel, but he likewise wants revenge for Alex, the tension already high as they travel up the stairs with the referee between them and another behind them, just in case.

Nothing happens, the four men reaching the top safely, before the referees allow them into the large suite, looking relieved to leave them to it. Same as the other rooms, a winner will only be declared when one knocks on the tall, impressive looking doors to be released. Their eyes lock as the door clicks shut behind them, Mike tense as Kane only continues to sneer.

Mike takes a deep breath and lunges forward, not even knowing what he's going for when large fingers wrap around his throat, choking him out slowly until he regains control of himself and kicks Kane low in the abdomen, winding him. A couple of more kicks and a hard punch to the side of his skull and he's freed, relieved for the separation. Hand on his throat, he rushes forward and clotheslines Kane harshly, throwing all of his weight into it and knocking the taller man into the corner of the room, stumbling back a bit and taking a minute to regroup, gasp for air. But he knows he doesn't have a lot of time, Kane's recovery time ridiculous so he gets back into it quickly, gripping him by the neck and slamming him onto the floor awkwardly, Kane's knees taking more of the blow than his skull.

While he's down there, however, Mike dropkicks him in the head, shooting him backwards onto the floor where he lays for a long moment, peering up at the ceiling while breathing heavily. Not wanting to let up any longer, he begins kicking and punching him in the face, stomping his legs and shoulders, anything he can think of to possibly keep him down. And it seems to work- until he steps back to take a breath and... Kane sits up, seemingly uneffected by all that Miz had been trying. _Crap,_ he thinks despairingly. _What do I do?_

It doesn't help that he's tired himself, aching in places he hadn't heard from in a long, long time, his strength seeping away as quickly as his energy reserves.

Down in the lobby of the hotel, the trainer had been working over Alex, examining him for a concussion and any other serious injuries as a result of the extended period of time he'd spent in the competition, when he wakes up with a small gasp, his eyes only open a slit. He barely listens to the man's attempt at questioning him to test his alertness, shaking his head. "I need my phone," he chokes out, repeats it again and again until finally it's slapped into his outstretched hand, instinctively pressing number 3. "Morrison," he groans down into the receiver once he hears John's voice faintly. "Mike needs you. Please..." His awareness slips even further and he loses track of the phone, just mumbling, "Hurry..." before he passes clean out once more.

Kane gets him by the neck once more, pushing him back through the room, and he struggles to free himself, unable to do anything as he's pushed back against a wall and held in place, the monster snarling right in his face. It's only when he moves, the cool surface behind him pressing against his flaing neck, that he realizes. It's not a wall- it's... a glass door... which means...

 _Balcony,_ he realizes, ill. Remembering what had happened to Orton, he struggles harshly and jerks up, headbutting the taller man awkwardly, hitting him right in the jaw. It hurts, his eyes crossing a bit, and he feels blood trickling down his nose, but he's still held strongly by Kane, wiggling around until he can shift, hitting Kane in the temple with a desperate elbow. His hold finally slips and Kane stumbles back, holding onto his head. Scrambling away from the doors, Mike returns to the middle of the room and watches anxiously as Kane shakes the pain away.

He's barely taken a step when Kane's on him, punching him squarely in the jaw and sending him to the floor. He's struggling to recollect himself- _again-_ when the massive hands wrap around his head, pulling him to his feet. "It's not gonna be this easy, Miz," Kane snarls at him, a vicious gleam in his eyes. Mike can do nothing but watch helplessly as he lifts him up a couple inches off of the ground, drags him back towards the glass doors leading to the balcony.

Before Alex had called, John, still unsettled by this feeling that had been only growing in strength since he'd arrived in this town, had taken to the road again, sitting outside of the hotel that he'd been staring at from his own hotel room only a few moments earlier, when his phone had rang. As soon as the line went dead, he'd slipped towards the front door of the aged building. Trainers and referees are scattered around, providing care to those who needs it, and the lobby is so busy that he finds it not that difficult to slip inside and to the stairwell, looking up at the five sets of stairs ahead of him. "Hold on, Mike. Keep fighting. I'm coming."

It's cold and dark outside, Mike fruitlessly struggling as Kane pushes the doors open and drags him outside, ignoring as he grabs at the door, the handles, anything and everything he can try to hold onto. "No, no," he all but begs, not liking the look on Kane's face, or how high up the balcony suddenly seems from the ground. "What are you doing?" When Kane forces him away from the door, it snapping shut behind them and echoing eerily out, he starts digging his hands into his leather gloves, even desperately grabbing at his mask, anything he can find to hold on to until Kane punches him clear in the face, only his horror keeping him wavering on the brink of consciousness.

Kane sneers at him before slinging him over the side of the balcony, almost looking surprised as he just manages to grab onto the edge before he falls completely, struggling to hold on despite his already being weak. Shaking his head, the Big Red Machine laughs at him. "Well, your unwillingness to die means you can just hang there and watch while I win this contest..." His laughter growing even louder, he walks off. "Have fun."

His fingers are growing numb even as he scrambles to gain more purchase on the balcony ledge, able to see inside of the hotel room as Kane walks closer to the door. This is not how Mike had imagined this competition would end, his life literally hanging in the balance, and... As tears begin to form in his eyes, he breathes raggedly. _I'm sorry, Alex. I'm sorry, John. I don't know how much longer I can hold on..._ Even as he thinks it, his fingers begin to slip on the chilly surface, and... _Ugh, God..._ He's not sure what's scarier- the prospect of not surviving the fall, or suffering grevious, permanently damaging injuries from landing on the pavement below.

Kane's just knocking on the door when it slams open from the outside, Mike's cloudy mind certain that it's over as Kane disappears from view. He barely notices the footsteps rushing his way, eyes slipping closed as his fingers lose their hold, gravity about to claim yet another victim, when... Something warm grips his upper arms, dragging him back both to consciousness and keeping him in place all at the same time. He shudders and looks up, staring into John Morrison's worried brown eyes. "John," he pants, his breath ghosting across his face as he braces himself against the bannister to pull Mike up. Each inch achieved feels like salvation to them both, Mike struggling to help his friend and just managing to plant his feet on the edge of the balcony to help out in pulling himself over.

As John gives one last pull, dragging his exhausted and weak friend back over to safety, Mike's boots catch on the rough surface and send them both falling back against the floor, John winded when his former tag partner falls on top of him. "Crap," he wheezes, his head stinging too from where it had impacted. "Mike, we can't- you have to move," he tells him, somehow working past everything enough to drag him to his feet. "Kane's unconscious in there but it probably won't last for very long. Hurry, hurry." His hands are solid and warm on his back as he pushes him through the room, Mike's eyes adjusting to the faint light as he takes in Kane sprawled out on the floor, a bent chair folded up near him and blood trailing from under his mask down his chin sluggishly.

"How did you-"

"There'll be time for questions later," John tells him softly. "Go, go. I... I'll stay in here and hide, I don't want one of the referees to see me and disqualify you or something. Now go. Win this thing." He makes sure he won't lose his balance while standing by the door and ducks into the shadows, watching as Mike painfully turns and knocks on the door, shoulders held high despite how badly he's trembling as the referee opens the door. He glances back just once before leaving the room, the victor.

Afterwards, he's not sure how he makes it up to the roof, it all a blur to him until he's face to face once more with AJ Lee, her brown eyes sparkling in the spotlights gleaming down upon them. She tilts her head, that weird unreadable smile on her face as she stares at him. "Mike," she greets him. "I'm glad you're the winner." He nods, unable to vocalize anything else as she walks up to him. He still can't believe any of this, the only thought he can focus on being that maybe she really would rehire John...

Unfortunately she likes to toy with people and he's reminded of this as she skips around him, her hair whipping this way and that in the freezing night air that he had just left behind minutes earlier, now forced to wait through yet again. He's tempted to snap at her just to tell him already what the prize is, but he doesn't want to risk this opportunity so he stands on numb legs and watches her, wanting nothing more than to find John and Alex and go sleep for a million years. Finally she stops in front of him, her lips curling up into another smile as she approaches him, ghosting her fingers across his cheek before leaning up on her tippy-toes and pressing a long kiss to his mouth, her eyes closing as she lingers.

He's confused but gives into it, sucking in a deep breath once she pulls away, wiping his lips with a finger. "Congratulations," she tells him before turning and leaving.

He blinks again and again, shaking his head. _Was that..._ "What was that?" he finally asks before she reaches the roof door, his head swimming. _No way, no, no way._

"That was your prize, silly. Like I said, I'm glad it was you that won." And just like that, she's gone, slipping back inside the warm security of the hotel.

He stares at the slightly open door and chortles. Falls to his knees and looks up at the full moon overhead and all of the stars dotting the sky around it, totally breaking down into full-on, maddened, laughter. "All of that... for a kiss," he chokes out. "Oh my God. I don't know why I'm even surprised... But I am." He slams a fist against the cold cement roof of the hotel and shakes his head. "I almost died for _that._ Damn." He continues on in this state of shock until something prickles at the back of his mind- _John is stuck in a room with Kane,_ he reminds himself. _Alex is who-knows-where, unconscious. You_ can't _stay here. Move, Mizanin._ Move.

He slams the roof entrance door shut behind him as he goes, and he even passes AJ on his way down the stairs to the penthouse, swallowing thickly when he finds it empty. John doesn't respond when he hisses his name, Kane is nowhere to be seen. Dread growing almost unbearable within him, he turns and returns to the stairwell, taking them two at a time- sometimes three- as he rushes down to the first floor.

It's a mad house there, the bulk of all twenty of them still waiting to be looked at by the trainer, or just recuperating. He scans the room, growing only more worried that he can't spot Kane _or_ Morrison in the sea of humanity surrounding him, but he does spot Alex, venturing over to him. Thankfully he's conscious now, if not fully aware, and he reaches out for Mike's hand, smiling slightly when his former mentor meets him halfway, squeezing his fingers. "I'm ok," he mumbles tiredly, eyes fluttering as Mike tsks at him.

"Of course you are." He sits down next to him, not wanting to leave him this vulnerable, no matter how much his body thrums with anxiety over if John had gotten out already, if he's safe.

"Did... John...?" Alex's voice fades away and he sighs. "Did he come?" Catching sight of Mike's confusion, he coughs and whispers, "I called him. I- at least I think I called him. I can't remember..."

Mike sighs, nodding as pieces slowly fall into place. "Yeah, kid, he came. Thank you. It helped a lot." He's distracted briefly from his maddening thoughts, taking a quick glance around the room. Del Rio's eyes are locked on him from where he stands next to Ricardo, the two talking lowly in Spanish as the ring announcer holds a towel to a bloody wound on his forehead, looking pale and exhausted. He has no doubt that they're insulting him every other word, but he doesn't really care, turning back to Alex. Deciding to keep all that had happened from the younger man for now, he leans over and runs a hand through Alex's hair, smoothing it down. "Rest, alright? I gotta go look for him."

Alex blinks a few times, then nods. "Alright, Mike."

He's worried. He's scared. He's a ton of things that he can't even properly vocalize right now. As he ventures out of the hotel, shuddering at the cool night air that greets him for the third time in the last hour, he takes a breath, almost expecting Kane to come out of nowhere and attempt to chokeslam him in the middle of the street or something. He's about to go to the car, drive over to the hotel that John had said he'd be waiting at for them, when he hears the bushes rustling behind him. Paling, he takes deep breaths and slowly turns around, examining the area around the hotel. It's too dark for him to see anything and he really isn't sure what he'd do if it was Kane, or, well, a robber or just any whack job out to kill him- it _is_ just that kind of night, after all- but soon enough the form that melts out of the shadows becomes familiar to him and he relaxes, smacking an approaching Morrison as his shoulders slump.

"Don't _scare_ me like that!" he hisses, John's laughter soon dying away as he realizes that Mike truly looks at the end of his rope.

"Hey, hey," he rests his hands on the other man's shoulders, squeezing gently. "Sorry, I just was being stupid. What's wrong?"

Mike shakes his head, slapping a fist against John's chest. "Do you know what the big prize was? The one I almost fell off of a balcony to win? That Alex got concussed over?" When John shakes his head, Mike laughs, sounding- and feeling- about as mad as he'd been back on the roof. "A kiss," he hisses. "The grand prize was a kiss from AJ." Morrison looks so floored that it's almost funny but instead of continuing to laugh, Mike's shoulders begin to shake as the tension and non-stop adrenaline rush from the last few hours finally leave him empty and cold, his emotions taking over.

"God, Mike," John hisses, holding an arm out to him, frozen in mid-movement like he's not sure if he should pull him closer or just let him be for a little bit, but his answer comes as Mike makes the first move, burying his face in John's chest, hiding his shame and disgust in the folds of his jacket. "It's gonna be ok," he mumbles, wrapping an arm around his friend and just holding on as he struggles to accept that the last few hours have been a huge chain of unneccessary events, one after the other. Which, when Mike thinks about it with growing anger, kind of describes his whole WWE career lately.

"I don't know what to do anymore," he mumbles, clinging to the warm fabric beneath him. "It's like every time I accomplish anything, it immediately gets swept out from underneath me or undermined in some way." A part of him knows it's wrong to unload like this on John, when he'd been released from WWE almost a year ago after many of the same career frustations that Mike is currently suffering through, but he can't help it.

"It's ok," Morrison soothes, slowly running a hand up and down his back, half to warm him and half to calm him. "You'll see, Mike. One way or another." They stand there for a bit longer before John nudges him, turning him towards the hotel. "Come on, let's go get Alex away from the trainer, we'll make sure he's ok and then spend the rest of the night watching crappy horror movies while keeping an eye on him, or... whatever you're up to, alright?"

Mike doesn't move immediately though, staring blankly out past John's shoulder at the hotel that he never, ever wants to see again after tonight. "One thing," he mumbles. "How did you get up to the penthouse? There were referees out there, and you needed a keycard to access the stairwell."

John smiles slightly, trailing a hand across his shoulder before squeezing it gently. Curious Mike means a more normal Mike, means that he'll slowly start to move past this. "Let's just say one of the referees owed me a favor and I didn't get to cash in before I was fired." He gives him a few more moments before the cold starts to get to him too. "You ready to go in and get Alex?"

He nods wearily, leaning on John as they make their way back to the hotel. "Alright. Sounds good," he says faintly.

The suggested movie plans don't last very long as he falls asleep in the first ten minutes, leaving John to watch over both of them, and he would ordinarily feel bad about that... until he wakes up the next morning to find John dozing close to him, a sea of crinkled up candy wrappers pouring from his clothes and hair when he tries to stand up. "What the hell?!" he hisses, narrowing his eyes at his friend. When he doesn't even stir at his voice, his face softens and he brushes off the few remaining bits of wrapper from his clothes. "You're lucky I like you," he sighs, turning aside to check on Alex, who is also fast asleep.

He winces, every muscle in his body complaining after last night, as he sits down next to Alex, peering at his two friends. Things feel a little better in the morning, somehow clearer, and he smiles faintly. He has two of the best friends a guy could have, and yeah, his career's still not where he'd like it to be but he knows that these things ebb and flow. Even AJ's wackiness can't keep him down forever. He'll be fine. He always is. "Happy Halloween, guys."


	128. chapter 128

Smackdown begins with another edition of Miz TV. The gift from AJ Lee that just keeps on giving, long after her power had been taken away. He sighs as he introduces Sheamus, wondering what will be coming his way tonight- a Brogue Kick, or some other kind of humiliation...

But before that particular worry can become reality, Big Show's music interrupts, the much larger man making his way to the ring. By the end of it, he suffers another humiliating attack by Kofi and Sheamus, stumbling back towards Big Show on the ramp. None of them are _that_ surprised when they're placed in a tag match against each other- it'd become kind of expected that any time an argument between four men erupts (especially on Smackdown) a tag match would be the end result.

He tries to make it work with Show, even suggests they be ShowMiz again, but Big Show easily dismisses this idea, reminding Miz callously that he's a champion while Mike is not. Even rubs it in by making Mike pick his title up and hand it over to him, only adding to the former WWE champion's humiliation. He doesn't want to tag with Show after that, but he puts his all into it anyway, relieved when Show actually helps by knocking Kofi out so Miz can pick up the pin... but he's no help once the bell rings, leaving Miz behind to eat a Brogue Kick that leaves him laying. He rolls over, body throbbing in time with his face, and watches through barely opened eyes as Show leaves, paying his former tag partner no mind whatsoever as their opponents regroup following the loss.

He groans and struggles, slowly making his way up the ramp. Moments like these, he really misses having Morrison or Alex waiting for him on the other side of the curtain. _At least,_ he thinks while the trainer examines him, taking special care with the still healing wound along his brow, _one of them will be back soon._

Even so, the more time he spends alone, the more he thinks. The more he thinks, the more unsatisfied he becomes with the situation he finds himself in- being a mere member of a team that's full of people he can't stand, who can't stand him, so by the end of the weekend, when it's time for another edition of Raw, he's made his mind up. Going to Paul Heyman, he makes his thoughts known, unsurprised by how easy it is to tell the conniving manager that he's quitting Punk's team. It's a relief as he walks away from the sputtering man, washing his hands of the whole ridiculous situation that he'd too quickly agreed to the week prior. Now he can focus on more important things.

Which happens to be Vickie Guerrero's evidence for the moment, Mike stewing quietly as he watches the woman reveal footage of AJ going down the hallway of a hotel that they'd stayed in the week prior, it looking almost like she'd been in Cena's room. He frowns at it and shakes his head, abruptly uncomfortable. "Hell," he mumbles, scraping his fingers through his hair. Not wanting to gain anyone's attention, he quickly distracts himself by beginning to prepare.

Turns his focus to surviving his match against Sheamus almost half an hour later, which lasts longer than he'd almost expected it to. Big Show is lurking outside, doing commentary, but except for a distraction here and there, he doesn't have much of an effect on the match... Miz loses despite fighting his hardest, and the walk to the back seems to be unending, his whole body throbbing with each step. Sheamus' repeated strikes to his chest and head, not to mention the Brogue Kick at the end, has to be some of the nastiest strikes he'd ever endured.

He's slumped down in the locker room, pressing his palms to his eyes and wondering how exactly he's going to handle the rest of the European tour, much less Smackdown the very next night, while he hurts this much, when his phone starts vibrating on the bench next to him. Blindly reaching out for it, he skims the text waiting for him and sighs, his headache pulsing anew.

_AJ Lee:_

_I'm so sorry._

_Miz:_

_It's not your fault. Don't worry about it._

_They have a couple of drinks at the hotel bar, keeping a low profile while discussing the dramas they are dealing with separately at work. Once he starts feeling sleepy-tipsy, he gives up on staying there, smiling sheepishly at her. "Ready to go?" She nods, though looking reluctant, and he guides her from the bar with a hand hovering along the middle of her back._

_An elevator ride later and they arrive on their floor, Mike noting that her room is only a few doors away from his. He smiles and says nothing about this little observation, leaving her there in the doorway as he half-walks, half-stumbles to his own door, eyes slipping closed as he opens his own door. Turning to find her still watching him, head tilted, he waves at her, chuckling slightly to himself as she waves back before ducking into the quiet, peaceful refuge of his room, sighing in relief at the bed waiting for him there._

_He's only been asleep what feels like a few minutes when a soft knock at his door breaks into his subconscious, throwing him back into reality sharply. Coughing, he runs a hand through his matted down hair before making it to his door without killing himself or knocking anything over in the darkness. Opening it, it becomes his turn to tilt his head, staring out at a freaked out looking AJ on his doorstep._

_"Can I come in?" she asks, her eyes wet and more than a little desperate. "Please?"_

_Still half-asleep, he can't wrap his head around what she's saying for a long moment. "Sure," he finally agrees, stepping aside to let her inside. It's only when she's in his room and he flicks the light on that he realizes she has a bathrobe on, clinging to it like she's cold. "Are you ok?"_

_She nods, then shakes her head, staring at the floor as she picks at the folds of her robe. "No," she whispers. "I'm not."_

_He frowns and leads her to the bed, urging her to sit. Once she's settled, he kneels down in front of her. "What's wrong?" She had been stressed out earlier at the bar, yeah, but nothing like this. Now she looks like she's about to lose it... again. "Talk to me."_

_"I had a nightmare," she admits, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. "I was ... I was jobless, and homeless again. I had nothing." Tears leaking down her cheeks suddenly, she sobs. "I don't ever want to go back to that." Fiercely wiping her face with her sleeve, she stares at him. "I... I... I can't."_

_He frowns, his heart beating loudly in his ears as he looks on, feeling so bad for the girl before him. He'd been fired in the past- though nowhere near homeless- and he knows slightly how she'd felt, to lose the opportunity of doing what one loves... and worry that it's permanent. He rests his hands on her knees, squeezing gently, and smiles when she looks at him. "It's ok. You're not homeless, and you have your job back. Everything's going to be ok."_

_Here she nods, sniffing slightly. "I know. You're right. It has to be. I just... I couldn't stay in my room alone after that dream. I'm sorry if I woke you up."_

_He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, I don't need that much sleep." When she smiles slightly at him, he accepts it as a minor victory. "Alright then. Tell me one thing." He pauses, watching as she shifts anxiously on his bed. "Have you been having these dreams often?" He'd noted it earlier, she had looked tired and though he had tried to brush it off as jetlag, now he thinks it's something deeper._

_"Yeah," she admits faintly. "Almost nightly since it... Since I lost my position as General Manager of Raw."_

_He winces, knowing that that's not good._ If she's going to keep her wits about her and _not_ lose it on Vickie, she needs proper sleep, _he thinks. "Well, that's it then. You can sleep here tonight, I'll make sure the nightmares stay away."_

_Her eyes wide in surprise, she shakes her head. "I can't- I can't intrude, risk ruining your own sleep with my nonsense, Mike... that's not fair. Not after everything."_

_He waves her off. "Since Alex is injured, I have a second bed never getting used. Take it. Like I said, I'm used to not having a lot of sleep. It'll be fine, I promise. You won't be a bother." Ignoring her protests from here on, he drags her up and over to the other bed, standing by it with his arms crossed over his chest until she finally gives in and rolls over, burying herself in the sheets, asleep almost immediately. "Good night, AJ," he whispers, adjusting the sheets to cover her more fully._

He's not sure how Vickie got that footage, but he doesn't care. It doesn't matter, she'd obviously messed with it to make it look like AJ was at Cena's room, though that was far from the truth. He ends up with more important things on his mind anyway as Vickie stops him in the middle of the hallway, her wide grin unsettling him as he crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at her. She seems exceptionally happy since Team Punk had become Team Dolph- _More power to him, he can have it,_ Miz thinks- and apparently seems willing to spread the love around a bit. "I've talked with Booker T," she tells him, a gleam in her eye.

"And?" he asks, unable to avoid the awkwardness with being this close to her, knowing that she has footage of AJ going into his hotel room and not even being aware of it, despite how innocent it'd been.

"He's agreed you should have a Intercontinental title rematch tomorrow on Super Smackdown," she tells him. "Good luck!"

As she walks away, her walk self-assured and pleased, he blinks. "Huh. Thanks... I think."

Unfortunately, no matter what Mike does the following night, Kofi rebounds. Again and again. He just won't stay down, Mike still hurting from the match against Sheamus, new pain blossoming from various hits suffered in this match. He finally just can't get up again, Kofi retaining the title that should rightfully be Mike's... He's tried time and time again, just to be bested by the South African, and sometimes even he has to admit. There may be people just a _little_ luckier, or maybe, even, _better_ than Mike in this business...

He gets to his feet slowly and stares at his rival, lips twisting unhappily as he counts in his head. _Four losses,_ he mulls. The initial loss on Raw that had granted him this scar on his forehead, the title loss on Main Event, the rematch at Hell in a Cell, and now tonight. _Maybe..._ He's breathless and hurting, exasperated and angry, but even he has to admit. The man before him is a hell of a competitor, maybe even deserving of the white title gleaming on his shoulder at this moment. His eyes are narrowed shrewdly as he ventures closer, holds his hand out to shake Kofi's hand. He doesn't find many deserving of his respect, but when he does, well, he tries to show as much in one way or another.

Except that Kofi spits in his face, attacking him yet again and taking him clear from the ring. He rolls quickly to his feet, angrily kicking the barricade wall as he storms back around the ring and to the ramp, disbelieving of what had just happened.

 _He'll pay for that,_ he thinks, teeth bared in anger as he peers back at Kingston, thoughts running through his mind a mile a minute at what he'd like to do to the man. _He'll definitely regret all of this..._


	129. chapter 129

After a lengthy European tour, Mike is relieved to see a familiar place upon returning to the States- thankfully the week's events are in Ohio and he marvels in his home state while preparing for the show, enjoying being back even though it's much too cold for his tastes as always. He's somewhere between sleep and media responsibility when he receives a tweet alert that sticks out to him more than many that he gets through the day, smiling at his phone as it reads off that Alex is currently at FCW, probably beginning his slow training to get rid of ring rust and return to regular competition.

Opting to call him later when he has more than a few minutes free time, Mike just barely makes it through the rest of the day on coffee and jetlag jitters, the bulk of his colleagues looking forward to going home after such a long period of time on the road. With quitting Team Punk AKA Team Dolph last week, he has nothing set for Survivor Series, but he definitely will not struggle to get on the card like he'd had for many pay per views earlier in the year. He has ideas.

Step one in getting what he wants is going to Foley and being very honest with him, admitting that they don't like each other, but trying to convince him that he'd be a good fit on his team anyway. In the end, partially thanks to Dolph's big mouth, he gets what he wants because Foley puts him on the ballot for WWE Universe's choice on who'll be the final member. With the added caveat that, should he win the poll, he'll team up with Kane against Team Rhodes Scholar. Which is exactly what happens, of course, Miz's smirk only growing as his planning comes to fruition.

If it wasn't so annoying, he'd laugh at Daniel's visible jealousy as he storms down to the commentary table during the match, the man alternating between pouting and cheering them on, until all possible humor stops. Daniel attempts an attack against Mike in the last moments of the match, but Miz catches on quickly and out-maneuvers him, just avoiding the post in time to watch as Kane chokeslams Cody and takes the pin, The Awesome One rolling into the ring just for Daniel to follow and raising Kane's hand in victory, like he had any role in the victory, hadn't tried to sabotage them at all.

Stewing, Mike grabs Kane's hand and lifts it in victory, Daniel yelling "NO!" over at him before yet again raising Kane's hand. They go back and forth in this fashion until the monster grows fed up with them both and pulls free, glaring from left to right until Daniel persists, trying to grab his tag partner's hand just for Kane to pull free each time. Kane leaves then, and Daniel freaks out further, screaming "NO! NO! NO!" as Miz watches on blankly.

Ears throbbing, he slips out of the ring and follows Kane from a fair distance, waiting until they're almost at the locker rooms, the tag champion's room a ways down the hall from the main locker set aside for all of the non-champions. He bets it's just a regular party in _their_ room, lips twitching upwards as he remembers some of the arguments he and John would get into when they'd have a locker room set aside for them. "Hey. Kane."

He stops, shoulders held rigidly, and releases a deep breath. "What do you want now, Miz?"

"I'm just curious about something." When Kane turns around, his shrewd eyes locked on the shorter man, Mike's own eyes are narrowed thoughtfully. "Do you like teaming with Bryan?" He almost doubts that he'll receive an answer, but Kane hasn't punched him or walked off yet, so...

His lips twisting in a strange expression, he seems to be thinking it over. "Sometimes," the big red monster admits lowly. "There are times when we work well together. But then he starts acting like he did tonight, and... I don't know. I don't like him, and he doesn't like me, so it makes no sense."

Rubbing his hands together, Mike sighs. "Little piece of advice from someone who's gone through a fair amount of tag partners, and regrets how one or two of them ended up. He wouldn't have acted like that tonight if he didn't care on some level. If you enjoy partnering with him even in the slightest, don't take it for granted. I did, too often, and I paid for it big time in the end." As Kane tilts his head, examining Mike, the former WWE champion shrugs. "Not saying you and Daniel will end up like any of me and my partners did, but it's just a suggestion. This business can pass us by in a blink of an eye, so why waste the time we do have in it?" Smiling slightly, he turns to leave, finished saying what he wanted to say to the larger man. "See you on Sunday."

He's just turned the corner when he catches sight of Daniel listening in. The deranged man barely even looks ashamed at being caught listening in, just raises an eyebrow at Mike before walking away from him, obviously determined to catch up to his tag partner. Mike stops and listens for a moment, figuring it's only fair considering. "Kane."

"Daniel."

"We should strategize for Wednesday."

"Yes, we should." As they walk off together, low murmurs echoing through the hallway, Mike shakes his head and thumbs his phone, pondering.

He wants to talk to Alex, but he also has something else to handle first. As he walks back towards the diva's locker room, he closes his eyes. Being so close to the tag team champions had made him think once more of his and John's various tag team title runs, how it'd felt to have someone who had started out as a rival become one of his closest friends in the business, and how low he had fallen when John had been fired, was just suddenly gone from his day to day life. Team Hell No were no Mizorrison, of course, but something about them tugs at his nostalgia for his own mixture of friendship and rivalry that had led him into the best time of his career.

Shaking his head, he stares at the garish pink butterfly decorating the divas' locker room and knocks warily, stepping back as the sounds of giggling and talking stops abruptly. Kaitlyn comes to the door, a cloud of makeup, hairspray and perfume almost knocking him over, and he blinks at her. "Miz? Something I can do for you?" she inquires, looking surprised to see him here.

"Oh, yeah," he says, coughing slightly. "Is AJ around?"

She stares at him suspiciously, possibly wanting to grill him on what he wants with her off-balanced rival/best friend (And there that odd mash of relationships is again, he realizes), but ultimately drops it, turning to look inside. "AJ, Miz is here to see you?" She sounds uncertain about it, like it's some sort of joke, but when the girl skips over to the door a moment later, brushing the multi-haired girl off, she looks happy to see him.

He finds himself smiling too, despite the serious question he has to ask her regarding what Vickie had unearthed earlier, the things that had been shown on TV following it. "Hey."

She tilts her head, seeming to sense his odd mood. "Hey." Ducking under his arm, she shuts the door behind her and turns to face him in the hallway. "Did you need something, Mike?" Her smile seems strained now and he closes his eyes, breathing through his nose.

"Actually, I do." He shifts, not sure where this is going to go. But it's AJ after all, he's known very rarely where things would go with her exactly, the girl as unreadable as they come. "I need you to tell me. Right here, right now. Do you have a thing for Cena?" He's not sure why exactly, even, it matters to him, but they'd spent enough time together the past few weeks, and she'd only insisted from the start that she'd felt nothing for the Chaingang soldier, that they were merely friends. But there had been that segment earlier, her visible disappointment and then a shy, slow kind of joy when Cena had first said that there would never be anything between them, just to recant and suggest that maybe it was possible.

But he had watched AJ pingpong between three different guys for weeks before ending up entirely alone so he wonders if situations are repeating themselves, the girl about to go back and forth between him and Cena. But Miz is no chump, and he's also no Kane, Punk or Daniel. He's not about to play that game, having enough drama in his career without some diva only adding to his issues.

Her eyes dim as she licks her lips, peering up at him. "I... I don't know what you mean."

"I saw you with him earlier, when you looked devastated at his claim that there'd be nothing between you two. I just want the truth, AJ, so there's no confusion between the two of us." He thinks he sounds a little cold, her face morphing into an expression of hurt as he continues on, but he can't stop now. "I have no idea if there was anything between you and Cena, or if it really even matters, but I just want to understand."

She shakes her head, eyes welling with tears. "We're just friends," she chokes out. "There's nothing between John and I."

"Do you want there to be?"

She looks like he'd slapped her, fumbling anxiously with the sleeve of her cut up shirt. "I... I..." His blue eyes boring into hers, she suddenly crumbles physically and emotionally, sobbing. "I don't know, I think... maybe, yes, but I just... I'm so confused."

That had been her problem during the whole mess with Kane, Daniel and Punk. She had been confused, and scared, and young and... He sighs, closing his eyes. "I figured." He kneels down by her and rests a hand on top of her head, the old familiar pang of her tears eating through him once more. As she looks up, he tries to comfort her, not further her torment anymore. "Listen, I'm going to give you some time to think, yeah? I'll be around, if you need anything... but I'm pretty sure right now, space is the only thing that'll really help you." She looks like she wants to protest but stops herself, sniffing as he smiles at her. "It'll be ok."

He lets her cry a little longer before helping her to her feet and guiding her back to the divas locker room, Kaitlyn taking over with an uncertain glower towards him. He walks off as she wipes at AJ's face, knowing that she's in good hands right now. Despite how AJ had treated Kaitlyn over the past year, she'd only always seemed to be trying to help the other girl. "What did he do, AJ? Huh? What's wrong?" he faintly overhears.

He closes his eyes and grimaces. They hadn't dated or even came close, the few times they'd had any kind of moment had been underlined by his trying to get Morrison's job back through her, so he wasn't really sure where that ended and any kind of honest friendship- _or more-_ between them began. "Time will probably be good for me too," he decides, once more turning to his phone and dialing Alex's number for real this time. As soon as he answers, Mike's face lights up. "Hey, man. Heard someone paid a visit to FCW today..."


	130. chapter 130

Mike shakes his head as he sits next to Cole on Wednesday night Main Event, watching as Kane and Daniel Bryan's arguing continues. His words from Raw hadn't gone too far, apparently. Which, really, he hadn't expected much more from them... but it's still annoying, especially when you consider that he'll have to team with them on Sunday.

After their match, all Miz can do is watch as Daniel and Kane's arguing intensifies, the two trying to drag him into it with Kane repeatedly reminding Daniel that they're all going to be tag partners this Sunday and will have to get along. Despite Daniel's continued unreceptive attitude, Mike tries to be the better man and stands, holding a hand out to his former NXT rookie. He quickly backtracks, however, when Kane's whispered command to Daniel ends up being encouragement for him to hug it out, not just give up at a handshake. He returns to the announcer's desk and shakes his head as the two bickering tag team champions leave.

His night is far from over then, however, as Dolph Ziggler has some planned interview time and he runs his mouth for awhile about this Sunday until Miz just can't stop himself, interrupting him and belittling him gleefully until it leads to a challenge issued for the following episode of Main Event, which is quickly accepted. Returning to his position behind the desk, Miz sneers on, imagining all of the things he'd like to do to Dolph but will probably have to wait until Sunday to see come to fruition.

His inner turmoil only grows when he, Alicia and AJ end up going to a hospital to meet children and pass out toys to cheer them up. AJ puts on a good front in front of Alicia, mocking Miz in person and on Twitter, but there's a look in her eyes that unsettles him. She has a tendency to lash out when feeling slighted by someone and he worries about what his actions on Monday may inspire in her...

But he can't really focus on that as Sunday comes a little early and he ends up being granted some time for Miz TV on Smackdown, where he has Mick on as a guest. It starts going badly quickly as Foley takes over and invites all of the other members of Team Foley into the ring, things rapidly devolving and only growing worse when Team Ziggler makes an appearance, Mike briefly amused when dissention grows in _their_ group, ADR and Dolph themselves arguing over who should be leader. How exactly it ends in a tag match with him and Orton vs ADR and Dolph, he's not sure, but it is what it is.

His actions, of course, ensure his team's victory, just as he expects it will this Sunday, but Orton isn't thrilled with the pin getting taken from him and Miz eats an RKO for his trouble. Thus he feels justified when, as another show off between Team Ziggler and Team Foley happens later, he just stands on the ramp and watches on blankly.

That Sunday goes _almost_ as he'd expected. Despite the varying amounts of turmoil between the two teams, they work together fairly well... until it's down to him and Orton vs ADR and Ziggler, and he gets eliminated by Del Rio. Even watching Ricardo get socko'd isn't as amusing as it should be, despite Del Rio getting distracted and losing almost immediately afterwards, because then somehow Orton gets overconfident and sloppy and Ziggler wins as the only surviving member of his team.

Miz stews over the loss the rest of the night, ponders over what he'll do upon seeing AJ for the first time since telling her that he thinks they need some time apart... He doesn't get a lot of sleep but there's nothing new there, almost relieved to find he has a simple match against Otunga. He has no need to continue interacting with the other members of Team Foley, thankfully, and so he doesn't.

He does, however, watch as AJ confronts Vickie yet again... just for Cena to get involved again... and he swears that his heart stops as Cena, visibly exasperated by Vickie's nonstop claims, grabs AJ and kisses her, long and deep and slow. It's really kind of nauseating but it only gets worse when AJ responds a few moments later by grabbing Cena after he's provided some separation between them and lays her own kiss on him, Vickie's evident disgust with it only mirrored by Miz's own expression.

The visual is imprinted into his mind, leaving him distracted and a little off as his match with Otunga begins. In fact, he's kind of overpowered by the Harvard grad for awhile... until everything just clicks with him. He's sprawled out on the mat, held in a chinlock, and all he can think is _I'm seriously in danger of losing to Otunga..._ Digging deep, he somehow overcomes the move and takes out the ridiculously muscled man, hitting Skullcrushing Finale and defeating him finally.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he heads to the back and runs his fingers through his hair, all of his elation fading away as quickly as if a bucket of cold water had been poured on top of him as he hears familiar, high pitched yells coming from the nearby locker room. He peers inside, watching as AJ takes out her frustrations on Dolph Ziggler, just for Cena to brush past him and pull AJ off of the briefcase holder. The brawl that follows is kind of impressive, Cena getting rammed backfirst through a bathroom stall as Ziggler targets his visibly wrapped knee.

He looks up after a moment and finds AJ staring at him, her eyes wide and a little wet, mouth moving like she's begging him to do something. But he can't hear her over the yelling and crashing coming from the bathroom, so he shakes his head and turns, leaving the room as referees pour in to break up the fight. He can guess that she'd been begging him to help Cena, stop all of this, but the very thoughts of it is laughable to him. He feels slightly bad for leaving so abruptly, yes, but he's far past getting in between Cena and Dolph on account of her. She'd made her intentions well known earlier in the evening when she'd been kissed by and so enthusiastically kissed back his biggest, most annoying rival.

There is a small bright spot to the evening when he returns to his hotel room and runs through various tweets he'd been sent during the show, pausing on one from Alex showing disbelief that he was now a so-called 'good guy'. He chuckles over it for a few minutes before texting him back. _I've always been a good guy, A-Ri. It just took awhile for the rest of the world to catch up._

As he waits for a response, he squirms under his sheets and closes his eyes, feeling some of the stress of the day ease out of his bones. He has to turn his focus to the upcoming match against Dolph Ziggler on Wednesday. He wants to keep the match all business and as little about the AJ mess as much as possible, but... well... _Yeah, that's easily doable,_ he thinks in annoyance, knowing that he's already failing at it.


	131. chapter 131

His trip down the slippery slope that is AJ's drama only continues that Wednesday when he faces Dolph Ziggler. Their war of words rapidly becomes a war of fists as their match begins rough and desperate, Mike just doing anything he can to _not_ dwell on the look in AJ's eyes after Dolph had tackled Cena through a bathroom stall on Monday. No matter what he does, the Show Off somehow just keeps coming back for more and more... and finally Miz is dazed enough that he can't piece together the strength to kick out one more time. Yes, he had put on a hell of a match, but no, it wasn't enough in the end.

He's slumped in the back afterwards, trying to piece things back together when his phone lights up in his hand. He almost doesn't have the energy just to lift _that_ up and see who's saying what now, but he somehow does, figuring at least the distraction from how horrible this week is going would be welcome. He stares at the words on the screen and shakes his head, trying to wrap his mind around the tweet from Morrison. "You have got to be kidding me."

John, in a play. He's not sure whether to laugh or go hide at the prospects. _I wonder if I'd be in town to see_ that _,_ he thinks with a smirk. Once the hilarity of that moment passes, he has no true choice but to return to his empty, quiet hotel room and watch as The Soup's WWE special airs. He'd watched most of it while it was filming but it's always different to watch it afterwards, see how all of the editing had pieced it together.

His hectic week is far from over, however. After a hurried Thanksgiving with his family, he ends up back at Smackdown for another edition of Miz TV, on which Cena is the guest, lucky him. Mike is as unimpressed as can be, having to be this close to the cause of his discord with AJ currently. So, he does what he does best to get through the segment. He's obnoxious. He uses the stupidest voices possible when describing the situation, he makes faces, he stands in odd positions. Anything to prove his utter disdain for the idiocity that's been forced upon his show.

It only gets worse when AJ interrupts, followed by Dolph, Miz barely able to get a word in edgewise. All he can do is stand back and watch, his mouth going dry as Dolph's rambling rant fades into something about how if Miz was Cena, he'd have feelings for AJ too- of hate. All he can focus on is the words _had_ _feelings for AJ,_ his hands gripping tightly to his microphone as he waits for an opportunity to say something, try to get his show back under control.

Finally the verbal deluge comes to an end when Cena of all people gets off a pretty non-PG insult towards Dolph, effectively shutting him up... and yeah, it impresses Miz that the boyscout would go _that_ far instead of his usual dilligence towards watching his mouth around the children that idolizes him and hangs on his every word. So much so that he actually finds himself shaking the other man's hand, though he really just wants to go wash every inch of his skin afterwards especially when Cena and AJ leave together.

Thankfully that's all he has to do that evening and, after sending a few tweets, he begins the trip to the airport. He's heading off to visit troops with Layla, Eve, R-Truth and Vince McMahon himself, and all he can think is _At least I'll get a few days away from the insanity that the WWE's become recently._


	132. chapter 132

After spending the bulk of the week overseas to visit with the troops for the holidays, Mike is relieved to be back in LA, even if it's only for a short amount of time. Despite his overworked schedule, he finds a little bit of leeway and heads out before the weekly edition of his satellite radio show, grateful to have even these couple of hours as he slips out of his car and heads to Morrison's apartment building, burying his hands in his pockets. California is notably warmer than most other places he's been to recently, but he still finds himself inexplicably chilled now and again and he can't help but wonder if Ohio weather haunts him, no matter how far away he gets from it.

Shaking his head, he pounds on the door and steps back to wait, half-smiling as he hears footsteps near and the locks unlatch one by one. When the door is opened finally, he raises an eyebrow at his best friend and tsks in an exaggerated fashion. "See that that still takes you a lifetime to do."

John mocks him by mouthing his words silently for a moment before grabbing him by the arm and pulling him inside, shutting the door behind him. "Yeah, yeah, you drop in on a guy and this is how you greet him? Would've thought the time with troops maybe taught you some manners," he teases.

"After all the time we've known each other, you honestly expect me to treat you differently?" Mike snarks back, following him into his living room. All teasing is quickly dropped then as they settle in to talk face to face for the first time in both men aren't sure how long.

"Hey, wait," John says, back on his feet and in the kitchen before Mike can even ask how he's been or anything. He watches, jaw frozen mid-word as he finally returns with a pie pan in hand. "Might as well let you have at this, since you probably didn't get to enjoy many leftovers seeing that you went overseas so soon after Thanksgiving." He smirks as his former tag partner's blue eyes light up and the pumpkin pie is nearly tore from his fingers. "Um, no eating with your fingers, God, I'm tempted to ship you back to your mother and order her to try again with you, 'cause damn." As Miz glares up at him warningly for even mentioning his mother, he waves a fork under his nose. That too is grabbed out of his hands and he settles in on the couch, near enough to- when he's feeling brave- chance a bite of the pie between Mike's own forkfuls.

Once he's had his fill, Mike hands the pan over to John, who is left with the half of a piece that he'd been slowly working over. Looking unconcerned at just _how_ much of it he'd ate, Miz smirks and leans against the couch, content and full. "So what have you been up to?" he asks finally as John starts to eat what's left in a much slower fashion.

"I suppose you saw my tweet about the play," Morrison shrugs. "Hope you didn't laugh too hard."

"A little, maybe," he smirks. "When is it, anyway? All this month?"

"Yeah, all of December except for the actual holidays. What, you thinking about crashing one of the dates? Remember it said on the page they have no clue when the scheduled guest stars make an appearance, I might not even be there if you do go."

"Oh what, you wouldn't be sure to be on the ticket when I go to see you?" He sneers. "Afraid of making a fool of yourself in front of me? You do it daily anyway so I'm not sure what the big deal is."

John rolls his eyes at him. "Says the guy who _still_ yells about how awesome he is."

"Hey it's catching on." He begins to eye the last couple of bites of the pie, so Morrison quickly eats them. He sticks his tongue out at his friend and looks around. "No other leftovers from Thanksgiving, huh? Just that pie?"

"Well, Thanksgiving was almost a week ago," Morrison points out. "You going to be on Smackdown this week?"

"Nah, I think they decided to keep me away from Cena this week. Which is just as well."

John nods, tilting his head as he weighs his friend's expression. "I've kind of been watching bits and pieces of the shows sometimes. That AJ chick is kinda ridiculous." Miz can't argue it, but he doesn't really want to agree with it either. So he does something he rarely does and keeps quiet, which only seems to further along John's curiosity and worry. "I know you wanted to use her to try to get my job back..." Again Mike stays quiet and John sighs, resting the pie pan on the coffee table in front of them before turning to face him. "Look, I know you hate talking about this kind of stuff, especially with me, but... I'm kinda worried, man."

"Don't be. She made her choice." Painfully aware that he's doing a crappy job of seeming disinterested in the geeky, unstable girl who'd somehow wormed her way into his life, he stands up and heads for the kitchen himself. "Do you have anything to drink around this place that isn't coconut water?"

John grimaces and follows him, leaning against his counter. He's not yet given up on the original topic, no matter how obvious it is that Mike wants him to. "Yeah, there's some stuff in the fridge. Feel free, just don't eat everything in there, too, huh?" Mike shoots him a glower over his shoulder before locating a diet soda and popping it open, joining John. "So you're just going to sit back and accept that she's picked Cena?"

"What choice do I really have? If she's really _that_ into him, then I don't know why I should bother. At this stage in my career, I've got better things to worry about. You know?" Mike tries to focus on the soda, the soft wood of the cabinets in front of him, anything but the disbelief etched across his friend's face, but he fails, eyes flickering up to look at Morrison every so often. His shoulders slump at his friend's continued silence. "I left it up to her, I kept my distance. A week later, she made out with him on national television. She chose _him_. There really isn't a lot I can do about it."

John's eyes soften sympathetically and he slaps Mike on the shoulder, shifting until they're side by side. "Look, I don't know that much about her, hell I haven't _seen_ her on TV that often, but what I do understand is that she'd kind of strung Punk, Daniel and Kane around for a few months, right?"

"Yeah, rub it in, John."

"No, just listen," he mumbles. "She strung 'em along and it wasn't until Kane took himself out of the running that she seemed to realize what she'd lost with that, right? Maybe the same is true here, maybe it's just going to take her awhile to clue in that Cena isn't going to do her any good, that he's just too obsessed with his career and all of those side projects to really pay attention to _her-"_

"And I'm any better?" Mike demands, a fresh wave of anger pulsing through his veins as he pushes away from the cupboard to pace around the kitchen, trying to make sense of this. "I have movies, I have TV shows, I have oversea trips, I do so many radio interviews and other promotional tie-ins that they all mesh together in my head until I can't remember where I've been and where I'm going... You seem to know AJ well enough to realize she's a little on the needy side." He sneers. "I probably won't be enough for her in the end either."

John waits until the flood of words die away and takes a breath, turning to face him once more. "Alright, Mike. The first thing you did when you had a free minute?"

He blinks and shakes his head, not comprehending. "Uh. I came here."

"Yeah. And whenever you see a tweet or anything from Alex or I that catches your attention, what do you do?"

"Text or call you."

"And on holidays what do we all tend to do, even if just for a little while?"

"Skype." He starts to catch on, wincing at Morrison as he smirks.

"It isn't hard to communicate with people anymore, Mike. We all have busy schedules and if AJ really cares at all, she'll understand that. Besides I'm sure she has her own fair share of media events and responsibilities, especially since being GM. I wouldn't worry about it, just take it a day at a time."

"If there's anything _to_ take," he grumbles.

John rests his arm on Mike's shoulder once more and squeezes, deciding it's time to distract him. "Come on, let's go get ahold of A-Ri and see how Australia is."

Mike hesitantly follows him, mulling his earlier words over. Shaking his head, he swallows and tries to find something else to talk about. "Notice how we're going all over the place, one after another now? My being in Bahrain, now Alex down under, and you've got that UK thing coming up, right?"

"Yeah, the 9th. It's like the world is conspiring so we're not all in the States when the world ends on the 21st."

"As if we'd be that lucky," Mike snarks.

"Don't believe it, huh?"

"Not really, no. Now if we could _choose_ who exactly would be affected by that, that'd be alright."

"I can guess who all would be at the top of your list..."

Things are quiet on the AJ and Cena front that following Raw. Ziggler even doesn't say or do that much involving her, the tag match with him and Cena on opposite sides goes by quickly enough and Miz only half-watches, his focus on setting up the lie detector test for Punk later on. He really doesn't care that much about the man, or The Shield, or anything else that he had rambled on about earlier, but it gives him something else to do other than deal with what John had said about the AJ situation. He really does hate how well Morrison knows him sometimes...

In fact he wouldn't mind if Cena and Sheamus are stuck with each other for the rest of their lives, as it's just all the easier to block them both out at once, but Miz doubts he'd ever be that lucky. He _had_ watched as The Shield dominated Kane and Daniel Bryan, beating them both down and leaving them struggling to regroup afterwards- interestingly enough, it looks as though the tag team champions had somewhere along the line taken his advice and decided to play nice with each other, at least for now. He can't be sure if his words from a few weeks ago had finally sunk in to the two mismatched men or if perhaps they finally just accepted that they needed each other, but either way, it always fascinates him to watch the visible shift from hate to attempts at teamwork in thrown together tag teams. It had worked quite well for him and John off and on for years, and a part of him hopes it goes just as well for these two.

The Shield are far from done this night, however, as they also target Randy Orton. They decimate him as easily as they had Team Hell No, and Miz blanches. He knows he's put himself in dangerous territory here, because _if_ The Shield _is_ working with Punk, and Miz _does_ come close to unearthing something in that lie detector test he's forcing Punk into later, well... Of course Vince puppeting Vickie Guerrero into declaring that, should Punk be caught in a lie, the following week Heyman would compete against Ryback, doesn't help matters at all.

He anxiously smooths his hair back. Forces a deep breath and heads for the gorilla position to watch as the ring is set up for the lie detector test. Even from back here, there's a smothering kind of tension in the air. He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, barely paying attention to anything around him, when he senses her more than hears or sees her. Turns around and comes eye to eye with a hesitant looking AJ. Soon as their eyes lock, she swallows and takes a step away but something stops her. He wonders if she somehow has guessed the cause of his anxiety, if she really even cares.

She ventures closer to him and reaches out to him, just to come to a stop a few inches away from his chest, her fingertips close enough that, if he'd leaned forward even a little bit himself, they'd just barely meet but neither make another move, their eyes the only contact that remains between them. "Good luck out there, Mike," she says faintly before turning on her heel and walking soberly off. There is no skipping now, no coy smiles. No sign of the girl who'd used to tease him and innocently flirt with him. He can't help but miss her sometimes.

Despite that, he quickly regains his focus once Punk is actually in the ring with him, Heyman lurking around with a tense look on his face. They all know what's at stake here and Mike takes it upon himself to knock Punk out of his comfort zone in a big way, taunting him, taunting Heyman, throwing as many jabs as he possibly can about Wrestlemania and various other embarassments that Punk has suffered over the years. Even when Punk volleys back with vicious barbs, Mike shakes it off like water off of a duck's back and proceeds on until finally he gets to the question _du jour._ The Shield, Brad Maddox, Punk's involvement with it all- he's so excited that he demands an answer and thinks he's on the cusp of getting it, Punk looking so conflicted- probably thinking about Heyman's fate, should he have to face Ryback the following week and then...

The world turns on its side, literally. Mike feels something roughly grab his legs and tug, his back protesting as he lands harshly on the floor outside of the ring. The Shield attack, they punish him, they pummel him with punches and kicks before dragging him back into the ring for their triple attack, slamming him into the mat with such force that he almost expects to go _through_ the mat. Before he can try to recollect himself, Daniel and Kane arrive, doing for him what they wouldn't- or couldn't- do for Orton earlier. As they lose the number game, however, Miz struggles just to breathe, watching through bleary eyes when finally Ryback makes an appearance. He never thought he'd be glad to see that oaf, but for once, he kind of has to be. It turns the tide, Team Hell No slowly getting the upper hand and as Ryback abuses the only remaining member of The Shield left out there, Punk stands over Mike and, adding to his humilation, roughly kicks him out of the ring. "Get out of my ring!" he overhears Punk scream at him as he rolls towards the barricade wall and just lay there, breathless and aching in a way only a melee like that could cause.

He's only slightly aware as Ryback pummels Punk a few feet away as a referee slowly helps him to the back. He lays him down on the couch and moves aside so the trainer can begin to examine him, poking and prodding him in ways that only adds to his suffering, when the door squeaks open slightly. He groans and wonders who's coming to witness his turmoil, when a soft hand rests on his now bare chest, the suit jacket and dress shirt that he'd been wearing stripped off so the trainer could examine his back and ribs. His eyes shooting open, he realizes that it's AJ standing next to him and he watches her wearily as she sits down on the floor next to him, that small smile actually back on her lips as she stares at him.

He's not sure why she's here, or how come her touch just feels _right_ to him, but it's much better than being alone as the trainer continues to talk softly to him, trying to suss out if there's anything worrisome for him to focus on right now. He decides to not overthink it for tonight.


	133. chapter 133

****

After a long few weeks of bouncing from one project to the next, John is relieved to have a couple hours to just relax Monday night. He collapses down onto his couch, his laptop on the table in front of him as he nurses a lite beer. "God," he mumbles, feeling about as beat up as he would when he'd wrestle regularly.

"Long week, huh?" Alex's voice comes from the laptop. John nods and he smiles. "Here too, I've been wrapping up rehabbing."

"Yeah? How's that going for you?" he asks, eyes fluttering tiredly as he fumbles around for his remote to turn the TV on.

"It's going well. I should be back touring with WWE soon. Which is really a good thing," Alex comments. "I... think Miz will be relieved to hear this too, next time I talk with him. The last few months have really sent him through the ringer too, I'll be glad to be around to be there for him more. I tried as best as I could, but it's kind of difficult when we're separated by hundreds of miles and computer monitors and stuff."

Finally finding the remote in between his couch cushions, John sits up and turns the TV on. "Yeah, that AJ chick really did a number on him, huh? I mean, I appreciate what he was trying to do by getting me my job back, but maybe it would've been better if he hadn't even tried... then he probably wouldn't have gotten this close to her." He frowns slightly, feeling more than a little bad for his inadvertent role in Miz's current turmoil over the AJ and Cena situation.

The younger man sighs. "I know what you mean but I don't think even if you had known what he was intending on doing, you could've stopped him. He really had his heart set on getting you your job back."

John nods thoughtfully as his eyes flicker up to the TV. "I know." He smiles wanly. "He acts like some egotistical jerk who only cares about himself, but boy is that far from the truth, huh?"

Alex nods. "Yeah..." They watch Raw quietly for awhile, only commenting now and again and making fun of various things- like Cody's mustache, which garners a loud chant from the WWE universe. By about half-way through the show, A-Ri notices when John starts to get antsy. "Kind of dragging tonight, huh?"

"A bit," he admits, a distant look in his dark eyes. "It's kind of weird, I recognize a fair amount of these guys but some of them... I've never even met before, and barely have heard of since I've distanced myself from the business the past year." He rests his chin in the palm of his hands and sighs. "Funny how things change so quickly."

"Yeah, I know. I've only been gone a couple of months and already I know I'm going to have hit the ground running when I arrive there, because like you said, things _do_ change quickly. I'm almost not sure what to expect... Imagine how it'd have been if Mike _had_ gotten your job back and you'd have to do this with little to no warning, reacclimate yourself to everything at a moment's notice."

John nods, staring unwaveringly at the TV as Kofi vs Cesaro's champion vs champion match continues on. "I wonder what Mike would say if..."

Alex watches him as best as he can at the slightly off angle due to how he's sitting compared to where his webcam is aimed, his lips turned downwards into a puzzled frown. "If what, John? What are you thinking?"

His face suddenly clears and John smiles, appearing more himself. "Oh, you know. Deep, Palace of Wisdom type thoughts." His eyes brighten as the former NXT Rookie peers at him curiously from the small screen. "I'll explain some other time..." Luckily for John, they then announce that Miz TV will be up next with Rhodes Scholars on, distracting both of them. "Oh, fabulous," John breathes out.

It's obvious to both of Mike's closest friends that he's not himself; they can guess without saying it out loud that the whole AJ situation- with the girl acting manic all night and hanging obsessively off of Cena like she used to do with CM Punk- on top of his not being put on TV for nearly the whole show, just barely penciled in for the very last half hour in what ends up being a ridiculously short, somewhat pointless segment with Cody Rhodes and Damien Sandow, had left Miz off of his game. And yeah, his insults towards the tag team are kind of weak, his attempts at causing discord in their tag team blatantly obvious, and leaves Alex and John cringing, but they've all had those moments, and they both have no doubt he'll be able to bounce back.

"Hopefully he won't be too hard on himself," Alex mumbles.

"It's Mike," John responds with a plaintive sigh. "He's _always_ hard on himself. You know that."

"Unfortunately." They both aren't that interested in the main event and shut their TVs off, turning to stare at each other.

"I remember when people used to pull that crap with him and I," John says, his eyes dark and far off once more. "I used to think their little tactics would never work, that we'd be a team forever. Or at least, even if we went our separate ways, it'd be kind of like Kofi and Truth right now, y'know? Amicable." He smiles wistfully. "But as always, Mike had different ideas. I guess it worked out the way it was meant to in the end though."

Alex nods, the two of them falling into an awkward silence. Finally the thought that had been bouncing around A-Ri's mind for the last hour or so slips out, nothing he tries enough to stop the words from falling from his tongue. "Are you happy, John?"

Morrison freezes, blinking a time or two before looking away from the computer. No answer is forthcoming.


	134. chapter 134

Miz finds himself backsliding to the same mindset he'd been in months ago, before he'd left to film Marine 3: Homefront. He has no match on the upcoming PPV and been delegated to doing little more than Miz TV segments almost every show. He'd almost think that AJ was still in charge and getting back at him for all but ignoring her when she'd started making eyes at Cena more regularly, but it's not that, she has no power anymore and doesn't even get along with Vickie Guerrero to the point that she could ask her for such a favor. He can't determine what it is, why the various GMs keep having issues with giving him regular competition, but it drives him up the wall.

He flexes his hands, scrubbing them through his hair. "This is just getting beyond stupid," he mumbles to himself, feeling exhausted and beyond annoyed. At least before he'd had Alex around to distract him but now, with the Florida native still preparing to return after his surgeries, he's all alone to drown in these self-doubts. After the AJ mess, they only become worse with each passing second.

He has commentary on Main Event, MizTV again on Smackdown, and unless something comes of that (which he doubts because it's Team Hell No), he has nothing concrete planned for TLC. But he swallows his misgivings and does his job that Wednesday, watching Del Rio compete against Ryback and lose; 3MB compete against Tyson Kidd and Justin Gabriel and win. He watches 3MB and shakes his head at their shenanigans, pondering.

When Smackdown comes, he smirks to himself as Team Hell No make their way to the ring under Kane's music. Since his little conversation with Kane, inspired by his own varied experiences with making a tag team work, the two men had come to work together under the realization that they pretty much needed to in order to survive if The Shield kept targetting them. He had expected something like that weeks ago, and finds himself almost relieved at the development. The tag team champions don't get to talk about Sunday that much, however, when The Shield appears in the crowd and makes their way to the ring.

Mike tenses up, somehow expecting this but also not sure what exactly to do. He'd had his own run-ins with The Shield, after that stupid lie detector test had gone sideways so horribly, and though revenge sounds nice right now, he also wants to be smart about this. He's pretty sure they're not here for _him,_ they're here for the tag team champions, and he'd rather avoid _another_ beat down this close to the PPV, just in case, so he quietly ducks out of the ring and lets Team Hell No deal with it as he slips up the ramp and leaves. He's just made it to the main hallway when he passes by Ryback obviously on his way to get a piece of The Shield members for himself, eyes slipping closed in relief. _Ok, he'll deal with that. Good._

He _almost_ smirks as he passes by Alberto Del Rio and Ricardo Rodriguez talking lowly in the hallway, preparing for ADR's match against Kofi Kingston later on. Similar to him, Del Rio's been all but overlooked for the upcoming PPV, but Miz can't feel too bad for him. At least he has had actual matches, even if none of them will seemingly result in anything for this Sunday. Entering the locker room, he slumps down on a bench and scrapes his fingers through his slicked back hair, making it stand up almost like how it used to, before the movie. Sometimes he misses those days, that look. But there are a lot of things he misses, that particular nostalgia is short on his list...

After a very slow, very glum weekend spent reflecting on things and wondering just what he'll do with his time on Sunday with nothing planned, and no one to hang out with, Mike arrives at TLC and almost walks past the board with the planned matches and segments written down on it- when, on a lark, he turns at the last minute and just looks at it. He's too far away to read much, though he already knows the matches inside and out, but there's an entry for a non-match about mid-way through the card, and... "Oh no," he grumbles, venturing closer. Sure enough, his eyes hadn't been playing tricks on him. _MizTV hosted by the Miz, guests 3MB._ He closes his eyes and tries not to lose it right then, right there. "What did I ever do to deserve this?"

They're so obnoxious that they make _him_ look like the most respectful, quiet guy in the room. And now, lucky, lucky him, instead of proving himself in the ring like he's meant to do, he'll be stuck interviewing that wanna-be band, trying to sort out what the hell they're actually about. Most days he loves his job and wouldn't think at all about giving it up, even if it frustrates him beyond belief. Today definitely is not one of them, however.

When his time comes around, he can't even make it through their entrance before his aggravation starts to rise. They're just annoying, grates at his very essence, and he _wants_ to mock them, _wants_ to make them as annoyed as he is, _wants_ to discredit this so-called band of theirs. So, he does. And they go off on a tangent, towards him, towards the fans, towards anything they can think of- before turning their attention to the Spanish announcers sitting at ringside, doing their jobs without causing anyone any harm. He watches, unimpressed, as they begin to bully the two non-competitors behind the desk when suddenly he blinks and Ricardo Rodriguez is out there, yelling at them in Spanish.

Their focus turns to him, their abuse beginning to rain down upon him and they've just thrown him into the ring when, of all people, Alberto Del Rio runs out and spares his ring announcer from any further harm. Ricardo is still flushed from how close he'd come to getting attacked- again-, sprawled out on the apron, and Mike's standing blase on the outside, just watching, as 3MB tosses Del Rio into the ring and begins outnumbering him with their assault. Cool blue eyes meet with frantic brown as Ricardo looks desperately from the ring to Mike and back, his hands twisting together anxiously at his sides. "Help him!" he finally yells at Miz and there's a wild moment where the former WWE champion considers repeating what he'd done with Team Hell No, leaving Del Rio to fend for himself against Slater, Mahal, and McIntyre, but something won't let him.

Maybe it's the look on Rodriguez's face, maybe the strangely sacrificial action it'd been when Del Rio had run down to assist his ring announcer, maybe it's just that he's tired of 3MB and all that they've been doing the past few weeks, maybe it's because he finally has a true target to take out all of his anger and aggravation stemming from everything that came of his failed attempt at whatever that was with AJ, but something snaps in Miz. And they come full circle as _he_ pulls the save this time, rushing the ring and slinging out part of 3MB- he's so centered that afterwards he's not even sure _which_ ones he gets rid of, just that his actions are enough to let Del Rio recover and throw the remaining member out of the ring- and Ricardo rejoins them, a pensive look on his face as he hovers behind his employer, all three of them peering down at the spitting angry 3MB.

This whole mess had been one thing, he's not even sure how to explain what comes over him next but one minute he's glancing from Del Rio to Rodriguez, back down to 3MB, and the next he's picking up a discarded microphone from the mat and leaning over the top rope to address the trio below, challenging them to a six man match later on. And dammit all if Slater doesn't accept, leaving them with no choice but to figure out their third partner with maybe an hour to think.

After 3MB storms off, Miz, Alberto and Ricardo leave the ring, heading back to the locker room to begin their brainstorming. Ricardo finds a chair for Alberto and pulls it out for him, standing obediently by his side until the Mexican aristocrat glances sideways at him and motions to a second chair. "Sit." Ricardo looks almost as surprised at this as Miz feels, and he senses his curiosity born from hosting MizTV the past few weeks welling to the surface once more.

"Can I ask you a question?" Del Rio shrugs, motioning at him to continue, and Mike licks his lips. "Alright." He shifts on the bench that he'd settled down in and raises an eyebrow at them. "What is this? Since when do you care enough to pull the save whenever he gets himself in trouble, and now you're being considerate enough to let him relax too?" He thinks there's a high chance he's probably trying his luck here, which isn't a good thing, especially since they're going to be tag teaming soon, but there's no going back now so he sits and waits for his answer while the two men exchange glances.

Del Rio looks down at his hands, his face twisted in disgust and discomfort as he formulates a response, Ricardo looking anxiously at his employer. "I have been thinking a lot lately," he admits lowly, his accent making the words even harder to decipher. "2012 was not a good year for me. For us." He glances over at Ricardo briefly before turning to face Miz once more. "What I was doing... was not working." He chuckles mirthlessly before scrubbing at his face. "I have lost I do not know how many times this year. My destiny... has failed me." Ricardo rests a comforting hand on his upper shoulder and Del Rio inclines his head in response, taking a breath. "I cannot guarantee victories, but I can at least try to make sure that I don't lose sight of what I have."

Miz shakes his head, still not completely understanding, but before he can say anything, Alberto continues to speak, his eyes lowered. It's the expression of a man beaten down by this company, perhaps finally broken, and Mike thinks he can understand, almost emphathize with him, despite their many disagreements.

"I have money, I have beautiful cars, an incredible mansion, but it all means very little when my family looks at me and sees nothing but a petulant child incapable of upholding his boastful claims and demanding to try again and again, just to fail harder and harder." He glances over at Ricardo and grimaces faintly. "It means even less when my unachievable goals leave my best friend to get hurt over and over again as I, how is said, beat my head repeatedly against the same brick wall."

"Best friend," Mike repeats lowly, almost unaware that he'd even spoken until both men look at him sharply, Ricardo looking somewhere between sheepish and pleased at Del Rio's vocal proclamation of this particular title for him outside of anything to do with his being injured.

"Si, mi mejor amigo," Del Rio reinforces, a sincere gleam in his dark eyes. "Unfortunately one of those things I tend to lose sight of when all I am thinking about is competition, and repetitively trying to gain the World or WWE titles."

Mike nods as they fall silent then, his mind wandering. Relationships in WWE are odd, you either have a best friend who you do everything with just for it all to fall apart eventually, or you have a tag team partner who you hate or hates you, and then sometimes you have something like this- an association that seems like little more than an unhealthy alliance, bred from money or what one can give the other, but truly hides what it really is behind the scenes, when there's not competition fueling everything. He's had all three of them in varying stages of his career, so he understands possibly better than most. For a brief moment, he wonders how exactly Del Rio and Ricardo co-exist outside of the arenas, and the hotels, and the airports.

Shaking his head slightly, and yet again missing both Morrison and Alex, he decides to drop this topic and focus on what's truly important right now. "Ok, what are we going to do about this third member of our team? Who should it be, any ideas?"

Ricardo sits forward, an eager look in his eyes. "El Patron, I can-"

"No," Alberto interrupts almost immediately, though not unkindly. "You have been through enough for one night, I want you to remain on the sidelines tonight. Alright?"

He looks disappointed but ultimately nods, staring down at his hands. "Si, El Patron. If you wish."

Mike misses Alberto's response to this, looking over his shoulder at someone he sees wandering past the open locker room door. "How about him?"

Del Rio and Ricardo both turn to look, exchanging glances. Alberto shrugs after a moment, seeming unimpressed but with no idea of who else to suggest... "Whatever."

"Perfect." Mike stands and rushes outside, catching up to the Brooklyn Brawler before he can get too far away. It really takes very little convincing for the man to join their match. "He agree-" he's in the middle of saying upon returning to the locker room, coming to a quick stop when he sees Del Rio and Ricardo talking lowly in Spanish, barely noticing anything around them. It hurts to watch, reminding him yet again of when he and Morrison, or he and Alex, would have similar, all-encompassing conversations. Swallowing, he turns and leaves. He's really never felt so alone in all of his life, and considering he's in a building full of loud, laughing people, looking forward to the upcoming holidays, that's just ridiculous.

Even so, the match goes swimmingly. It doesn't really last that long, Miz quickly dispatching Mahal with a Skullcrushing Finale and leaving him open to a Boston Crab from the Brawler, the Punjab quickly tapping out. Mike smiles and lifts his tag partner's hand up in victory, wondering briefly where Del Rio and Ricardo's gotten to but not that concerned.

His role in the ppv over with, Mike decides to drive from New York to Pennsylvania for Raw, get there before it's too late and grab some sleep. Despite the victory easing a little of his inner turmoil, he's still lonely and feeling a little blah. The last thing he needs is to hang around and witness whatever nonsense AJ will probably cause during Cena vs Dolph for the briefcase. By the time he arrives, he's exhausted and pretty much asleep on his feet as soon as he completes checking in at the hotel.

He's so tired that, on his way to the elevator waiting to take him to his own floor, he fails to notice an amused pair of eyes watching his every movement.

Raw starts with a recap of what he'd read about online this afternoon, merely rubbing it in like salt in a wound. AJ had come out during Cena and Dolph's match, yeah. And she had beat Vickie Guerrero up. And she'd... attacked Cena and ensured that Dolph would retain his briefcase. Miz isn't sure why he's surprised- she'd gone from guy to guy to guy almost every other month, so why not do it again. Cena had been off-put by her attitude, and he can almost understand it, though to some extent he understands _her_ too, because he still thinks underneath all of the craziness and everything else that surrounds her, she's just a scared little girl desperate for some affection and attention.

He's watching with a blank look on his face when someone drops down heavily next to him and stares at the TV too. He bristles, not really thrilled with his space being hijacked like this, but then it only gets worse when a sweaty arm presses against the shoulder of his vest, resting there. No matter what he does to shake it off, it just keeps returning, its obtuse owner not taking the hint. Finally he turns to yell at whichever imbecile thinks they belong there. "Hey, I swear to God, if you don't move right the hell now-" His voice quickly dies when his vision catches up with his words, and his jaw drops. "Alex?!"

"Hello to you too," his former protege greets him with a wide grin.

"Son of bitch," he gasps, stepping back to get a good look at his best friend who he hadn't seen outside of webcam chats for weeks, since his surgery. "Wha- how... I don't..."

Alex laughs and reaches out to ground Mike, softly squeezing his shoulder. "I was cleared over the weekend and when I called in, Vickie urged me to come to the show." He smiles faintly. "If you'd looked to the right at all last night at the hotel, you would've seen me watching you when you were heading to the elevator. But you looked so wiped out, I decided just to go sleep in my room, and surprise you today."

"Well, damn did you do that," Mike gasps out, finally shaking off his shock enough to lunge forward and wrap Alex in a hug, his loneliness dissipating slowly as they pull away from each other, almost equal smirks on their faces. "God, it's good to see you." He then remembers just how sweaty Alex is, and raises an eyebrow at him. "Did you compete?"

"Yeah, against McGillicutty before the show started." He looks wounded, lip pouting out slightly. "Did you miss my first match back?" Mike struggles to figure out a proper apology, truly feeling horrible, when Alex's face smoothes out and he squeezes Mike's arm. "Don't worry about it, it's not a big deal. You'll catch the next one. You didn't even know I was here, much less that I'd be having a match."

"Hell yeah, I'll be watching the next one." Relieved that Alex had so easily dropped it, he walks alongside him to the locker room. "And lucky you, you get to watch my rematch with 3MB tonight." Still smarting from the loss the night before, they'd apparently requested it through Vickie Guerrero, and she'd agreed. Brawler wasn't there this evening, however, so Mike has no idea who their tag partner will be, just that Vickie said she'd handle it. Which isn't really comforting at all, but hey.

Alex chuckles. "You and Del Rio, huh? That's the oddest thing I've seen in awhile, and, well... I've seen some odd things, considering."

"I know, right?" He scratches at his scalp slightly and shrugs. "We talked some last night and who knew, underneath all of the ego and elitist crap, he's actually human sometimes."

"I guess everyone is, to some extent. Even you."

"Haha," Mike sneers, before turning to glance at Alex. "It really is good to have you back, man."

"It's good to be back." Alex's grin is wide, full of enthusiasm, and causes Mike to grin as well, his world slowly tilting back to normalcy. "Now tell me what all I've missed around here, huh?"

"That could take awhile," he admits. "But my match isn't until later in the card, so sure. Why not."

Although he has a fun time snarking with Alex over various backstage nonsense, and goes on to win alongside Del Rio and Tommy Dreamer against 3MB _again,_ the night isn't completely perfect. Not even twenty minutes after their match, Dreamer gets attacked by The Shield for some indiscernible reason and Ricardo Rodriguez happens upon the scene, just to get bashed into a metal wall himself when he tries to intervene. Word spreads quickly, Mike and Alex exchanging uncomfortable glances when they overhear. "C'mon," he mumbles, leaving the locker room and heading in that direction. The Shield apparently had left the arena upon the referees' arrivals, leaving Dreamer and Ricardo to get looked at, so they feel confident enough to venture down that way, though they keep an eye out just in case. You can never be too careful in this business, and everyone seems to learn that early on.

Del Rio is already there, kneeling by Ricardo with an angry, dark look on his face as a referee carefully removes his tux jacket to examine where he'd impacted with the wall, the most of the trainers and staff around a still writhing Tommy. Miz and Alex go to him, Mike gingerly resting a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him as he's looked at. "Relax, Tommy. Let them look at ya, huh?"

He groans but gives in, closing his eyes tightly and hitting his fist against the wall, which only raises the trainer's annoyance levels as he warns him not to move. "I'm too out of practice for this sort of thing," he tries to joke it away breathlessly, peering tiredly up at Mike.

"I know, man. I'm sorry." He wishes he'd been there to try to do something, help them both, his hands pressing into futile fists at his sides. _The Shield really need taught a lesson,_ he thinks grimly while glancing over to Alberto and Ricardo, who are murmuring back and forth in Spanish as the ring announcer is poked and prodded, checked for any serious injuries.

Thankfully Tommy's injuries doesn't seem that severe, just some bruises and cuts, which will leave him sore for awhile but ultimately alright, and Tommy even leaves to go back home before Miz heads for Smackdown, since it's being held the next night in reverence for the holidays, to give them all a few days with their families before the next round of shows. For this reason, they're even placed on a bus, WWE corporate deciding not to make them drive _again_ since they'd been going nonstop for the past few days. Which they're all used to, no lie, but it's a relief just to sit back and not have to focus on the road for once.

He'd been so busy keeping an eye on Tommy that he hadn't really found out how Ricardo's doing after all of the mess earlier so, after glancing over to find Alex dozing in the seat next to him, his eyes softening at the familiar sight, he carefully eases his way out into the aisle and ventures towards where Ricardo and Alberto are sitting. Another change for the Mexican aristocrat, he'd never really be agreeable to this sort of trip in the past, sticking his nose up at all of it before dragging Ricardo away and going to the next city in one of his fancy cars, but he now seems content sitting next to his ring announcer on this ridiculously pedestrian bus, watching the darkened towns pass them by.

Miz almost chuckles at the sight of Del Rio here, but chokes it down when he realizes that Ricardo is fast asleep, his head lolling against Del Rio's shoulder. Smiling slightly, he kneels by their seats, supporting himself with a hand on his armrest. "Hey."

Alberto's head whips around to peer at him and he blinks, surprised. "Oh. Hola."

"How is he?"

Del Rio's face tenses slightly as he looks over at his sleeping ring announcer, shaking his head slightly. "Just sore, I think. The trainer says he saw nothing seriously wrong with him, but... he recommended we keep an eye on things the next few days. Just in case." There's a deep tiredness in his gaze as he looks back at Miz. "What did you want?"

"Just to tell you both that Dreamer's doing ok. He's sore and more than a little bruised and battered too, but he should be fine in a few days. If Rodriguez here hadn't interrupted when he did, the news probably wouldn't be _that_ good." Alberto nods slightly, glancing down at his ring announcer with a searching stare. He still looks fast asleep, but there's a small smile on his lips that hadn't been there before so Mike suspects that he'd overheard anyway.

"Gracias, Miz," Del Rio finally murmurs, looking back over at him.

"Anytime." With a small smile of his own, the most must-see superstar today gets up and returns to Alex's side, sitting back down with a soft sigh. He's not sure at all what Smackdown will bring, his time set aside for _another_ edition of MizTV- with, of course, AJ and Dolph Ziggler as his guests- but all in all, he has to admit, glancing over at the still sleeping Alex, things aren't _that_ bad.

"Are you ready for this?" Alex asks him the next night, watching as he paces back and forth.

"Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I be?" he wonders, peering over at him with a confused look on his face before continuing his path left to right, left to right, on the already worn carpet of the locker room.

"You haven't sat still once since we got here. What's up?"

He finally stops, almost blushing when he realizes that Alex is right- he'd not stopped moving since they'd arrived here, and his legs are showing it, protesting already. He grimaces and takes a seat next to Alex, his shoulders slumping. "Um. AJ Lee and Dolph Ziggler are on MizTV tonight."

"Right."

"This is the first time I'll have really seen her for awhile. I don't know what to expect," he admits. "I mean, I normally don't, but this feels... different, you know?"

"Yeah." Alex is obviously unsure what to say, having missed the worse of the AJ drama while out with his injury, and finally he just rests a hand on Mike's shoulders, kneading the tense muscles beneath his fingers. "It'll be ok though."

"I hope so," he mumbles.

They sit there in silence for awhile longer before Alex looks over at him, knowing a way to distract him from this, even if for only a few minutes. "Hey, I have a rematch against McGillicutty coming up. Come watch it from gorilla, huh?"

Mike's face brightens. "Yeah, ok, that sounds good." Alex grins back and they leave together, Mike watching through the curtain as his former rookie makes his way to the ring, McGillicutty glowering around as he joins him. The match goes back and forth for awhile, before Alex gains the advantage and the win. He'd missed Alex's first match and victory, but this one- Mike is _so_ happy for him, that he'd come back from injury on an early roll. As Alex makes his way back through the curtain, he slaps his chest, face glowing. "Congrats, man!"

"Thanks," he laughs, leaning against the wall for a moment as he catches his breath. "MizTV is starting the show, huh?" They peer back out of the curtain as, once McGillicutty leaves the ring, staff begins running around, setting up the furniture and other props Miz had selected for his segment.

"Yep. Guess I should get out there." He hesitates at the threshold and sighs. "Wish me luck."

"Every time, Mike. Now go. It'll be fine."

"God I hope so," he mumbles, quickly making his way out there before he could lose his nerve.

All too soon, AJ and Dolph and their little enforcer, Big E. Langston, are in the ring and he's trying to focus on interviewing them. All possibility of this goes by the wayside, however, when AJ is trying to explain herself and although it _seems_ like she's describing how Cena broke her heart, strung her along, her eyes are locked on Mike the whole time, unwavering in her agony, and he's choked with some silent, unreadable emotion as he listens, unable to look away. Despite the fact that, in the end, she'd chosen Cena over _him,_ she's the one who's looking like _he_ hurt _her,_ and dammit, it's eating him alive. He wants to comfort her, take it all away, make her happy again, but in the end, Dolph is lurking behind her, calling her pet names and talking about how hot their kiss the night before had been, and he sees red.

The next thing he knows, he's talking about how unstable AJ is, ruthlessly rubbing it in her face as she stares up at him warningly, and before he can even think of anything else, figure out what to say next, Big E Langston has him, and there's just blinding pain as he lands roughly on the mat, staring up at the lights. He's not sure how much time has passed before he gingerly makes it to his feet, heading to the back, but Alex is still there, waiting for him and he groans vaguely, squinting over at him. "I guess we all can't have great nights," he mumbles, relieved when his friend wraps an arm around him and supports him back to the locker room, where he tugs his bag closer. "Can we get out of here?"

"Of course, man. Let's go." Alex smiles sympathetically as he releases a relieved breath.

Somehow everything hurts just a little less with Alex back by his side.


	135. chapter 135

If he'd thought Monday and Tuesday were busy, it has nothing on Wednesday for Miz. First he has to spend an hour talking with Cole as Team Hell No retains their tag belts against Rhodes Scholars and CoBro beaten by the Primetime Players (which as always ends with him just talking a whole lot about his former tag team partnership with Morrison, which he has to admit, kinda hurts, still to this day. He wishes he could've done more to help his partner get his job back... but it is what it is)... then he has the Muppets on MizTV for Tribute to the Troops. It was supposed to be a simple interview but, while trying to get Kermit the Frog to fess up about his feelings for Ms. Piggy without thinking too much about his own wayward relationship woes, Damien Sandow's music begins to play. He closes his eyes, the last thing he wants or needs right now is to listen to this guy, but he has little choice.

The argument between them over the Muppets and MizTV and anything else under the sun becomes a full-flown match and Mike wins it. He stands over Sandow's downed body and sneers. "Stick to tag team wrestling," he snaps before heading up the ramp to celebrate with the Muppets. Amused when Ms. Piggy asks for a kiss on the cheek, Mike leans down to oblige just for her to get ahold of him and force a full-on kiss to the lips. When he pulls away, a goofy, dazed kind of smile on his face, she turns back to wave at the audience along with Kermit as if nothing had happened. _Women!_ he thinks.

His night isn't over yet, however, when as soon as he goes backstage, he almost runs right into a somewhat familiar form. "Excuse me-" he says, looking up. His voice immediately dies away when he sees who's in his way. "Oh."

AJ Lee stands before him, head tilted with her eyes locked piercingly on him. "Well, hello there, Miz," she greets him, her voice low and more than a little tense. He can't help but feel like he's prey being eyed by a much larger predator, which is seriously ridiculous, but yet... She smiles, toying her with the ends of her hair as she peers up at him. "Making out with muppets, now, are we?"

He shakes his head, confused as always by her. Just the day before on MizTV she'd been all but rubbing it in his face that she was with Dolph now, and yet here she is, without Dolph _or_ Big E. Langston, acting as though she's almost _jealous_ by what'd just happened with Ms. Piggy. "What's it to you?" he asks, blanching when she almost winces away from him, her smile fading at the dull harshness to his tone. He doesn't mean to hurt her feelings, but he's really not sure how much more of this cat and mouse game he can take from her.

Her face quickly smoothes out, however, and she approaches him, her eyes flickering up now and again. "Was she a better kisser than I am?" she asks softly, her eyelashes fluttering as she grips him and pulls him down, pressing her lips to his. Her fingers digging into his scalp are barely a distraction, the pain prickling at him only a little as he finds himself drifting in the feel of her pressed against him as close as possible. This is wrong, he knows it's wrong- she's nearing her summer romance record of three men once more, between he, Ziggler and Cena, but he can't back away, doesn't really want it to stop. When _she_ finally pulls away, he almost follows her, dazed. "I didn't think so." And just like that, she skips away, leaving him to gape after her in confusion. Like she's done to many men in her wake already, and will probably do to many more before she's through, he's sure.

He closes his eyes, shaking his head. " _Women,_ " he repeats slowly before walking the opposite direction of her, needing badly to find Alex- which is such a relief to have that as an option again!- and a much needed distraction from this whole mess.

After spending a few days with their family and friends, the WWE competitors converge once more for the weekly Monday night show on Christmas Eve. Despite various feuds ever lingering and one locker room being held hostage basically by AJ Lee and Dolph Ziggler celebrating their first holiday together, it's actually somewhat festive. Until, that is, Alberto Del Rio hits Santa Claus with his car and the whole locker room begins waiting on tetherhooks to see if the jolly red man pulls through. Del Rio remains defensive and Ricardo's sobs are heard echoing through out the hallways for the rest of the night, Miz grimacing as he walks past first their locker room, and then Dolph and AJ's, where soft music is playing, their low murmurs grating at him almost worse than Ricardo's inconsolable horror at what'd happened to Santa.

Thankfully he has a match that night and he waves half-heartedly at Alex as he goes out to join Kofi Kingston to wrestle Wade Barrett and Antonio Cesaro. Despite the loss of his title, and the scar he will forever bear on his brow thanks to the man who he'll now partner up with, he holds no ill-will towards Kofi. Respect had been born begrudgingly from that rivalry and he likes to think, with time, he had proven that Kofi could, if not trust him, at least work alongside him in situations like these. After all, he'd been on his best behavior during the Team Foley vs Team Ziggler Survivor Series match, no matter how much everyone on his team had disliked him. Has to count for something, right?

And it does, because they win. Despite his and Kofi understanding each other a little bit better, he doesn't want to take his chances so he leaves his temporary tag partner behind and goes to find Alex in catering. He's so wrapped up in his own thoughts he doesn't even realize _where_ in the arena he's at until a door opens in front of him, blocking his way. As soft music filters out, all good feelings seep out of him and he stiffens, expecting a fight of some sort. But no, Dolph isn't who appears in the hallway before him.

Instead, it's AJ and she doesn't seem to notice him at first until he tries to turn and leave in the other direction. It's the long way to catering but if it keeps him away from her, then so be it. But he fails in being sneaky, her voice causing him to freeze midstep like a high school student caught by the teacher. "Mike?"

"What do you want?" he asks, half-turning to look at her as though, should he gaze upon her completely, his eyes would burn as if staring into the sun.

He can just see out of the corner of his eye that she's wearing a shredded up version of Dolph's blue Stealing the Show... and Your Girlfriend shirt, and he has to admit it looks very good on her. Even so, she looks almost hesitant and small as she shifts from one foot to the next, a far cry from the girl who sicc'd Big E Langston on him the week before, or even the one who'd kissed him just a few days ago. She takes a breath, runs her fingers through her hair carefully so as not to dislodge the red flower pinned there, and sighs. "I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. I hope you get everything you want."

His laugh is bitter and faint and now he does turn to look her right in the eye. "Oh really? Reaaaaally?" he draws the words out, watching as the hurt intensifies upon her face. Reigning himself in slightly, Mike takes a step back from her, not wanting to do this. Not now. Not today. He runs a hand along his forehead and releases a deep breath. "Merry Christmas, AJ." Unable to watch her any longer, he turns and continues on to catering. _She has Dolph,_ he thinks. _She'll be fine._

He finally makes it and Alex bounds right over to him, a sea of enthusiasm and energy since returning from his injury. He sobers up, however, when he catches sight of Mike's face, wrapping a snug arm around his shoulders and drawing him further into the softly decorated room, Christmas music playing over everyone's conversations. "Hey, man, what's wrong?"

He ponders if he really wants to talk about it, not that Alex is the type to force him into talking when he doesn't want to. Finally he just sighs, spits out, "AJ," and leaves it at that. Sure enough, the younger man just nods quietly and leaves him for a moment, returning with a plate stacked high with various sugar cookies decorated festivally.

"What do you say, to take our minds off of all this, we eat these all and then we go Skype Morrison and wish him a Merry Christmas? I hear congratulations are in order anyway, he's finally getting those OOYM fitness DVDs ready for presale."

Mike takes a cookie and nods, relieved that Alex had suggested that. If anything could distract him from what a mess everything'd become in the past month, it'll be Skype-ing with his two closest friends. "That sounds like exactly what I need right now." He smiles, licking some frosting off of his fingers.


	136. chapter 136

His chance meetings with AJ the past week fresh on his mind, it's a somewhat defensive Mike that sits behind the commentary table during Wednesday Night's Main Event, beyond relieved that the Raw Recap aired midway through the show has all to do with Alberto Del Rio running over Santa with his car and nothing at all about AJ spending the night with Dolph Ziggler, holed up in that locker room. At least until Cole, for whatever reason, compares Miss Piggy to AJ and Mike's head almost explodes, an awkward silence passing across the commentary table.

Finally he spits out something about how he'd never make out with AJ, and Cole seems incredulous at this. Growing all the more uncomfortable with this line of conversation and hating himself for falling into this trap, Mike just says that he likes to make the first move, uncomfortably aware of the fact that it had been only a week since AJ had kissed _him_ and he had enjoyed _that._ Not that it's an exclusive club, by far, but still... he hadn't had a reason to complain. Even if he'd known it was probably dictated by one of her many mood swings, and she was right back with Dolph a minute later.

When he finally gets off of the commentary table, he's relieved and almost makes a beeline for the exit. Twirling his keys around his finger, he takes in deep breaths of the chilly December air as he walks towards his car, his all-over-the-place thoughts quickly derailed when he realizes that someone's standing by his car. And not just any someone, AJ Lee. He stops and stares, taking in a deep breath. "What did I do to deserve this?" he sighs, finally forcing himself to move again as he walks up to her, quickly scanning the side of his rental to ensure she'd not done anything to damage it. "AJ."

She tilts her head and stares at him, smirking slightly. "So Mike, I heard you on commentary." He swallows slightly as she seems to be in one of her ever-changing moods again, staying quiet since he's not sure what exactly to expect from her. As always. "And I heard you tell Cole you'd never make out with me..." She slips closer to him, a coy look on her face, and he takes in a deep breath. "So I'm just wondering... what you thought that was that we did exactly a week ago?"

He looks _almost_ sympathetic as he peers down at her, a sneer overwhelming his face as he opts to ignore his brain reminding him that he'd decided to avoid her, to not let it go this far. Just as loud is the memory of her pressed against him, kissing him almost roughly, and he can't help but want more. "Oh, sweetheart," he all but coos. "You thought _that_ last week was making out? No, no, that was you blindsiding me out of jealousy." As he walks closer to her, her expression changes again, grows more wary as he begins to corner her in against a support pillar. "And besides, what I said to Cole was I like to take charge when it comes to that sorta thing." Pressing a hand against the cool concrete on either side of her, he leans closer until they're nose to nose. " _This_ is making out."

He pauses only long enough to peer into her eyes and, seeing nothing that even resembles _no_ lurking in their dark depths, goes for it, his lips against hers as he lazily presses a hand against her hip, holding her in place but allowing leniency just in case she wants to go. She may have expected the kiss, but definitely not the intensity behind it as he pours everything he has into this one moment- teeth, tongue, lips, energy, determination- and she gives as good as she gets, her fingers scraping up his scalp to tug at his hair until they're as close as two people can get, her body sandwiched between him and the pillar, the freezing concrete contrasting with his warm skin pressed against her and leaving her wanting more. It feels like it lasts a lifetime and only a few seconds all at once as he teases her with a ghosting touch up her side, causing her to arch even further into him until they're both groaning softly, blue eyes pouring desperately into brown. Withdrawing from her is almost painful but has to be done as he regretfully eases his mouth away from hers, letting his face rest on her shoulder for a moment before, pressing a soft kiss to the skin there, he pulls away completely and leaves her on wobbly legs against the pillar. " _That's_ making out," he just manages to say, mist pouring from his lips with each rapid exhale as he realizes anew just how _cold_ it is, before returning once more to his car.

She's still standing there, hesitantly touching her lips when he starts the car up and pulls out, his headlights washing over her as he peels out of the parking garage and in the opposite direction of the hotel the majority of them are staying at. He needs to clear his head in a big way, and doing so by driving around for awhile seems like the perfect way to accomplish that. "What was I thinking?!" he demands of himself when at the first red light, slapping his fist against the steering wheel. "Stupid, stupid, stupid..."

After spending most of the night in his hotel room, pacing, he makes the trip onwards to the city Smackdown is being held in. He'd decided that things couldn't get much more ridiculous, and he'd had more than enough of letting people get away with attacking him- like The Shield- so he contacts Booker T, who is agreeable to setting up a match for him against Dolph Ziggler. Uncomfortably aware that Dolph probably has no clue about the moments he's had with AJ the past few weeks, he wonders how far he can push the envelope before his opponent gets suspicious of them.

He's got the advantage before turning his attention briefly to the girl, blowing a kiss at her- and it's this that's enough, as he turns around right into Dolph's attack, and finds himself staring up at the lights again as he's covered and pinned, too dazed to really accept what had just occurred. The trio on the outside are heading back up the ramp, AJ all over Dolph yet again, when Mike wearily slumps against the ring ropes and motions for a mic. All celebrating comes to a stop when he begins to speak into the mic, his lips tugging into a cocky smirk. He can barely sit up, much less keep his eyes open but he somehow watches her on the titantron, slurring out one last taunt, aimed more at Dolph than her. "Doesn't matter who you're with on New Years Eve, AJ... we all know the year's gonna end in a bang," he says, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he forces them open once more. "Happy New Years, sweetheart."

The beatdown that follows doesn't surprise him, Big E. Langston quickly leaving him lying yet again. His eyes are just fluttering open when he sees AJ and Dolph come together on top of him, kissing intensely and Mike can't look away, no matter how much it leaves him feeling disgusted and cold. He barely remembers making it back up the ramp after that, reality only returning to him once he comes face to face with a sympathetic Alex Riley. "Get me out of here," he chokes out, relaxing only a little as the younger man obligingly supports him back to the locker room.

Even sitting on the bench, catching his breath, feels like heaven and Miz groans as he relaxes, wanly smiling over at Alex. "I bet you didn't think my dramas could become even more ridiculous upon your return, huh?"

"Not really, no," he smiles back. "Can I get you anything?"

"Nah, thanks though. I'm ok." They sit quietly for awhile, Mike rubbing gingerly at his back, when he glances towards the door, feeling jittery with shame and embarrassment. Even here, when the locker room is relatively quiet and mostly empty, he still feels like all eyes are on him. "Y'know what, I'm going to go for a walk. Clear my head." He feels like he's been needing to do that a lot lately, but when Alex offers to come with him, he shakes his head. "No, it's ok. You stay here and do your own thing, I just need some time to myself. I'll be fine," he adds when the younger man looks at him worriedly.

"If you're sure..."

"I am." Mike claps him on the back before venturing out into the hallway. Relieved not to see or hear AJ or Dolph anywhere nearby, he continues on his path towards the exit, gingerly rubbing at his still painful neck and back. The whole night had sucked, really. The only little bit of fun he'd had had been antagonizing AJ and even that left him feeling beyond low in the end, the two of them leaving him laying to go do... who knows what. He sighs, finally seeing the exit sign flashing, but something stops him a few feet away. The trainer's door is open slightly and he hears faint, painful sounding murmurs from inside.

Pushing it open a bit more, he peers inside and finds Ricardo Rodriguez laying on a cot, all alone, his fingers twitching now and again as he stares blankly at the ceiling overhead, the only sign that he might be approaching consciousness again being the soft sounds he keeps making. Blue eyes widening in sympathy, Mike enters the room and hesitantly walks up to the table, staring down at the man who'd shown surprising courage for such a soft-spoken, anxious creature by interrupting 3MB and trying to stop The Shield from attacking Tommy Dreamer in the same 24 hour period. He'd had Big Show as a partner, and he knows all too well how the KO punch feels, much less for a ring announcer who maybe gets in the ring once every three months if that.

Resting a hand on top of his spastic fingers, Mike settles in next to him and just thinks, as if not sure what to say to the semi-conscious man. "Hey. They left you all alone in here, huh? That's not cool..." He trails off, shaking his head with a mirthless little smirk. "I know the feeling. I get left alone a lot too. Not that people mean to, it just happens I guess. Like when Morrison was fired, and A-Ri was injured." Not liking the words pouring out of his mouth, he frowns down at Ricardo. "Don't misunderstand me, I'm not blaming either of them for what happened- I know that crap just happens in this business, like you do too probably by now." He goes very quiet, very still, before finally sighing. "That might be AJ's problem too- just being left alone too much to fend for herself. I don't know, Daniel Bryan really messed her up. If I had known- what he was going to do- I would've done worse to him in NXT, I think."

He smiles faintly. "It still floors me how differently my two rookies ended up being. Daniel was pretty much the worst and Alex was the best, he's still one of my best friends." He sighs, trying to deduce if Ricardo's catching any of this, but it's more than impossible seeing he hadn't looked away from the ceiling the whole time, his body still frozen in that moment he'd ate the KO punch. "Maybe I should get the trainer, or Del Rio," he suggests, growing more worried for the younger man with each passing moment. Before he can get up and go do that, Ricardo's hands twitch harder underneath his palm and he sits still, just watching as he releases another shuddering breath.

"N- no," he suddenly groans out, blinking as some awareness returns to his eyes. "Don't."

"No?" Miz repeats as his dark, desperate eyes slowly turn to stare at him.

"Keep talking." It's a quiet request from the groggy man but Miz isn't annoyed, simply stares at the ring announcer. "Please?"

He shrugs and leans closer, wondering if maybe- somehow- telling someone on the outside, not near as close to the situation _or_ him as John or Alex are would make him feel better, even slightly. "Alright. I guess I can do that much. If I talk to you about this, you'll not tell anyone, right?"

Ricardo blinks slowly and sighs, still barely with it but just needing to know he's not completely alone while Alberto prepares for his match against the Big Show. "Right."

"Fine then, I guess I'll take you at your word." He smiles faintly. "When John was first fired, things were just moving too fast for me to know what to do. He'd wanted me to grant him his final match, and I had, but it was seriously the worst possible thing I've ever had to do in my career." He swallows, remembering those days morosely, and shakes his head, trying to move past it. "Fast forward to AJ getting hired in as Raw GM and I'd seen her around enough after returning from Canada, I knew she was kind of easy to manipulate." Ricardo's dark eyes are still locked on him, some intrigue mixed in with pain and exhaustion, and Mike smiles wanly. "So that's exactly what I did. Worked her, tried to get her to convince the board to rehire John. And she kept telling me over and over again she was working on it, things were moving along fine, and I thought maybe I'd just fixed all of our problems, until shortly before she resigned as GM, she told me the board wasn't interested in rehiring him. I'd failed. Alex was injured, she had no power, John was nearing his first year away from the business, and I felt so helpless.

"But dammit all if, despite everything pointing towards the fact I should've cut all ties then, let her do her own thing with Cena, and then Dolph, something still kept pulling us together. Somewhere along the line of my just being in it to convince her to get the higher ups to rehire my best friend, I had seen more to her- enough that I began to feel sympathy for her, and honestly began to care, wanted to see her happy." He licks his lips. "I didn't know what to do, I still don't. She's impossible to read, her moods are so mercurial, and most times I don't know whether to expect a hug or a slap- or both."

Ricardo is still staring at him, an odd expression on his face, and finally he licks his lips, closes his eyes for a moment before beginning to speak slowly, his breath hitching every few words due to the pain he's still in. "El Patron," he muses, "started off something like that when he first hired me. It was a business arrangement, he'd told me from the beginning he wasn't sure how long he'd require my services, just until he began to be accustomed to life in the WWE. I'm not sure he liked me very much, but I always was impressed by him, in awe, I suppose. But I must have done something very right because he kept me on through the years and, despite his own temper and my failings in certain things, we grew to be friends. I used to doubt it but now when he calls me his best friend, I believe it." Ricardo opens his eyes and looks at Miz, lips twitching. "We never know who we're going to end up caring about, si?"

Mike sighs, then nods. "Yeah, guess so." They're still sitting there silently when Ricardo painfully turns his head to look out into the hallway, where they can hear _Realaza_ echoing through the halls. "Here, I'll turn the monitor on for ya," Miz offers, finding a remote and flicking Smackdown on so Ricardo can watch the feed of Alberto vs Big Show as it happens.

He grimaces and winces, trying to force himself up into a sitting position, when Miz helps him up the rest of the way and leans him against the wall, collecting as many pillows as he can find in the room to prop him up so he's not completely uncomfortable. "Gracias," he whispers.

"You're welcome." Mike watches for a few moments before getting an idea. "You know what, I have something to do." He checks to make sure Ricardo's not in danger of falling over and smirks at the visibly fretful young man. "Don't worry, your employer will be just fine." He leaves as impulsively as he'd come and, without allowing himself to second guess what he's going to do, storms down the hall until he finds a few of the Superstars clustered around, also watching with annoyed looks on their faces. "Hey, you wanna get some revenge against Big Show?" When they nod, all eyes turning to look at him, Miz's smirk only grows, knowing he has them and that that worried look on Ricardo's face will be short lived.

Sheamus ultimately beats him to the punch, no pun intended, attacking Big Show but getting laid out for his troubles. Just as the giant is about to leave, the entire locker room floods out onto the ramp, all of them coming together- face or heel, it didn't matter- to push him back towards the ring, Kane and Daniel leading the charge with Miz in the forefront, and as Kane holds the much larger man down, he throws a rough punch straight to Big Show's jaw. _That was for Ricardo,_ he thinks as The Big Red Machine slings him back into the ring to be dealt with by Sheamus and Alberto Del Rio. He grins widely as, together, they leave the ruthless World champion laying in the middle of the ring.

After a brief moment spent eyeing Sheamus, which amazingly doesn't end in violence, Alberto leaves the ring and heads up the ramp, determined to make it back to Ricardo. "Hey," Miz calls out to him, stopping him in his tracks reluctantly. "Ricardo's awake. He's waiting for you."

Some of the worry easing from Alberto's dark eyes, he blinks in surprise at the man he'd never really gotten along with that well, in or out of the ring. "You were with him?"

"Briefly," Miz nods, not sure what else to say. "He's doing better." As Alberto nods and quickly resumes up the ramp, Mike smiles despite himself. _I think he always liked you, Ricardo. He just didn't know how to show it all the time._ Distracted when he catches sight of Dolph Ziggler still in the crowd of Superstars behind him, his expression changes, grows more glum. _I wonder if the same could be said for certain other people..._

Monday is New Years Eve and Mike wanders the building, thinking. His MizTV segment with Cena had begun about AJ and Dolph's stupid little toast, and had ended with a tag match against Rhodes Scholars. And they'd actually gelled well as a tag team- which, well, they _had_ been tag champions together for all of five minutes almost two years ago, so though he doubts they'll ever be best friends, he thinks they've grown enough to possibly just get along sometimes when necessary- like now. And though he'd at first blamed everything that had happened with AJ on Cena, he knows deep inside that, if it hadn't been Cena, it just would've been someone else. Like, currently, Dolph.

Figuring that Alex would probably be there, Miz makes an appearance at the holiday party and flicks at Alex's winter hat until he turns around, about to yell at the person harassing him nonstop. He freezes when he realizes it's Mike, however, choosing instead to chuckle and swat at his friend. "Man, I was about to blast you one," he says jokingly, turning back to the table of beverages and food and passing over a drink to his former mentor. "So where'd you go after your match?"

"Just wandering around," he shrugs, half-watching as Ricardo Rodriguez, unlucky thing that he is, gets cornered by Big Show _again_. He winces as the large man's voice echoes over to them, his choice of competing against Ricardo audible to the whole room. "Can't catch a break, can he?"

"Doesn't seem so," Alex sighs, downing his glass. "Where _is_ Del Rio at times like these?"

Mike shrugs grimly. "Good question. Hopefully he'll be out at ringside."

"Yeah." They stand quietly for a bit until finally Alex elbows him. "So, AJ's big toast. You gonna be alright?"

Mike doesn't say anything for awhile longer before shrugging. "When am I not?" Noticing the disbelieving stare on A-Ri's face, he smirks. "You have to recall, Alex, I've been going back and forth with her for weeks. I expected this." Despite the still uncertain look on the younger man's face, he says nothing else and decides to get out of the room as soon as rumors about _Mae Young_ and _pregnancy_ starts floating around.

Well over two hours later, he and Alex are outside of the main locker room when the whole hallway fills with ridiculous buzz as Cena walks through the crowd of people, a ridiculous grin on his face. Mike stares at him for a moment before turning back to the monitor, shaking his head in disbelief. AJ and Dolph both, dressed head to toe in white, now covered in... well. He swallows and turns from the screen to look at the passing by Cena, trying to control his temper.

Unfortunately Cena turns to stare at him, his grin only growing. "Now that's going out with a bang!" And just like that, it all crashes down around him. His promo to AJ on Smackdown, how it all must look- like he'd known what Cena was going to do to her, like... like...

He takes a deep, horrified breath as soon as Cena leaves and Alex rests a hand on his arm. "Hey, hey, Mike." Once dazed eyes lock on him, Alex sighs. "Go to her, huh? Try to explain..."

"She won't want to hear me, she'll think that I- that..."

Alex grimaces. "How far did not talking get you, John or I in the past? You should at least try, Mike. It'll eat you up inside otherwise."

"What if she's with Ziggler?" he mumbles, scraping his fingers across his face, up his hair. "I don't know..."

"Catch her outside of the Divas' locker room. She'll have to clean up in there or at least stop to get her things, right?"

"I guess," Mike mumbles, finally uncovering his face and sighing with a grimace. "Why do things always go so badly so quickly?" Deciding to take Alex's advise, he turns and heads back to the locker rooms, quickly finding the divas' room. The girls are thankfully all out in the hallway, talking and laughing, waiting to catch a glimpse of AJ (from a distance), but he ducks inside and stands, waiting.

He unfortunately smells her before he sees her, the girl stepping quietly into the room as tears pour down her face and she stands there, staring at him. "AJ-" he tries to say, but she all but growls at him, causing him to stop short.

"You knew about this. You knew what Cena was planning," she whispers, sniffing. "You wanted to sabotage Dolph and my plans, and you encouraged him to do this."

Mike's words die away as hurt reverbates through him, though he'd expected something like this. "No," he tells her softly, sincerely. "I never would have done that to you."

She laughs, a cruel, broken sound. "Of course you wouldn't have. Then what was with the 'New Years will end with a bang' nonsense you were going on about on Smackdown? It's all coincidence that the man you have on MizTV and tag teamed with tonight had this all set up and waiting for me and Dolph?" She stops talking, her chest heaving with emotion. "How stupid do you think I am?"

"I don't-"

She just stares at him, her eyes devoid and blank in a way he'd never seen them before. "I never want to see you again, Mike," she tells him clearly. "Get out of this locker room right now or I'll scream."

He thinks she must be joking, staring at her for long, painful moments, but she's just opened her mouth, obviously about to follow through with her threat, when he quickly ducks around her and heads for the door, deciding to give her some time to calm down. He's almost out of the room when he turns back around. "AJ? You really did look beautiful in that dress... and I'm so sorry Cena did that, but I swear I had no idea what he was planning. I never want to see you humiliated like that." Swallowing, he shuts the door behind him and leans against it, sighing heavily. "Happy New Years to all..."

Unbeknowst to him, on the other side of the door, she sinks to her knees and just cries bitterly, still covered in the mess that Cena had caused.


	137. chapter 137

"Mike-" Alex tries to get his friend's attention, frowning as his every attempt is rebuffed. "Mike, come on, man."

Ignoring him further, the current Most Must See Superstar storms through the halls of the arena Main Event is being held in and heads straight for ringside, relieved to be able to lose himself in commentary for awhile. Far from being as satisfying as actual competition is, it's still a step up from yet another edition of MizTV that will inevitably end badly for him. He'd spent the last day and a half lost in his own thoughts, pondering what had happened, the look on AJ's face as she'd told him she never wanted to see him again.

And so, quickly growing tired of Antonio Cesaro's blathering about how lazy and fat Americans are, Miz finds his way to his feet and grips a microphone, letting him have it verbally. And yeah, yet again, not the competition he was looking for really, but it helps relieve some of his pent up anger, and if it leads him to challenge for the US title, well, he wouldn't complain. He'd loved being champion to that belt, even after the Anon GM made it mandatory that he retain it if he wanted to have any chance at cashing in Money in the Bank, causing the rest of his title run to be spent in paranoia and worry.

Once the show finally ends, Mike takes a breath, realizing that he'd left Alex trying to speak to him and getting absolutely nowhere. He sighs heavily and stands from the table, half-nodding at Cole before returning back up the ramp to face his friend. Except that Alex isn't there, and neither is the rental car. _I guess I really pissed him off,_ he realizes with a tired sigh. "Dammit."

"Got problems, Miz?" the familiar voice of the man who he'd shared commentary with for the last half an hour asks, Mike turning to find Kofi approaching his own rental and watching him closely as he spins the keys to said car around his pointer finger.

 _More than you realize,_ he thinks, pinching his nose. "I... might have made Alex mad," he admits after a moment. "He took the rental car."

His former rival's dark eyes look _almost_ amused but Miz chooses to overlook that for now, seeing his best way to get out of here, try to set things straight with Alex, is currently right in front of him. "So, ya need a ride back to the hotel, man?"

Miz releases a deep breath, relieved for the first time ever that Kofi Kingston is a goodnatured man, even to those who'd formerly made him very angry and still bear the scars to prove it. "Are you offering?"

"I guess I am."

They actually make it back to the hotel sans bloodshed, to both man's relief, and Mike thanks Kofi before getting out of his car and peering up at the building. He shakes his head grimly and heads for the door, barely noticing the fans lined up on either side of the door waiting for the Superstars to arrive. He signs a few autographs quickly, takes a couple of pictures, but his focus is purely on getting to the elevator, finding Alex and talking this through. Though it hadn't worked with AJ, Alex's words from Monday were true- letting things simmer between them never ends well.

Setting sun bright and warm on his face, John Morrison sighs and rolls over, getting the last of the rays as he tans. He's been keeping busy with various wrestling dates in Mexico, that play and the upcoming release of his fitness DVD set, so it's nice to have a moment to just sit and listen to waves crashing, seagulls flocking, and the various other noises of the ocean. He dozes after awhile and he's not sure how much time passes by the time he finally makes his way back to consciousness, but it's now dark and his phone is buzzing repeatedly in his pocket. Uncoordinated with sleep, he fumbles with the small device and finally finds his ear, holding it to his head. "Hello?"

"John?"

"Alex?"

"Mike needs you."

Those three words always find the way to draw him back from whatever he's doing- he thinks he could be surfing in a tsunami and still that small sentence would be enough to make him turn around and paddle with all of his might back to shore- so one moment he's blinking away exhaustion and the next, he's sitting up and staring out into the water like he's been awake for hours. "What's going on? He alright?"

"Physically, yeah. Mentally... not so much. And I'm not sure what he wants you to know, exactly, so I can't say... I understand you've been busy for awhile with your various side-projects and all, but could you please call him soon?"

John sighs into the phone, grimacing at the feedback that shoots back into his ear. "Yeah, sure man, I can do that." Before he hangs up, he takes a breath. "Hey, try not to worry so much, huh? He'll be fine. He's The Miz, he always bounces back." They exchange quick byes and he hangs up, staring at his phone for only a moment before speed dialing 3.

Mike is in the elevator, heading up to his room with Alex- _if Alex is still there,_ he thinks with a grimace- when his phone begins to ring. He jerks, not expecting there to actually be a signal here, and pulls it from his pocket. As soon as he sees the name flashing on his screen, he presses the button at the bottom of the elevator's panel, stopping its upwards motion. "Long time no hear," he teases, his words sounding dull even to him, far from the amusing cadence he'd been hoping for when he'd said it.

"Yeah, sorry about that," John says, Mike smiling as he hears the faint roar of the ocean in the background. "Been busy but figured I'd check in now that things are quieting down." He pauses briefly and then comes back with, "How are you doing?"

He rolls his eyes, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Did Alex call you?" John's silence is his answer and he sighs. "He's worried."

"Of course he's worried, Mike. What's going on with you two now?"

"I lost it," he mumbles. "Or, well... I lost... something."

"I'm not getting you," his former tag partner says. "I mean, I know you lost the Intercontinental title, and that sucks, but that was weeks ago, wasn't it?"

Mike leans against the wall of the elevator and slumps down, resting the back of his neck against the cool steel. "AJ," he finally answers, even just saying her name leaving him feeling horrible. "She wants nothing more to do with me. She thinks... she thinks I was behind something asinine Cena did on Monday."

John says nothing for long, tense moments. "Mike... I know initially you were just keeping her interested to try to get me my career back but... do you...?"

Knowing all too well where Morrison is going with this, Miz groans and wipes at his face, turns back to the phone. "I, I think so. Yeah." They sit in silence, both men digesting this little factoid, something that Mike had slowly been realizing since he'd left AJ behind in that locker room a couple of days ago. "I've messed this up from day one," he groans. "I shouldn't have ever done any of this. Dammit."

"Nothing new for you there," John cracks before falling sober once more. "Mike, nothing's unfixable. She's mad now but if you give her enough time, maybe she'll be open to talking later on. If, you know, that's what you really want."

"I know. I know." Unable to find anything else to say involving the AJ situation, their conversation slowly turns to more amusing things, like what they did on New Years- how Miz lost his shirt in gambling for the fourth year running and Morrison went surfing at midnight to bring the year in right. It's so ridiculously extreme on opposite sides of the realm for both men, and it's just perfectly them, and somehow by the end of the short conversation, Mike feels a _bit_ better. "Hey, John? Thanks for calling."

"Sure man, anytime. I guess I should make a habit of it." Mike's responding huff makes him laugh as he stands up and trudges back through the sand to his apartment.

"No kidding." Likewise, he stands and wearily approaches the elevator doors to start it up once more, suddenly feeling a renewed desperation to go see Alex and make things right with him. "I'm glad you did tonight."

"Hey, me too, man. We'll talk soon, alright? And just... be patient with this AJ thing, it'll work out."

"Yeah, thanks," he says softly, watching as the buttons flash on the panel while he nears his floor. "Bye."

"Bye."

As soon as he's off the elevator, he's walking hurriedly down the hallway to his and Alex's room, keycard at the ready. Unlocking the door, he enters quickly to find Alex sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. As soon as he approaches the younger man, their eyes lock and both of their shoulders slump. "I'm sorry," they say at the same time. Mike's lips twitch slightly as he settles in next to his former protege, nudging his shoulder. "Thanks for making John call me."

Alex flushes slightly and shakes his head. "I didn't make him do anything. I was just... worried and thought maybe he'd help snap you out of it." He glances sideways as his friend and sighs. "He did help, right?"

Mike nods, staring at his hands. "Yeah. He did. I needed to face something I've been avoiding for much too long, and he... helped with that." The younger man says nothing, not wanting to push Mike into saying anything he might not be comfortable with, but Mike wants him to know and the words slip out easily. "I think... I'm starting to have feelings for AJ Lee." Honestly at this stage in the game, it seems almost juvenile to claim it as merely "starting to have feelings" for the girl, but he's not sure how else to describe it. The game had been played, he'd lost, Cena had caught her eye, then Dolph, and he'd been left on the sidelines, which had hurt, but not nearly as bad as he'd felt when she told him she never wanted to see him again. It had been his eye-opening moment, that helped him to see it wasn't just the chase that he was enjoying or this game they'd been playing.

Alex takes a breath, somehow unsurprised at this. "What are you going to do?"

Mike's smile is mirthless, painful. "Honestly? I have no clue. She wants nothing to do with me, so I guess I'll take John's advice. Give it time..." Though he's not sure how much time, or if he even has the patience if it takes too long...

He finally gets some competition on Smackdown, and even though it's only against Heath Slater, something clicks with the 3MB member that night and he really brings it to Mike. Even when his fellow bandmates are ejected from ringside, it only seems to light the fire within the orange haired man all the more. The match lasts longer than some of Mike's past few matches combined and he revels in it, the desperate search to find what it would take to finally put Slater down finally culminating in a Skullcrushing finale and a victory for Miz. He's sweaty and sore and it's the best he's felt in a very, very long time.

Alex greets him at gorilla, looking amazed. "Who knew that guy had _that_ in him?"

"You should've seen him in NXT," Mike breathes, mumbling a quick thanks as Alex hands him over a bottle of water and he downs most of it before speaking again. "He actually wrestled and beat Chris Jericho." When his former rookie sputters and looks on in disbelief, Mike laughs and curls an arm around his shoulders. "Come on, I wanna get out of here." He'd taken John's words to heart, deciding to give AJ time and space, and it only seems to be tempting fate should he hang around for too long that inevitably they'd run into each other.

As he grabs his things and changes clothes quickly, he can't help but wonder about how empty the locker room seems. There is a house show being held elsewhere this night, so some of the regulars are over at that, but to his surprise neither Alberto Del Rio nor Ricardo Rodriguez are anywhere to be seen. He'd watched the Big Show match on Monday, how, despite Ricardo's attempts to fight back, the ring announcer had ended up down on the mat, gasping for air, just for Del Rio to pull the save and get him out of there. He sighs, remembering the conversation he'd had with Rodriguez not long after he'd been knocked out by Big Show and shakes his head. "Ready?"

"Yep," Alex nods, following him out of the building.

That Monday is quiet for him, despite the buzz in the building over yet another of The Rock's returns. He doesn't have a match so he simply sits and observes as everyone else does their thing, wondering inanely about the fact that Del Rio nor Ricardo are there again. His best guess is perhaps it's the Mexican aristocrat's way of trying to protect the ring announcer from Big Show until he can get a proper match with the large man, something Miz never would've considered to be possible even a month ago. He half-smiles as Alex joins him and sighs, closing his eyes. "I'm so glad the holidays are over with."

"Me too. But I guess we'll be having another party for Raw's 20th anniversary next week."

Mike chuckles dully. "Yaaay. Hopefully no one gives birth at this one." He grins as Alex shudders against his arm, all amusement slowly fading as he hears Antonio Cesaro talking loudly down the hall, insulting this person and that. "He has a match tonight, right?"

"Yeah," A-Ri agrees. "Rematch against Khali."

"Fun, fun. Guess I should go do some scouting in case we do wrestle." He pats Alex's arm and gets up, quickly making his way to ringside to sit at the commentary table. The match isn't much- basically just a rehash of the original match on Main Event, really, but he watches closely none-the-less, determined to make his presence felt to the current US champion. It seems to work and it's an amused Mike that heads backstage, not paying much mind as he walks back to the main locker room, smirking.

He skids to a stop, however, when he sees AJ Lee standing in the hallway, Big E Langston nearby as always. He swallows, eyes locked on her, and takes a deep breath. _Just keep walking,_ he tells himself. _Just move. Do something._ But he's frozen, the conversations he'd had with Ricardo, Morrison and Alex echoing around in his head, just to be highlighted further by the echo of her voice in his head repeating over and over again, "I never want to see you again."

His jaw clenching, he folds his hands into fists and walks resolutely past her, not even glancing over once at either her or Big E. When he enters the locker room, Alex catches on immediately that something'd happened, but he also knows Mike well enough to keep quiet, let him talk about it in his own time.

 _Time,_ he almost laughs at the stupidity of what just happened. _Well, if AJ needs time... and AJ needs space... that's what she's going to get._


	138. chapter 138

"I have a suggestion," Alex says once Raw is over with for the night. When dark blue eyes peer up at him, he halfheartedly smiles, knowing all too well that Miz isn't in the mood for much. "Seeing that we're in Tampa currently, I was thinking we could stay at my place instead of going to a hotel." No immediate answer and he takes a breath, continuing to try to sell this. "That way we won't have to deal with fans begging for autographs and pictures once we leave the arena, and you haven't really seen my place outside of the few days you spent there after my surgery... I know it won't be the same without Morrison there, but-"

"It sounds great," Mike finally intercedes. "Let's do it." When Alex's face brightens, Miz can't help but grin too. "Thanks, man."

"Of course. What's the point of living in state if I'm not going to invite you to hang out when we have events nearby?"

Chuckling, his former NXT pro nods. "This is true." When they leave, he keeps his eyes straight ahead. He has no idea if AJ Lee is nearby or not, but he doesn't care to risk spotting her. Not after earlier. It still eats at him too much, all of it- that she's with Dolph, that she honestly thinks he'd had any knowledge of what Cena was planning, any of it. The fact that he'd finally faced his feelings for her only makes it worse, his inner anguish seeming to multiply every time he allows himself to think about it.

Florida has a lot of the same things California has- beaches, warm weather, the sounds of waves to lull him to sleep the nights he spends curled up in Alex's guest bedroom. The only downsides are that AJ lives here too, and Morrison isn't a few blocks away. After a few days of exploring the house, shaking his head at Alex's _still growing_ collection of sneakers, and sitting on the beach, only turning his attention back to his career enough to work out for an hour or two each morning, Alex spotting him and vice versa, he feels a little clearer. Everyone needs time to decompress and this had been his, Alex acting like the perfect host and barely letting Mike even have a minute to think about all in his life currently stressing him out.

After another couple of hours at the beach, he has to leave for Main Event on Wednesday and, since one of the matches includes Dolph Ziggler, which means AJ Lee will be nearby, Alex accompanies him. "Think this'll go ok?" he asks after a moment, glancing over at Mike before turning his attention back to the road as they approach the arena.

He shrugs blandly. "I'm not planning on approaching her. It depends on what she does, I guess." To his great relief, he makes it to the locker room long enough to deposit his stuff before venturing out to the commentary table without seeing her or Dolph, and runs on autopilot as he does his job prior to and during the match. He barely remembers what he says about her and the situation afterwards, just glad that it's over. As soon as the broadcast fades to black on a downed Zack Ryder in the ring, he makes his way to the back and releases a deep breath, his eyes closed.

Alex claps his hands across his shoulders and smiles mirthlessly. "Glad that's over?"

"More than you will probably ever realize," he mumbles. "Ready to go?" At Alex's nod, they collect their things and head back out into the hallway. Thankfully they're just a few feet from the exit but, even for that short distance, Mike feels a familiar gaze on his back. He doesn't even need to look over his shoulder to know- AJ is nearby, and by the weight of her stare, he can tell this is far from over. He just can't bring himself to care right this moment.

Thursday is spent with Mike sprawled out on a towel in the sand, the warm Floridian sun beating down on his shoulders as he blinks sleepily at a laptop screen, his jaw pillowed by his crossed arms. "I feel like we've swapped places for once," he admits to John as his best friend smirks at him, sitting in a gym and taking a brief break from last minute things needed for his fitness DVD set. "Me on the beach, and you in the gym."

"Oh please," he rolls his eyes with a laugh. "I'm usually the one in the gym _or_ at the beach. You... I'm still not sure what exactly it is that you do. Burger joints, right?"

Fake laughing as obnoxiously as he can, Mike huffs. "Shut up."

"But seriously, it looks like Florida's been good for you. A-Ri as good a host as I am?"

"Well, outside of his sneaker fetish, yeah. At least his place isn't overrun by coconut water." At John's disgruntled expression, Mike _does_ laugh for real. "You have to admit, you're about as bad with that as Ryder is with his Budlight Limes." They stare at each other for a bit, Mike's smirk only rivaled by the annoyance on John's face. "So... did you hear about Z!TLIS?"

"That it's ending tomorrow?" Morrison asks, his expression turning thoughtful. "Yeah... Well, it had a good run, huh?"

"Yep." They fall silent again, considering. Both had had a major hand in the first huge weekly webisode show that had been successful for , the Dirt Sheet, and it had been cool to see- and, in varying ways, be apart of- another superstar get himself out there more thoroughly than allowed on WWE TV in this medium. "He asked me to film something for it."

"Me too," John admits quietly.

" _That_ probably explains why he wanted me to talk up Heaven in my little part." Mike chuckles a little bit, thinking about what Zack had told him regarding the end of Z!TLIS, the part he'd play in it. "Logic would be that I heard about it from you, somehow, I guess."

Morrison chuckles. "Yeah, 'cause I'm gonna haunt you in the afterlife."

"Well, why not?" Miz huffs, looking almost offended at this. "If you can haunt Zack, you damn sure better haunt me."

John smirks, adjusting his sunglasses as he peers down at the screen of his laptop. "Of course Ziggler would almost kill Zack in the very last episode of the show."

"The ultimate hack, huh?" Mike muses. "I kinda wish you could be here to watch the final episode with us, I guess Zack's having a viewing at Smackdown tomorrow night." He blinks, realizing what exactly he'd just said, and takes a deep breath, registering yet another change in Morrison's expression. "Sorry, man, I wasn't thinking."

"It's ok," he says, face still stoic. "Hey, um, I have to go, ok? We still have some last minute stuff to film and I don't want to keep these guys waiting any longer than I already have." Visibly forcing a smile, he leans over to shut the webcam off. "We'll talk later. Bye, Mike."

Blinking at the suddenly blank screen, Miz winces. "Way to go, Awesome One." He flops back down on the sand, feeling not for the first time this week the very opposite of his nickname.

He has nothing scheduled for Smackdown but he and Alex go there anyway, just to support Zack. The Long Island Iced Z isn't on the card either, but he doesn't seem to mind for once, checking and rechecking the equipment he requires for his mass showing of Z! True Long Island Story episode 100: The Finale once the show ends.

Those who have nothing to do hang around, whisper and talk while Zack waits with a nervous look on his face. Z!TLIS had been part of his life, his career for so long, Mike has no doubt he has a huge case of nerves right now. He remembers how it'd felt to say goodbye to The Dirt Sheet, part relief, part sadness, and can only imagine how Zack had felt. At least by then, The Dirt Sheet had been overwhelmed with all of the tension between he and John, but Z!TLIS had been all Zack until circumstances beyond his control had sent the show into something of a tailspin.

A nearby monitor is running Smackdown, some of them watching idly as match after match goes by. The Rock is on the show and Miz half-sneers, unsurprised that that seems to overwhelm everything else going on this evening. AJ even has a match that night, a short intergender tag match with Ziggler against Natalya and Khali, of all things, and as soon as she comes out, he makes it to his feet and wanders over to Zack's side, thankful for the distraction. "Hey."

"Hey bro," Zack greets him. They'd had a bit of a rocky history, but somewhere between the Wrestlemania match when they'd been on separate teams to now, things had eased off, enough anyway for Zack to invite him onto the finale of his show. Morrison had always been amused by the guy, and as more time passes, Miz can see why. He's a hard worker underneath all of the ridiculous antics and loud clothes, just desperate for a chance- any chance to prove himself. Mike had gone through it, most of them are _still_ going through it, and he feels for him. "What's up?"

Relieved to be standing with his back to the monitor, he watches as Zack glances warily at the screen where his former rival continues getting batted around by Khali. "Not too much," he shrugs. "All set up for this thing?"

Zack's grin is strained and a little false but he nods none-the-less. "Yeah, bro. Just waiting for the show to end and everyone to stop in, y'know." He's just turned his attention back to the waiting equipment when the atmosphere in the room changes- Mike nor Zack have to even look to know that 3MB's just entered, their loud voices echoing around the room. Both men tense immediately, exchanging exasperated looks.

"So this is where the party's at!" Heath exclaims, his attention turning right to Zack and his laptop. "Ah, boys, I think we can play our single here!" As he, Jinder and Drew approach, Alex joins them and the three of them block 3MB's path, everyone's focus diverting from Smackdown to the trio yet again trying to cause trouble.

"Back off, bro," Zack snaps at him. "This is for the finale of Z!TLIS, not your bad attempts at music."

"Oh, look who's talkin'," Heath shoots back. "I wouldn't be surprised if this finale of yours is set to Bieber or somethin' equally as ridiculous."

"And what if it is? You weren't invited anyway, bro," Zack snarls, growing more and more annoyed with each diss to his show and favorite singer.

"It's a free country, we can go wherever we please." Heath smirks and pushes Zack, trying to get him to move out of the way. But Alex and Mike support him and stare down the other two members of 3MB. "Get outta our way."

Finally speaking up, Mike smirks down at Jinder as Alex glowers at Drew. "Make us." The ensuing brawl lasts only a minute or two, really, but he's sure that it still amuses the rest of the superstars as they get out of the way, 3MB soon thrown out of the room by the three men, of whom have barely broken a sweat. Slamming the door shut behind them, Mike turns and checks on Zack and his equipment. Both thankfully seem alright.

"Thanks, bros," Zack sighs, his eyes gleaming with both relief and satisfaction. "This stuff's expensive."

"No problem," Alex and Mike murmur together, glancing at each other with matching grins. Smackdown rolls on, a small smattering of applause echoing through the room as Alberto Del Rio outsmarts Big Show and wins the World Heavyweight Title for the first time, effectively avenging Ricardo Rodriguez and kicking the new year off well for himself. Show as champion had been annoyingly horrible for them all, unsure when exactly he'd do to any one of them what he'd been doing to Ricardo for the last two weeks, so it's a relief to see that he's not champion any longer, losing one more thing to boast about.

Once the show concludes, Zack reaches over with a bittersweet smile on his face and turns the lights down, pressing play on the laptop so all of them can watch the ten minute farewell to Z!TLIS. Once it's over, the Ultimate Broski looks like he's trying not to cry and Mike smiles wanly, patting him on the shoulder. "Kudos, man."

"Thanks, bro," he murmurs, turning his back on the others long enough to shut the laptop down. Only Mike and Alex notice that it's a diversion so he has time to wipe his face before the various Superstars who'd been involved in, or enjoyed watching, his show begin coming up to congratulate him.

By Monday, Mike is glad to feel more like himself. He'd spent enough time in Florida, for once allowing himself to relax and hang out with Alex, that his innate need to be active, do stuff, has returned with a vengeance and he's glad to be back on the road, heading to Texas for this week's events. It's the big Raw 20th anniversary episode and, although it's a bit more low-key than the Raw 1000th episode's celebrations, he sees Foley hanging around, waiting for his alloted time to discuss his entrance into the Hall of Fame, and...

His mouth goes dry as he reads the board with planned segments and matches scribbled along it. _MizTV featuring Ric Flair_ fills up the middle of the show and he shakes his head, not quite believing it. "Really?" he mutters. " _Really?_ " Though this wouldn't be his first time coming across the 16-time world champion, he still feels nervous. To have the man, on his _own_ show, for an interview... He can't really grasp it.

He's still staring at it when there's the soft, almost sheepish sound of a throat clearing behind him and he turns to find Ricardo Rodriguez hesitantly trying to peer around him. "Eh, ah, excuse me," he finally says, eyes flickering towards Miz and then back to the board.

"Oh." Miz steps aside to make room for the ring announcer and they stare at the board together, Ricardo humming slightly as he finds no mention of his employer. "Guess you guys get the night off, huh?"

"So it would appear," he says after a moment, glancing anxiously over at the Most Must See Superstar. "Unless Big Show does something..." Mike nods vaguely, still trying to digest the words on the board. Ricardo looks back over at it and takes a breath, a look of awe on his face. "You... get to interview Ric Flair, si?"

"Yep. It'll be an honor." He grins slightly as he catches sight of the awestruck look on Ricardo's face. "A fan of him, huh?"

"Oh." He flushes, pressing his fingers together. "Si, of course. Who wouldn't be?"

Alberto joins them then, resting a hand on Ricardo's shoulder. "Is there anything scheduled?"

"Oh. No, El Patron."

"Very well, come then." He glances briefly over at Mike before shifting his hand to rest between Ricardo's shoulderblades and guide him away, listening with a half-smile as Ricardo talks excitedly about Ric Flair being there this evening.

Miz chuckles, getting an idea as he watches them go.

A couple hours later, he nudges Alex before leaving him to prepare for his segment. Despite his aggravation with having so many of them scheduled in the last month, this edition of MizTV is fun, he gets into a whoo! off with Flair, feeling lighter than he has in a very long time... until Antonio Cesaro interrupts and begins disrespecting Flair thoroughly. However, between the two of them, they shut him up and Miz hits the Skullcrushing Finale before Flair sets up for the Figure Four Leglock... just to pass it onto Miz, who locks it in as best as he can considering he's never really tried it before, and his attempt pays off because Antonio taps out quickly, to both Flair and Mike's joy.

Afterwards, they're wandering the hall, Mike talking over everything with Flair until finally he spots who he'd been looking for- Del Rio and Ricardo near one of the turns in the hallway, murmuring back and forth in Spanish. Quickly giving an excuse, Mike grins at Flair and claps him on the shoulder, turning to walk in the opposite way of the new World Champion and his ring announcer, hoping that that'll be all Ric will need to go in that direction instead. "You got it, I'll see you later at the hotel," he says quickly in response to the veteran as he once more mentions his bar tab.

Not sure what exactly he's gotten himself into with _that_ one, he walks back to where he sees Alex waiting for him and grins sheepishly at the younger man before turning to face the direction he'd just left in and the two watch in amusement as Flair agrees to let Ricardo introduce him just once. When his attempt at a "Whoo" seems to fall flat, Flair quickly gives him a lesson in how to do it properly, both men biting down their humor as Alberto does all but facepalm at their antics. Eventually Ricardo gets it and Alberto puts a stop to this, allowing Flair to leave. Mike and Alex chuckle as, once he's gone, Ricardo and Alberto grin at each other, the younger man still chattering excitedly about getting to whoo! with Ric Flair. Mike watches as the Mexican aristocrat pats Ricardo on the face, affectionately amused by his happiness, and reflects on how the old Del Rio would rarely if ever have allowed such things to happen in his presence even for a moment... and how the old Miz wouldn't have cared in the slightest if Ricardo had the chance to meet his idol. _Funny how things can change so quickly like that._

"You set that up, huh?" Alex asks after a moment as they walk back to the locker rooms.

"Something like that," he admits with a faint smile as he catches sight of the nearest monitor, which is running a promo for the steel cage match later on between Ziggler and Cena. Ordinarily he'd at least keep an eye on it, see what's going on, but he'd had a few days where he was so busy that AJ and that whole mess hadn't really crossed his mind very much. He doesn't want to waste it, especially after tonight and the fun he'd managed to have.

He'll consider facing reality once more in the morning. Right now, he has a bar tab to cover.


	139. chapter 139

After a night spent out with Flair and Alex, temporarily putting everything- AJ being with Dolph, and his small thoughtless faux pas with Morrison- behind him, Mike wakes up on Tuesday with the hangover from hell. Despite the throbbing behind his temples and the nauseous feeling that won't quite go away no matter how still he stays, he knows he has to face things. Even if it's on a limited basis.

Fumbling for his phone, he grunts and finally locates it in the pockets of the jeans he'd apparently fallen asleep in, staring blurrily at the screen. It's barely 8 AM in whatever part of Texas they're in currently, which means 6 for Morrison over in California. He groans and, after a lot of false starts, finally finds his text feature and begins to type. _Hey, are we ok? Friday was a stupid slip of the tongue, I didn't mean anything by it._ He squints at it, hoping there's no typos hidden in the barely readable letters that fill his screen as he sends it. Once he's maybe 75% certain it sent, his hand collapses to his side and he sighs, staring at the ceiling in a half-doze.

How much time has passed before it beeps again, he's not sure, but his vision is a little clearer when he lifts the phone up and stares blankly at it. _Yeah, Mike, we're fine. I... well, was equal parts busy and not wanting to talk about it right then. Didn't mean to make you worry this long, I just want to concentrate on the things I_ can _do, you know?_

He gets it, and he says as much in his reply back to his former tag partner, relieved when things then seem to calm down between them and John's responses fall back into the usual easygoing, mocking tone they usually have. Not long into the back and forth text messages, he realizes that even his headache feels better, smiling slightly.

_While you're in California next week, you should come by. Bring Alex. We'll go to the beach or something. Maybe I'll try you two out on my fitness DVDs._

He reads this with a faint gleam in his eye. His smile turns into an honest, wide grin. _Oh please, I'd kill those things in five minutes._

_Liars aren't allowed in the Palace of Wisdom, Mike, you know this._

His good mood from straightening half of his problems out on Tuesday fades away quickly come Wednesday, when Randy Orton vs Antonio Cesaro is interrupted by The Shield. Despite only being out there in a commentary capacity, Mike still remembers The Shield's brutal attack against him during his lie detector test on CM Punk and he gets involved just to get beat down as well and left laying, his ribs throbbing along with the rest of him after a spear from Roman Reigns.

Orton is spitting angry as trainers and the on-call doctor looks them over, trying to help them out of the ring. "I didn't want your help!" he suddenly yells at Mike, grimacing away as a hand presses too close to his own injuries, finally staggering away from the group of people trying to assist him. "Leave me alone."

Mike watches blankly as he forces his way up the ramp on his own, hand pressed to his side as trainers shake their head at him and turn to assist the Most Must-See Superstar, who allows it. His head is throbbing again, and the room is spinning, and he's relieved for their help. Eyes still locked on Orton's slow, stubborn progress, he mumbles, "Yeah, you're welcome. Jackass."

Outside of remaining anger from The Shield's attack, he feels better- his ribs were luckily only minorly bruised and he's cleared to compete on Smackdown. After a nothing match against Primo, Miz sighs into his fist and half-watches a replay of the Fiesta Del Rio that had started the show off, remembering grimly how Big E. Langston had looked at Ricardo Rodriguez like he might pull something. And, considering that Ziggler currently is holding the briefcase that he could cash in against Del Rio at any time, it would only take one wrong glance from the ring announcer for their enforcer to grab him and do to him what he'd done to Mike only a few weeks prior, his back still aching from time to time because of that.

He considers warning the ring announcer away from doing anything to antagonize the trio but also knows that, in this business, warnings can only do so much. Attacks can come at any time, any place, whether you expect them or not, and sometimes there just isn't enough in the world to prepare for them. Like the original attack from The Shield against himself.

He looks up in time to catch sight of AJ Lee, lingering behind an oblivious Dolph Ziggler as he prepares for his match. Their eyes lock for only a second before Mike turns and walks off, disinterested in getting involved in _that_ particular level of crazy tonight. He turns at the last second and enters the nearest locker room, relieved to find Alex in there. Sitting down next to him, he idly glances at the TV screen and sighs as the tag team match starts, the odd couple of Del Rio and Sheamus working together against Big Show and Ziggler.

As AJ loses it upon Big E getting ejected from ringside and storms into the ring, screaming as she tends to do when at her emotional worst, he wonders if, perhaps, his slight from moments ago had incited part of this, watching with a mixture of amusement and exhaustion as the girl also is kicked from ringside. His supposition is all but proven correct when the locker room door slams open a few minutes later, a few of the guys exclaiming in shock as AJ forces her way inside and stands, chest heaving and hands clenched into fists at her side, somehow looking small even as she glares down at Mike. "This is all your fault," she sneers at him, eyes shining with what he tries telling himself is anger.

He doesn't move, doesn't say a word, thinking that his voice would sound as dull and empty as he feels if he should, straining desperately to not look up at her. Even acknowledging her presence in the hall had been a mistake, he knows, and he won't repeat it here.

"You're not going to say anything?" she demands and he notices out of the corner of his eye that her hand's trembling. "You're not going to admit to it? That you've been steadily ruining this year for me?" She laughs, "You probably don't even _care._ Or you've been doing it on _purpose._ " She sucks in a greedy breath of air and releases it so roughly that it sounds painful. "Not even warning me that Cena was planning on doing... that... to Dolph's and my toast... and ignoring me ever since! I don't know why I care!"

Before he can do or say anything, her trembling hand slaps across his face, the sound echoing through the room, and Alex leaps to his feet in surprise. "Hey!" Mike's hand on his arm stops him, everyone in the room suddenly uncomfortably aware that Big E. is lurking nearby, just waiting for an opportunity to put his hands once more on Miz, or anyone else who dares disturb AJ. Thankfully she leaves then, Big E. following behind like the faithful monster that he is, and Alex turns to Mike. "Are you ok?" He examines the faint red mark on his cheekbone and winces.

"Never been better," he grouses, closing his eyes. He'd tried giving the girl space, despite reluctantly coming to terms on his feelings for her, but apparently it'd backfired and made things worse for her. _No matter what I do, I only seem to dig myself into a further hole..._ He looks up and finds everyone in the room staring at him. "What?!" he snaps, feeling only a little better as they all quickly go back to doing whatever the hell it was they were doing before the latest chapter in the AJ-and-Miz saga entertained them.

When they finally arrive in California for the week's events leading up to the Rumble, Mike finally feels like he can breathe a little easier. It's _his_ homestate, he always feels like he can be more himself here, and... even better, John greets him and Alex outside of the airport, looking healthy and tan and happy. "Holy hell," Mike shakes his head, not expecting this. "What are you doing here?"

Smirking, the Shaman of Sexy claps both men on the back before leaning against the hood of his car, eyes glinting behind his sunglasses. "Figured I'd come, say hi. See if you two were up to some beach time."

Exchanging glances, Mike and Alex agree eagerly. "Yes!" Despite just leaving Florida a short while ago, there's something about the California beaches that stay with Miz, call to him even long after he's gone, and he's pretty sure it's mostly because it's just _home_. They gleefully spend the rest of Saturday there, John traipsing along the rocks like he's never done so before, and Mike even joins him for some of it, not even mad- _much-_ when he and Alex silently conspire against him just to splash him from both sides with cold, bitter sea water. He sputters and wipes at his eyes until he can see again and then it's on, the three of them falling into a juvenile splash fight that leaves them all soaked and chilled, the weather in California still a little on the bizarre side- but none of them seem to mind, just glad to be at the same place together again.

Once they tire of this, they rush back to Morrison's apartment and find dry, warm clothes to slip into and Mike groans, collapsing onto the floor next to his couch. "Why is it chilly here? It's not supposed to be chilly. It's California!"

"Clearly it wanted you to remember how it was growing up in Ohio," John cracks, barely looking up from where he'd sprawled out on his couch even when Mike blindly swats at him and lands a good smack on his shoulder. Alex joins them last, his hair still slicked across his forehead with ocean water, and the two Dirt Sheet cohosts throw pillows at him, which he picks idly out of midair and uses to cushion his body as he settles on the floor near Mike.

"Ugh, why didn't I think of that!" As John and Alex mock and tease him, the former WWE champion smiles. _Forget California,_ he thinks after a moment. This _is home._

Raw. Beat the Clock challenge. Mike stares blankly at the white board and shakes his head, biting his lip. Another match against Dolph Ziggler. Winner of the challenge gets to pick what number they want to be in the Rumble. It's ridiculous, he's amazed. Something like that... well. It could make the match ridiculously easy. He wants to win, so badly. But AJ and Big E. will be watching, and after Friday, well...

Trying to shake these thoughts from his head, he takes a deep breath and stretches, in an attempt to prepare himself for what Dolph will bring. He and Alex both had tried their hands at Morrison's fitness DVDs and Mike was still feeling sore from it, as if the beat down from The Shield last Wednesday hadn't been enough. He sighs and closes his eyes, listening as his music begins to play. The match itself goes for awhile, too long for a Beat the Clock challenge, and no lie, Mike tries his hardest to do what needs to be done, but AJ's presence on the outside is a nonstop distraction and eventually Big E. gets involved, leaving him struggling but unable to do anything as Dolph hits a Zigzag and takes the victory.

He stares dispassionately at the ceiling, trying to blink the stars away, as he senses more than sees AJ and Dolph celebrating yet another victory against him nearby. When he finally makes it back to his feet, they're gone and he's left to trudge up the ramp alone, trying not to dwell on the loss. _I'm still in the Rumble, I still have a chance, no matter what number I'm at. It's fine._ Despite his attempts at bolstering himself emotionally, his energy fades quickly and he has no real choice but to take a seat on the nearest trunk, his body trembling. Between The Shield, and Antonio Cesaro, and this whole mess with AJ, Dolph and Big E, he feels run ragged and even the hard surface of the trunk feels good underneath him.

He sprawls out and stares blankly up at the shadowy beams crisscrossing overhead until he finally dozes off, even the general sounds of the arena unable to disturb his body's desperate need for rest.

On the other side of the arena, Alex walks around, looking here and there. He's been searching for Mike since the end of his Beat the Clock challenge, needing to see that he's alright after another loss to Ziggler, but there's no sign of him. He's about to walk past one hallway when he sees the back of AJ Lee as she lurks, head tilted to the side while the obvious shadow of Big E. Langston stands nearby, watching and waiting for her to do something. He somehow just _knows_ and ventures closer, catching sight of Mike sprawled out on a nearby trunk, utterly still. His worry growing, A-Ri moves past them and, trying to ignore them, approaches his former mentor. He's greatly relieved to find him breathing easily, just asleep, and hesitantly turns back to the two lingering in the shadows. "Do you need something?"

Big E. seems to take exception to his tone and takes a menacing step closer but AJ stops him with a cool hand on his wrist, lips curling up into a weird little grin as she stares up at Alex. "You're Mike's best friend, aren't you?"

"One of them."

Her eyes glint as she approaches him, circling him like a cheetah would her prey. "Did he tell you Cena's New Years Eve plans as well?"

He takes a breath. "Be impossible for him to do that seeing he didn't know what Cena was going to do either."

She pauses midstep, before continuing on her way. "What?"

"He tells me everything, he would _definitely_ have told me about this if he'd known. But I was with him when it happened; he was disgusted and angry, worried about how you would react. He had no idea what Cena was planning." She stares at him, probably trying to deduce his credibility, and he shakes his head. "It's ate him alive the last few weeks that you didn't believe him when he said he had no idea. Trust me, if he had known, you wouldn't have been in the crossfire that night."

A strange look comes over her face and she hesitates, glancing back at Mike once more.

"He didn't tell John Morrison either," he offers as a last ditch effort, hoping that he's not overstepping his bounds by telling her these things. "I can prove it to you." When she only continues to stare, he swallows and reaches for his phone, hesitantly dialing the number on speaker phone. _Hopefully he'll answer..._

Luckily enough, he does so on ring two. "Hey, A-Ri, what's going on? Miss me already?"

He chuckles weakly and sighs. "Hey, John, I'm here with AJ Lee. I just want to clarify with you- Mike never spoke to you about what Cena was planning for New Years Eve, did he?"

The older man sounds confused and more than a little reluctant to answer himself, well aware of Mike's recent issues with the girl since forcing every detail from Mike over the weekend. "No, he didn't," he says quietly.

"And has he ever said that he knew what was going on with all of that?"

"No, he said he had no clue."

Sighing in relief, Alex nods. "Thanks, man. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Ok, bye."

Hanging up, he turns back to the girl. "See, Mike's two closest friends had no idea- you have to know if he'd have known, we would've been the next two he told. Especially John, why not, if he needed to tell someone, tell the one person who's not even in the business? It's not like he could've stopped it even if he'd wanted to."

She glances up at him, her eyes reflecting sadness and regret as she turns slowly away from them, lifting a hand up to stop Big E. as he attempts to follow her. Alex holds his breath as she ventures closer to the trunk where Mike still lays, each movement as skittish as a rabbit's. She regards him for long moments before climbing up next to him and peering down at him as he sleeps. Straddling him, she lowers herself until they're nose to nose and breathes in quietly, freeing one hand from where it's bracing her against the trunk enough to run it through his short hair before pressing a soft, slow kiss to his lips. The moment somehow seems to both go by quickly and last forever as Alex watches, until finally she pulls away and shifts, her mouth resting by his ear as she whispers something that looks like an apology.

That done, she pulls herself up and away, hopping off of the edge of the trunk with a pinched look on her face like it pains her to do so. As she and Big E. leaves silently, Alex ventures over to Mike's side and stares down at him, taking in the small smile on his lips. Once her footsteps are long gone, he swats Mike gingerly on the knee and steps back as the host of MizTV jerks up and looks around, a dazed look on his face. "Hey. You wanna see how the final Raw before the Rumble ends?"

Mike blinks up at him in confusion for a few moments before collecting himself. "Sure, yeah." Running his fingers through his hair, he grimaces and smacks his lips together. "Alex? Was someone messing with me while I was on that trunk?"

"Not at all, why would you think that?" he wonders, an expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace on his face as he walks ahead of him. _If you only knew._

Mike mumbles tiredly. "I dunno, I just feel... kinda weird." But in retrospect, Mike decides after a few moments, _weird_ isn't the word for it. He feels... better, somehow. Lighter. Like something he'd been dreaming about had eased his conscience, left him feeling less horrible about the assumption AJ had come to. It's this that fuels his path as he storms out during the annual pre-Rumble brawl and tears it apart to the best of his ability with all of the other superstars flooding the ring.

The Rumble is in six days. He's ready.


	140. chapter 140

Despite how he'd gotten the upperhand on Cesaro the past few weeks, capping it off by tossing the Swiss back into the ring during his match on Main Event, it sadly doesn't hold for the Royal Rumble; he loses his US title opportunity in the preshow and then goes on to get eliminated from the Rumble itself within five minutes. Despite his _awesome_ number of 28, he just couldn't last, still sore from his earlier match.

Stumbling back up the ramp, breathless and disappointed, he pushes past the curtain and releases a dull breath, expecting Alex to greet him. But the shoes he sees in front of him aren't Alex's- they're feminine and... familiar. He closes his eyes, aware of what this means, and slowly lifts his gaze up until he's peering into AJ's face. He'd seen her way-too-long makeout session with Dolph prior to the Rumble and figures she's here to gloat about how long her boyfriend's lasted in the match, compared to how short he remained in there. But she doesn't look proud, she doesn't even look amused. She just looks pensive. He struggles to catch his breath and strains out, "What do you want, AJ?"

Big E. is nearby, as always, but he's stoic and unmoving as she approaches the Awesome One, resting a hand on his upper arm. "I just wanted to talk. I know... you probably didn't hear me on Monday." As he frowns at her, brow furrowing in confusion, she smiles tentatively. "I know that you had nothing to do with what Cena did to Dolph and I. I said it to you on Monday when you were asleep, and I want to say it again here, now. When I know you can hear me. I'm so sorry."

He stares at her in shock, not sure what to say in response to this, when they both freeze- Lilian Garcia's announcement that Dolph Ziggler's just been eliminated echoes through the arena. Mike wants to laugh but AJ looks both annoyed and distressed as she quickly moves away from Miz just before an angry Dolph storms through the curtain and kicks at a nearby table, the girl immediately rushing to him to console her boyfriend. All humor dissipating, Mike shakes his head and walks away, seeing no point in hanging around to see _that_ demonstration of their relationship. Alex is nearby, watching, and he quickly moves to walk alongside Mike. "You did that?"

Alex sighs, a look of sympathy in his eyes, as he drapes an arm around his friend's shoulders. "With some help from Morrison. She needed to have her eyes opened, Mike. You'd been through enough, and that was the only way I could think to do it."

He knows this is true, he just hates that it took so much for her to accept that he'd not had any prior knowledge of Cena's plans. "Thanks," he mumbles, making a note to call John and thank him as well.

Raw goes as well as he can expect it to after a nothing showing like Rumble was for him. Antonio Cesaro's match is first up and, lucky lucky him, he gets placed in a special guest referee match against Orton. Vickie, in one of her many moods following Dolph and AJ throwing their relationship in her face last week, places Miz in the referee role and he tries to play it evenly down the middle despite his many issues with both men. In the end, Cesaro pushes Mike and that does it- all neutral territory, no pun intended, goes to the wayside as he gets in the US champion's face and distracts him until Orton is up and in place behind him for the RKO and three count.

He then can't help himself as, making a big show of helping Cesaro to his feet, positions him just so and sweeps him into the Skullcrushing Finale, a small bit of comeuppance for what had happened the day before between them and during this match. He's just gotten out of his ref gear and into street clothes when Alex comes in, head tilted as he talks on the phone to someone. "Smackdown's in San Diego," he comments, grinning when Mike glances at him, curious. "Sure, we could probably stop in, John. You're not sick of us already though?" His eyes soften as he drops down next to his former NXT pro and nods. "Yeah, I understand. Hey, Mike's here. Wanna-?"

Mike nods and takes the phone a second later as Alex leans against the wall and watches the monitor for a bit, half-listening to his side of the conversation. "Hey, man."

"Hey. Heard about what happened at the Rumble, that sucks."

"Yeah. Well, it could've been worse, I guess." He smiles mirthlessly. "Hey, Alex told me that you helped convince AJ I didn't have anything to do with Cena's nonsense. Thanks."

"I wasn't sure what he was involving me in at the time, but I'm glad it worked out for you, Mike."

"Well, she's still with Dolph," he admits. "But at least she doesn't seem to be angry with me anymore. Until, you know, her next mood change." He elbows Alex as he chuckles helplessly and rolls his eyes when his phone crackles at Morrison's amusement to that comment as well. "You both suck." However, before the conversation can continue much further, Mike's gaze shifts to the monitor and he pales.

The night before, Alberto Del Rio had retained his title after some quick thinking by Ricardo Rodriguez, who'd used duct tape to tangle Big Show's legs in the ropes so he couldn't get up for the ten count. Tonight, they were both paying for it as the giant had taped Del Rio's wrist to the bottom rope and was currently beating Ricardo down in front of him. "Damn," Alex breathes. Mike can tell when John senses something is wrong by their continued silence and turns his TV on, the echo from their monitor to his audible through the phones.

Once it finally ends with the ring announcer downed by the KO punch and Del Rio kicking and scrambling to free himself up until the last second when Big Show knocks him out as well with a forceful fist to the face, John releases a deep breath. "Holy hell. What brought all of that on?"

Mike distractedly explains the end of the night before's Last Man Standing match to him as he stands up and cards his fingers through his hair, lips pursed unhappily. In a way, he can understand Big Show's anger but Rodriguez being a mere ring announcer, and his having been on the other side of that, watching John or Alex getting decimated while unable to do anything about it for different reasons, causes him, for the first time ever, to truly feel for the Mexican aristocrat. "Hey, John, I gotta go. We'll talk later, huh?"

"Yeah, sure. Tell Alex bye."

"I will." As he hangs up and turns back to the monitor, it comes back from commercial and they watch a short clip of Del Rio being helped to the back. There's no sign of Ricardo in it and both Alex and Mike exchange uncomfortable glances. Not many trusted Alberto or Ricardo after so long of their being out for themselves, the recent change in them both taking awhile to catch on with the boys in the back- Mike still going through the same thing with his own recent change in attitude, as his alliance with Flair had been spat upon by so many- but Miz had teamed with Del Rio twice, and had a few conversations with Ricardo since, and he doesn't really doubt their sincerity. They all were struggling to be better, smarter, more honorable competitors, but after years of being one thing, yeah, it's a bit difficult to change. So after waiting for as long as he can without completely crawling out of his skin, he stands up. "Hey, I'm going to go for a walk. Do you wanna come?"

Alex smirks vaguely at him and nods towards the TV. "You gonna go to the trainer's office?"

Mike barely blinks. "I may walk by there." At Alex's chuckle he rolls his eyes. "Well, do you or not?"

"No, that's ok. I'll see you later."

"Alright." Clapping him on the shoulder, Mike leaves the room and wanders the halls a bit, cooling down until he passes by the trainer's office. Peeking in the partially opened door, he winces at finding Del Rio standing next to a cot, peering down at the still motionless Ricardo. His fingers are clenched against the sheet covering the surface so tight that his knuckles are white and his lips are pressed in a very thin line. Mike takes a hesitant step inside and immediately holds his hands up to show he means no harm when Alberto spins to glare suspiciously at him. "How is he?" he asks quietly.

The Mexican aristocrat shrugs before turning back to his friend. Miz slowly walks up alongside him and examines the pale features of the ring announcer, his lips twisting in sympathy. Before he can say anything, however, Alberto speaks up. "I told him everything would be fine. Five minutes later..." He huffs, his voice failing him briefly. "Five minutes later, I was caught in duct tape and he was getting knocked around by the Big Show. All I could do was watch. I failed him. Again." He gingerly rests a hand on Ricardo's shoulder and shakes his head, eyes looking suspiciously wet when Mike glances over at him. "Lo siento, mi amigo..."

Considering that Del Rio had taken two KO punches himself, Mike is amazed that he's up and standing this soon, but he knows better than to suggest that the older man sit down, knowing that it's an issue of pride and that he wouldn't want to leave Ricardo's side. "I doubt he sees it that way," he finally says, not sure if he should say anything, or if he's even saying the right things. When Del Rio looks over at him, he smiles wanly. "I was watching, man. I've _been_ watching. I mean, we tag teamed those two times. It was enough. Do you honestly think, after everything, he would blame you for _this?_ He's been by your side, loyal no matter what, for three years, despite how much of a jackass you were at times towards him. Even when he was brogue kicked by Sheamus, what was his main thought?"

Alberto closes his eyes. "To see the move banned."

"To protect you," Mike tells him. "The same for tonight. He didn't care that what you said earlier ended up being wrong- he knows this business, he knows things like this just... happen." Taking in the almost defeated look in Alberto's eyes, he decides to try another track. "So many times I've been unable to do anything while John Morrison or Alex Riley got hurt. And you know what? They're my best friends right now. I've failed them _so_ many times, and they forgive me each time. Most of the time I probably didn't even deserve it, but they did, and I'm beyond thankful for that." He stares down at Ricardo, his eyes softening as he takes in the pained expression on the younger man's face even while unconscious. "If anything, Ricardo probably feels like he failed you."

This causes Del Rio's head to whip up and he looks almost murderous. "Never! He has never failed me. How dare you-"

"I'm not saying I think he did," Mike snaps back. "I'm saying he thinks he did. He tried shielding you, pleading Show away, and it didn't help. You both still ended up here."

Alberto freezes, digesting all of this. He'd been unconscious through what Mike had just described and it floors him. "He... did?" He groans and buries his face in his hands. "He could've left, he could've gotten himself to safety but he stayed to... to..."

"To protect you," he repeats, getting a good look at the bruises spanning Del Rio's right hand which had been so thoroughly taped to the ropes. Which he had obviously injured trying to get free to help his best friend. Miz sighs. "Because that's what friends do, right? They help each other out, no matter what." When Alberto doesn't even glance over at him, quietly leaning over and pressing his face to Ricardo's shoulder, mumbling in Spanish, Miz figures he's stayed long enough. He leaves silently and smiles half-heartedly when he finds Alex standing outside of the trainer's office. "Coming to check on me?"

"Something like that," he admits. "Come on." Instead of going back to the locker room and stewing over everything that's happened the past few days, they wander the building. They make fun of the diva's showgirl outfits and try not to think too much about Tensai in lingerie, even when they walk by him bashing his head against the wall, and cringe their way through the karaoke contest where Khali bungling HBK's entrance echoes through the halls despite there not being a monitor anywhere in the vincinity. Once they've had their fill of this show and all of its shenanigans, they turn to leave.

The exit is just past the trainer's office so Mike nudges Alex and peers inside once more, the younger man joining him in the doorway as they watch quietly. Ricardo is thankfully conscious by now, the two men taking up the one cot as Alberto supports his ring announcer, who is carefully running a wet paper towel across his employer's bruised wrist, taking off the remaining stickiness from the duct tape. Once that's done, he gently eases his wrist down onto a waiting ice pack and folds it around the discolored flesh, peering up at him with a sad look in his eye. "Is that alright, El Patron?"

"Si, gracias, Ricardo." Del Rio smiles at him, patting his face with his left hand.

Mike ducks back out of the room at that, tugging Alex with him as they continue on their way to the exit. "Looks like they're going to be alright," Alex says after a few moments.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I wouldn't really wanna be the Big Show right now." As he enters the car, peering over at Alex while he adjusts his seatbelt, his smile grows. _No matter if others accept the changes in us or not, Del Rio and I are pretty damn lucky. True friendships in this business are so rare... but somehow he and I've both managed it. Considering everything, we'd probably be the last ones anyone would expect that for._

As he puts the car in drive, Alex turns to glance over at him. "What do you say we Skype with Morrison when we get back to the hotel?"

He chuckles, eyes gleaming. He'd just been thinking about the abrupt end to his phone conversation with Morrison earlier, and when he could possibly rectify that. "You read my mind, kid." _Damn lucky indeed..._


	141. chapter 141

Mike is still stinging from the prior week- how badly the Rumble had gone, and feeling unfulfilled after the only slight payback he'd gotten against Antonio on the following Raw and Main Event, so when Alex hands him his phone and he sees the email in the younger man's inbox that matches his down to the final word, confirming that they're not scheduled for anything on the week's Smackdown, he smirks. "Well, what do you say? Wanna go harrass Morrison some more?"

"Hell yeah!" So that's what they do, driving right past the Smackdown arena to hit the freeway to Mike and John's homecity. It takes some time just to locate him- the beach, his apartment, even his favorite frozen yogurt stand a few blocks from his home all lacking the man's undeniable presence. "I feel like all we've been doing is skipping from one home state to the other," Alex comments inanely as they wander the sidewalks looking for some place where he could be at.

Mike glances over at him, grinning. "Oh yeah, we're going back to Florida next week, aren't we? You gonna let me crash at your place again?"

"Of course!" he responds, his lips twitching upwards into a smile just as he looks into the outer glass wall showing the interior of a gym they're walking by. "Hey there he is!" Mike stops short and joins him at the window, watching as John works at his ridiculous cardio regimen, lost in his own world and not even sensing their gazes on him. "I'll admit," Alex mumbles, his amusement fading away as they watch the former Superstar. "It feels kind of weird when it's just you and I alone in Florida. Not that it isn't fun, of course it is, it's just when we're here in California, we either spend all of our free time at your house or his apartment. But in Florida, well... I can count on one hand the times he's stayed at my house. It makes me feel bad having to exclude him from that. You know what I mean?"

"Of course I do," he sighs, clapping a hand on Alex's back. "He understands that we can't help it, but I feel pretty crummy too. Especially when we're talking and I'm suddenly off on some tangent about some random nothing in the business that he and I used to both find obnoxious, just to remember that he'd probably give about anything to have to endure that alongside us again. It's awkward and it's uncomfortable and I hate it."

"I know it ended badly," Alex says after a minute, "but no matter what, I do understand why you attempted to work AJ to get him his job back."

"If only it'd worked," he sighs. "Well, let's stop being depressed out here and go annoy him, that always cheers me up."

Alex chuckles and follows him inside, stepping aside as Mike greets Morrison by asking loudly if he needs spotted. John's reaction is as expected- an amused roll of the eye and a quick hug that Alex gets in on, none of them caring who might be around watching.

A few hours later, they're just settling in to watch the end of Smackdown back at Mike's home, each with to-go containers of froyo, when Alex freezes in front of the TV. "Uh oh."

"What-oh?" Mike asks, trying to see around him.

"It's Ricardo," the youngest of the trio mumbles, quickly backtracking to sit between John and Mike to watch. Despite Del Rio's well meaning attempt to keep the ring announcer backstage since he's still recovering from the beatdown Big Show had given him five days prior, it all goes wrong when the much larger giant distracts Alberto after his match, his grip unforgiving and tight around Ricardo's collar as he begs and pleads, tears in his eyes.

They all watch in quiet discomfort as Big Show mocks Ricardo and threatens Del Rio before finally punching the ring announcer out for the second time in a week. Miz hisses out a curse as Alberto moves quickly, leaving his title belt behind as he rushes up the ramp to the back and through the halls to find his best friend. "Dammit!" he huffs, eyes narrowing as the Mexican aristocrat comes across the downed young man, unmoving and not responding in the slightest as trainers and other staff kneel down by him, trying to get him to wake up while Alberto looks for the on-call doctor, crazed the longer his friend doesn't answer him. When the screen goes dark, Smackdown ended for the week, Morrison finds Mike's remote and shuts it off, frowning over at his former tag partner. "If we'd been there..."

"You could've gotten attacked by Big Show as well," John comments, putting the remote down with a sigh.

"Or we could've kept him somewhere safe, where Show couldn't have found him," Mike mumbles, still staring at the black screen like his gaze could change the outcome of the show.

Despite Morrison and Alex's best efforts to keep him distracted, this continues to weigh on Mike's mind through the weekend up until he arrives at the Raw arena, Alex alongside him. They're in Atlanta now, a quick stop before they move on to Florida for the week's Smackdown, but he's focused on tonight. After everything from the past week, he's tired of feeling like he's being walked all over, and he's definitely over seeing people get trashed by cowards like the Big Show or The Shield or...

Alex has to move quickly to keep up with him, his dark eyes narrowed in worry as his former mentor storms through the halls until he arrives at the locker room. "Mike!" he exclaims, finally catching up to and gripping his best friend's arm, stopping him. "Hold on, man. Slamming around won't get you anywhere tonight. You have MizTV tonight with Paul Heyman, you have to-"

"Have to what?" he snaps back, spinning on Alex as his eyes flash angrily. "Be careful in case Brock Lesnar gets it in his head to start something with me? Let him. I'm sick of all of this, Alex."

Alex shakes his head. "Mike, come on. I know it sucks what's happened with Ricardo- and everything else- the past few weeks, but running blind into situations when you're not thinking straight-"

"I'm thinking fine," he grumbles, forcing his way into the locker room with only slightly more subdued movements compared to a moment ago. "I can defend myself. I'm not a 60-some year old man."

"I know you're not, but-" Alex sighs, shaking his head grimly. He can tell his words are going nowhere, and will continue to as Mike isn't even looking at him, his gaze locked on the monitor as they recap what had happened to Vince McMahon yet again. He knows there's not much he can do to sway the Most Must See Superstar when he's in one of these moods, the man's stubborn streak and denial of being just as human as the rest of them, capable of being injured, a bad combination no matter how you look at it.

So he's not surprised when he finds himself running through the halls later on in the show, trying to locate the trainer's office. If Alex had ever thought he'd be seeing things through another man's eyes, the last he'd have expected would be Alberto Del Rio's as he tries to find his recently knocked out best friend in what almost feels like a recreation of what they'd watched last Friday. As if his thoughts had brought the man out of the woodwork, he stops short before he runs into Del Rio himself, the two men hesitating as they stare at each other, Alex about to take off once more to continue looking.

"Are you looking for the trainer's office?" Alberto calls out to him before he can even take a step, his frantic eyes turning to the Mexican. "Follow me. I need to check on Ricardo anyhow." This situation growing more and more surreal by the moment, Alex swallows and follows him for a couple of minutes before they come to a stop outside of the very room he'd been looking for for what had started to feel like forever.

He goes in first, Alberto following behind him calmly. He blinks, finding Ricardo sitting uncomfortably on a nearby leather couch, his dark, troubled eyes locked on the cot across the room, and Alex follows his gaze, almost losing it when he catches sight of Mike sprawled out there, pale and bruised and still motionless. As Alberto moves over to Ricardo, talking lowly to him about contracts and Booker T, Alex blocks their conversation out as he slowly walks over to his friend. "Mike, hey. I'm here." He swallows heavily and gingerly touches the side of his friend's face, seeing where the edge of the chair had smacked into him. "God... Man... I told you. Why couldn't you just listen?"

No response comes and Alex shakes his head, closing his eyes as he sits down next to Mike, his hands interlaced against the side of the cot almost as if in a prayer. "Come on, man... Wake up..." It had been horrible, A-Ri unable to do anything but watch as Mike had tried again and again to get some offense against Brock, just to get thrown around, out of the ring, and have half of MizTV's set thrown at and on top of him, or himself thrown into it. When Brock had F5'd him into his own couch, it'd felt like Alex had lost the ability to breathe. Even if he hadn't been physically held in place with duct tape, it had felt like it as he stood in the middle of the locker room, watching on helplessly as his best friend had fought pointlessly against the much stronger monster that Paul Heyman and Vickie Guerrero had sicced once more upon the WWE as a whole.

He barely notices as Alberto prepares to leave, his dark eyes gazing around from the trainer to Alex himself before he pats Ricardo on the face, reminding him once more quietly to stay here where he's safe until Alberto comes back to take him on to Florida, where they'll relax at home until Smackdown. Ricardo's face falls as soon as his employer is gone, all forced signs of bravery leaving him as he stares at the closed door, probably dwelling on the danger Del Rio could be putting himself into. There's no doubt that he'll be going after Big Show again, reciprocation for what he'd done on Smackdown. Payback for the black eye only now fading from Ricardo's face, and everything else he'd suffered the week prior.

Alex is still sitting there, waiting patiently for some sign from Mike, when the office door slips open once more and everyone inside freezes, not sure what to expect. AJ Lee is standing there, her eyes wide against her pale skin, Big E. lingering behind her as she enters the room slowly. Her hand goes to her mouth as she catches sight of the downed Miz and she shakes her head, closing her eyes. As the door clicks shut behind her, Alex stands slowly and stares at her. "Where's Dolph?" he asks her pointedly and she shakes her head, appearing incapable of vocalizing her response. "Why are you here, AJ?" Although he had opened the girl's eyes to his friend's innocence on New Years, he's still hesitant towards her. Despite it all, she remains with Dolph and he's leery of her. _Mike's been through enough..._

But there's a look on her face as she sniffs and approaches the cot, her dark eyes heavy and filled with tears, that Alex recognizes. Sincere worry and regret and... Their eyes lock. "Please?" she asks, her voice cracking with emotion halfway through the word and he knows the battle's lost.

"I'll be right over there," he whispers to Mike, giving his hand one more squeeze before reluctantly leaving the chair behind and standing anxiously at the foot of the bed as she brushes past him and takes the seat, dragging it up as close to the head of the bed as she can get, leaning closer to run her fingers through his hair. Accepting that she seems to be in a halfway sane state of mind for once, he leaves her there and joins Ricardo on the couch, nodding at the ring announcer. He'd never dealt with the oft-abused man that much in the past, but Mike seems to like him and that's enough for him.

Big E. hasn't moved from his position by the door, arms crossed over his chest menacingly, and Alex wonders if he's supposed to be listening for Dolph Ziggler, yet again wondering how exactly AJ has so many guys wrapped around her finger to do her bidding. "Do you think he'll be ok?" Ricardo asks after a moment, brow furrowed as he looks over at the still unconcious man.

"Yeah. He's Miz. He'll be fine," Alex says, unable to believe anything else. "His stubbornness has to be good for something, right?" At Ricardo's uncertain nod, A-Ri smiles faintly. "Del Rio will be fine too."

"You think so?" he asks, eyes shining with fresh worry as he once more glances at the door, obviously desperate to know what's going on with his employer.

"Yeah, man. I really do." Alex smiles sadly at him and pats his back, when...

"AJ?" a familiar voice whispers, cutting through the quiet air like a knife, Alex's head whipping up in time to see Mike's eyes blink open as his hand reaches out for her, each movement painful and slow.

As she laughs tearfully and strokes her hands down his face, whispering softly to him, Alex sinks into the couch cushions in relief. "See," he tells Ricardo lowly. "Everything'll be fine. Del Rio will come back in one piece, and I'll get Miz out of here and the four of us will just... go home and forget this week ever happened."

Ricardo nods absently, watching as finally the monitor shows Big Show's hotel room for the third time that night. His tension grows rapidly as Big Show signs the contract, then opens the door to Del Rio in the hallway, and their fight goes pretty badly for the Mexican aristocrat, the much larger man taking the small space to his advantage until finally Del Rio gets the upperhand when Show tries and fails at attacking him with a table leg. Finally Alberto downs him with a fire extinguisher to the skull, excusing away what had happened to people who'd witnessed the tail end of their fight before getting into the elevator and leaving.

AJ is still talking lowly to Miz, their hands linked the entire time, when Del Rio returns around ten minutes later, his gaze going suspiciously from Alex to Big E., before resting on Ricardo. "Amigo," he greets his ring announcer, sounding as relieved as Ricardo looks at the sight of him. "Are you ready to get out of here?"

"Si," he nods, standing slowly and walking over to his friend. "Are you ok?" His hand hesitantly reaches up to brush against Del Rio's forehead, since he'd seen him check there in the hotel hallway.

"I'm fine. Come, let's go. Home sounds nice, si?" Once they leave, Alex glances over at AJ and Mike, standing reluctantly as she whispers to him, her expression taking a complete 180 from how she'd looked when he'd first seen her.

He approaches the cot, trying not to worry as Big E tenses warningly behind him. "Um, AJ, the show's about to end. You... might want to go before Dolph starts to get worried."

Her eyes flash angrily as she looks up at him, unhappy at the disruption, but when Mike squeezes her hand, she seems to crash back to reality. "Oh. Right." It looks like it pains them both as she slips her hands free from Mike's, but she immediately resumes running her hands through his hair a few more times, his eyes fluttering underneath her touch. All of her goodwill seems to drain as quickly as it'd come when she looks up at Alex, her lips pursed warningly. "Hey, you take good care of him or else. I know where you live." She smiles down at the injured superstar before flouncing past Alex and leaving the room, Big E. following closely.

He pauses, patting Mike's shoulder. "Um. She doesn't really, does she?" Miz laughs faintly, only adding to his inner turmoil. " _Does_ she? ... I hate you," he mumbles when he still doesn't answer the question, just smirking tiredly up at him. "And yet I'm still going to take you back to my place and make sure you don't go picking more fights with guys I tell you not to... Hmph."

As he helps Mike slowly, gingerly stand off of the cot once the trainer tells them they can go, but to be very very cautious and keep an eye out for anything strange, all Alex can think about is the long conversation Mike and AJ had had. "Can I ask you something, Mike?"

"Sure," he groans as his body protests standing. "What... what is it?"

"How did your talk with AJ go?"

Mike tenses under his fingers before smiling wanly. "I'll tell you soon. Just... not right now, ok?

Somewhere between compassionate and worried, Alex nods. "Ok, Mike. Whenever you're up to it."

As they walk to the car, Alex supporting Mike every step of the way, the former NXT pro squeezes his arm. "Seriously, Alex, thanks. I know... I can be a pain... but you've always stayed by my side."

He smiles, trying not to dwell on what might be going on between AJ and Mike now. "You're welcome, Mike. I always will be right here, whenever you need me."


	142. chapter 142

After getting the night off for Main Event, still hurting from Brock Lesnar's attack, Miz makes sure to be at Smackdown, lurking and watching unhappily as the show goes on around him. He'd spent the past few days at Alex's house, recovering as quickly as he could, absorbing the Floridian sun and trying not to stew on AJ's words or MizTV's destruction _again_. So it's a slightly less pained Mike that rushes the halls of Smackdown and finds where Cesaro's having his interview, attacking the current US champion viciously. The brawl gives Miz the chance he needs to take out some of the aggravation he's been feeling- but it's not enough. He thinks it'll never be enough.

That Monday, he's wandering the halls when he spots something on the monitor and stops short: Alex Riley and Yoshi Tatsu stupidly enough mocking Big Show just to get caught and laid out by two of his massive fists. He checks the clock, uncomfortably aware that his match is coming up soon, but goes to the trainer's office anyway. His friend is laying on one of the cots barely twitching, and he rests a hand on top of his shoulder, shaking his head. "Dammit, Alex, what were you thinking, kid?!" He's still standing there, dwelling on all of the bad things that'd happened the past few weeks, when the trainer's office slams open again and Zack Ryder is dragged in by unsettled referees, the trainer immediately moving over to him.

Mike winces as the Long Island Iced Z coughs viciously, smears of red visible on his hand as he looks up and catches sight of the other two men in the room. He'd just competed against Jack Swagger and had taken some horribly rough hits, worse than most had realized if it'd caused internal bleeding. Miz knows that it's his turn, his match against Cody Rhodes now, and brushes a hand through Alex's hair before wandering by Zack. "Hey, man, try to keep an eye on him for me, huh? I'll be back soon," Mike tells the Internet Champion, nodding quickly at his best friend.

"Sure," he agrees in a slightly raspy voice, glancing over at Alex. "I can do that."

"Thanks." Leaving with a purpose in his step, Miz bites his lip. He's tired of all of the people he knows and likes getting hurt- Alex, Ricardo, Zack, AJ, Morrison... Although he knows all too well that it's just a part of the business it's still extremely tiresome after awhile.

But in the end he joins them in the trainer's office sooner than he'd expected, alongside Alex in unconsciousness, and Zack grimaces. "This room is filling up quick," he sighs, coughing into a towel as more blood is expelled. "Dammit..." He wants payback, he wants to bash Jack Swagger's face in for tonight, and for taking his US title almost a year ago, but he knows he has little chance of that now. He's still sitting there, balefully spitting out pink tinged saliva, when the door clicks open once more. "Now who?" he's starting to ask when he falls quiet. "Oh."

Ricardo Rodriguez inches in, looking uncomfortable and a bit out of place. For perhaps the first time in two months, he's in the trainer's office for a reason outside of being injured himself, and he looks beyond fretful as he glances from Alex's prone figure to Mike's, his eyes lowering in worry. When he catches sight of Zack staring at him curiously, he swallows and inches past him, standing between the two unconscious men's cots as if unsure where to begin. He'd suffered many of Big Show's KO punches in the past few months, so he understands how A-Ri especially is feeling right now, but he knows Mike the best of the two men.

His thoughts are cut into, however, by the shrill ringing of a nearby cell phone- probably Alex's, since Mike's would be left in the locker room- both he and Zack jerking at the sound of it. Downstait blares through the room and Zack cringes, his sharp movements only exacerbating his injuries. "Ugh, answer it, bro."

Ricardo hesitates and shakes his head. "But... I don't..." Despite his discomfort with the prospect, he ventures towards it and looks down at the lit up screen. "It's John Morrison."

Zack grins sharply, before his lips tug back down, a confused look on his face. "Wait, I thought he was dead." Shrugging, he waves a hand towards the device. "Answer it, bro. We're all friends here."

Ricardo's eyebrows raise in surprise at this claim before he complies, frowning as he holds the phone up to his ear. "Hello?" He hadn't talked with the Parkour Master for a very, very long time- their last conversation being from years back when they'd held a bit of a parkour challenge and Ricardo had walked away with bloody shins, to his employer's displeasure.

There's a long pause before Morrison asks slowly, "Is this the trainer?"

"Oh. Um. No, lo siento, this is Ricardo Rodriguez." The ring announcer grimaces, hesitating. "I came to see how Miz and... and Alex were doing, and his phone was ringing. Zack Ryder encouraged me to answer when we saw it was you." He flinches, holding the phone up as Zack yells a quick "Hey Bro!" to Morrison, it immediately causing him to double over as he coughs unstoppably for long moments, blood trailing down his chin afterwards. Cringing, Ricardo turns his back to him and looks at Mike.

"How are Mike and Alex doing?" John asks after a moment, once Zack's quieted down.

"Alex is still unconscious," the younger man admits lowly. "Mike... he's out too. It looks like his shoulder was messed up pretty badly." He examines the icepacks wrapped from the edge of his collarbone down his arm, eyes squinting in worry.

"I see," John mumbles in a strained voice. "Hey, can you give them a message for me?" Ricardo, taking a moment to think, relieved that Alberto's match is still almost an hour out, agrees quietly. "Great. Just tell whichever of them wakes up first to call me, alright?"

"Of course, John, I can do that," he confirms. The two men fall silent, Ricardo waiting patiently for a few moments. Figuring that John has nothing else to say, remembering how quiet the man was unless in certain circumstances, he speaks up again. "The trainer's taking good care of them, they'll be fine."

"Thanks, man. Look, I've got to go. Thanks for this."

"No problem. Goodbye." Hanging up the phone, Ricardo presses his thumbs to his eyes and sighs, examining the two men before looking over at Zack. Things still awkward between the two men after all of the months that Del Rio had beaten Ryder down, neither say very much. The Long Island Iced Z continues coughing through the pain in his lungs and Ricardo keeps an eye on Miz and Alex, watching as Alex drifts in and out of consciousness, Mike only just starting to come to when the trainer's office door opens once more and Alberto enters, eyes lighting up when he spots his ring announcer.

"Ah, amigo, there you are!" he says quietly, quickly joining him between the two cots. "Are you alright?" At Ricardo's nod, he rests a hand between the younger man's shoulder blades. "Why are you here then?" He glances suspiciously over at Ryder, who ignores him pointedly as he wipes at his mouth with a towel.

"I wanted to check on Mike and Alex," he admits. "Did you see what happened? Big Show-?"

"Ah. Si, I did see that," he murmurs, face crunching up distastefully as he squeezes Ricardo's shoulder. "Don't worry, mi amigo. He'll pay this Sunday, for everything that he's done to you and everyone." Neither of them notice the surprised look on Zack's face at this, the man- also a recent victim of Big Show- finally witnessing their change in attitude first hand, and surprising himself by believing in their sincerity. When Ricardo nods, believing him immediately, easily, he smiles faintly. "Now, my match is soon. Are you ready to go prepare?"

Ricardo starts to nod before remembering. "Oh, just one moment, El Patron." He looks around quickly until he finds a pad of paper and pen on the trainer's desk and scribbles down Morrison's message as hurriedly as he can, with it still looking legible. Propping it up on the table near Mike's cot, he then turns to his employer. "Ok, lo siento, I'm ready now."

Once they're gone, Zack coughs once more into his fist and shakes his head. "What do you know, bros, I guess people really can change, even in this business."

Awhile later, Mike stirs upon hearing the office door slamming open hard enough to leave a crater in the wall, a loud, grating voice yelling into the room. "Hey! Hey. Check AJ out, would you? I'm fine, she's the one who-"

"Babe, _I'm_ fine," a fondly exasperated voice that leaves him wide awake and fumbling to sit up through the pure agony stabbing through his shoulder all the way to his neck speaks up, their eyes locking from across the room as soon as his are open. Her voice grows more subdued as she says quietly, "Big E. caught me, nothing even hurts. You're the one who had the match against Kane, let him check you-"

The trainer, ignoring them both, calls his assistant over and urges him to examine AJ while he looks Dolph over, the two then switching once he's certain Dolph's not suffering anything serious. The trio thankfully doesn't remain for too long, AJ idly stroking her fingers along her boyfriend's arm to sooth him as he tenses at the prodding and poking against his match-weary body.

Even though he knows it's only a few minutes, it's torture for Mike to watch and listen to their saccharine sweetness, so he forces himself to his feet, things going full circle as he ignores the trainer's reprimands and makes his way over to Alex's cot, relieved to find his friend conscious, though blurry eyed and pale. "Hey, kid," he whispers, turning sideways and sitting gingerly on the edge so they're facing each other. "Good to see you're awake."

Alex blinks a couple of times before trying to focus on the ice packs covering his friend's arm, eyes watering at the strain. "Are you... ok?" he asks slowly, licking his lips.

Mike nods. "Yeah, man. Hurts, but I'll be fine. How about you?"

"The same as you," he breathes, glancing over to where Dolph, AJ and Big E are lurking around, the trainer talking lowly to them. "Are you...?" He falls quiet when Miz shakes his head sharply, fingers tightening against the thin sheet covering the cot. "Sorry."

Finally the three leave, Dolph sneering at Mike's back on his way out, arm trailing around AJ's shoulders possessively as they go, and Alex turns his head to stare worriedly at his former NXT pro. Once the door clicks shut and the trainer wanders off, grumbling to his assistant, Mike leans over, trying to take some of the pressure off of his throbbing shoulder. "Maybe you should lay back down, Mike. You look..." Alex whispers, his voice trailing off when pained blue eyes glare right at him, stealing his words away in a rush.

"You still want to know what she told me last week?" he asks, a bitter smile trailing along his lips. Alex can do no more but stare at him and he laughs angrily, having had a week to think about it, the salt in the wound from watching them together just now in the office leaving him feeling all the more raw and jaded. "She wants... she wants to be friends. She tells me she's all about Dolph right now, and she... she doesn't want to go from guy to guy anymore. She wants to be different for 2013. She wants... him." He stares at his hands, lips trembling slightly. "I finally realize I might be interested in... something serious and she, she just... She chose him." He shrugs angrily, barely wincing against the renewed rush of pain in his shoulder that follows. "Damnedest thing is I was listening to her talking, explaining all of these things to me, and all I could think was... I deserve this, because in the beginning, I only showed interest in her because I was _using_ her. Who wouldn't choose _him_ after all of that? I brought it on myself, and... I care enough about her to want her happy. So I agreed. But I... I don't know how..." His words die away as he trembles and shakes his head, eyes closing tightly as if to keep the emotions inside.

There are no words. Alex, still scrambled from the KO punch, can barely think straight. All he manages is to quickly sit up and wrap an arm around his friend, holding him together as he fails to do for himself. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, catching sight of Ricardo's rushed note facing him, only able to see that it mentions Morrison. Resolving to point it out to Mike once he's calmer, he simply runs a hand through his friend's short hair and waits, riding out the storm as both injured men breathe raggedly against each other's shoulders.


	143. chapter 143

Mike gets the week off of commentary again for Main Event. His shoulder still throbs and the trainer is on about tears and various other injuries that aren't _too_ severe but definitely causes him a fair amount of pain. It's only due to tense commands from Morrison from a Skype screen and Alex's beseeching gaze that he gives in at all and stays at the hotel they'd booked, counting the moments until he can go to Smackdown and get some sort of payback for what's been happening to him the past few weeks.

It's not even about the US title anymore. Yeah, that'd be nice, and he wouldn't mind having gold to carry around again, but in the end, he's just mad. Incensed about what Cesaro's been doing lately, the constant cheap shots and anti-American babbling. Rescuing the US title from that would only be an added bonus. When he watches Main Event that week, and sees Dolph and AJ interrupting the Highlight Reel, he's excessively relieved that he _wasn't_ there and couldn't uphold his role as Jericho's guest.

After a few days spent recovering and attempting to return his focus to his career aspirations instead of always dwelling on AJ's words and actions, he's relieved to find that he doesn't have a MizTV segment on Smackdown or anything equally as pointless- no, thankfully, he has been granted a rematch against Cody Rhodes and his chance at retribution for everything is right in front of his nose. His eyes gleam as a smirk grows on his face. His shoulder is wrapped tightly, the trainer securing it around his midsection so movement is awkward, puts a bulls eye on his body, but he can't help it. It's the only way he'll be allowed to compete and he goes through with it.

Despite Rhodes' every attempt, Miz's anger and determination fuels him and he beats him with the Figure Four. As he leans against the top rope and cools off, staring up the ramp, he hopes that Cesaro and all of his detractors are watching. No matter what, no matter who, he's not going anywhere. He'd not been in this business for so long to be taken out by such nonsense. He makes his way to the back, looking over as Alex starts to follow him.

"Mike-"

"Yeah," he grumbles. "I'm going to the trainer's. Just relax, Alex." The young man _does_ relax and Mike sighs, feeling somewhat guilty as he realizes _again_ just what he's been putting Alex through. The last thing his friend needs after the abuse he'd taken from Big Show days earlier, but he hadn't complained once. "Thanks, by the way. For keeping an eye on me," he says, half-smiling as Alex looks over at him. "It's old news I'm far from being easy when I'm hurt or whatever, but you're always right there, no matter what."

"I always will be, Mike."

"I know. And even if I don't show it sometimes, I do appreciate it."

"I know." Their smiles grow as they continue walking side by side to the trainer's office, Alex carefully wrapping an arm around his friend's shoulders.

He thinks he has it on Sunday, it's just within his grasp but... Antonio kicks out and Mike lands wrong while trying to set up the Figure Four, landing hard and... _dammit!_ Cesaro convinces the referee that he'd been lowblowed, causing Miz the match, the US title and his vengeance by DQ. He's steaming so hot that it's all he can do to not blow up right there, in the middle of the ring, and he lowblows Antonio on purpose right then and there, feeling somewhat justified as the Swede wheezes and collapses onto his side, writhing in pain.

When he gingerly makes his way out of the ring, holding his shoulder protectively, Alex is once more waiting for him by gorilla, looking wary as Mike stares at him. "This is far from over," he vows, glowering at nothing in particular as his former rookie nods.

"Of course it isn't, Mike. That was the stupidest ending I'd ever seen."

Mike bites his lip and looks around, relieved to find that the area is fairly empty, only a few guys scattered around waiting for the next match. He's not even sure he'd really done anything DQ worthy in the ring, but he'd been so caught up in the moment... "How did that even happen..."

"The referee didn't even see it," Alex comments, reinforcing Miz's displeasure with the decision. "Cesaro had to convince him. It sucks, I'm sorry, man."

It's little consolation, but it's still something. He hadn't cost himself the belt, it had just been one of those stupid things, and he'd figure out some way to work his way into another opportunity as soon as possible. Releasing a deep breath, Mike nods. "Thanks, Alex." They're about to return once more to the trainer's office to get his arm looked at when he spots Big E. standing off to the side, which means that AJ or Dolph or both has to be nearby. He purposely ignores the much larger man and walks off quickly, in no hurry to see either of those two.

Alex follows him closely, lips pursed unhappily as his friend's emotional turmoil pours off of him in waves. "Are you alright, Mike?"

"Yeah." Since confessing to Alex what AJ's decision had been, he'd gone back to not wanting to talk about it. Not hear her name on his lips. None of it. He'd rather forget that any of it had ever happened, try to ignore that 2013 was already proving to be so _damn_ insufferable, but he knows as long as they're in the same company and she's with Ziggler, that won't change. So the best thing he can do is just ignore them, move on. Focus on his matches, his true friendships, and things that he _can_ work on, make better. He'd ruined the thing with AJ a long time ago and he knows dwelling on it won't get him anywhere.

Considering how unfulfilled Sunday had left him, Monday Mike thinks maybe he's starting to get back on the right track. Especially when, despite taking a fair amount of damage to his arm, he eakes out a victory against Cesaro in a non-title no-DQ match. It had been a brutal contest, his body trembling in weariness as he makes his way back up the ramp, and he's relieved to see Alex waiting for him _again_ , and A-Ri says little as he quietly lifts his good arm and wraps it around his shoulder, leading him to the trainer's. "Congrats on the win, man. You deserved it," he tells him with a proud smile.

"Thanks," Mike answers, smiling also through the pain. They're almost to the office when Alex stops suddenly, Mike grunting as he's jostled. "What-?" He looks up, his voice dying away as abruptly as Alex's movements, his eyes clouding over. "AJ." The girl is standing in front of them, Big E. once more lurking nearby. Dolph is nowhere to be seen. "What do you want?"

Her eyes jitter from left to right until finally she takes a breath and squares her shoulders, staring at him. "I wanted to make sure you're ok, is all," she explains with a pained look on her face. "That match looked pretty..."

He shakes his head, still not understanding why she's here, now. Looking at him like _that..._ "I'm fine." They stare awkwardly at each other, Mike almost certain she'll grab Big E. and just leave now, but she's never done what he's expected in the past, so why start now. She remains standing in front of him, their eyes locked, and finally he can't take it anymore. "AJ, you chose him. What else do you want from me?"

Her lips part, eyes growing misty, and he winces. "I- I said I wanted to try to be friends, Mike. I don't want to cut you completely out of my life."

He pulls away from Alex and walks closer to her, tensing when Big E. takes a step closer, only her outstretched arm keeping him at bay. "It's a nice dream, AJ, but this all happened too fast. I'm not ready to be friends." When her face falls, tears dripping her face, he feels horrible yet again, relaxes his stance against her. "Look. I'm not saying it'll never happen, just... not right now. Ok? I need time and... I doubt Ziggler would appreciate it much either, after everything. You should go, he has a match soon, right?"

She sniffs and nods, not looking at him once as she motions at Big E., brushing past him. Pausing for a moment, she wipes at her eyes. "I'm sorry for everything I've put you through, Mike. I hope you can forgive me some day."

He's frozen as she walks off, staring at the trainer's office door, honestly floored that, after everything, _she_ would apologize to _him._ "Just when I think things can't get anymore messed up," he groans, barely saying another word as Alex supports him the rest of the way to the trainer's office.

They're still in there, his arm covered in ice packs, when Dolph wrestles Del Rio and tries to cash in the briefcase, just for Ricardo Rodriguez to think quickly and grab the case, rushing up the ramp like wolves are after him- which is nearly enough true, Big E. surprising everyone with the utter speed he takes off after the younger man with. Miz would ordinarily be laughing uproariously at the ring announcer's quick thinking, and Ziggler failing, but he just can't quite feel it, thoughts far away as AJ's attempt at assisting Dolph cashing in falls through as well, Alberto kicking Dolph to unconsciousness before he can succeed at his second attempt.

 _I'm not the one who needs to forgive,_ he thinks, picking at the cold wraps against his skin. _But when you find out... when... I tell you... I doubt that anyone could forgive that._ _Maybe it'll make it easier for us both to move on. Maybe not, but I can't keep this to myself any longer..._ He closes his eyes, unable to completely guess what the result of his coming clean about the whole Morrison mess to AJ will be, but knowing it needs to be done. _If anything will make her give up on me, it'll be this._


	144. chapter 144

Mike, still lost in sober thoughts about what he should do regarding AJ Lee and that whole situation, makes his return to Main Event that Wednesday. Although he's only there in a commentary role, Big Show's unending bragging about being better than the whole locker room- not to mention his actions against Ricardo Rodriguez still fresh in the Awesome One's head- causes him to leave the desk and attack him after his third match against Khali, sending him clear out of the ring, not wanting any more of the angered Superstar. Miz leans over the ropes, daring Show to come back, get some more. _I'm so glad I wasn't attacked this week so I could be here for this,_ he thinks with a sneer as Big Show continues to retreat like the coward he is.

That fight hadn't done his shoulder any favors, but none-the-less, he works through it and wrestles against Cody Rhodes on Smackdown, picking up another victory. But instead of making him feel better, it only makes him feel worse. As he drops down next to Alex in the locker room, he presses his thumbs into his eyes. "I don't know why they keep doing that."

"Doing what, Mike?"

"Making me wrestle Rhodes," he admits. "I keep beating him, and I deserve a rematch against Cesaro, but this is what I'm left with." He sighs, staring at his hands. His still AJ-dominated thoughts are distracted slightly as they watch Del Rio compete against Wade Barrett, Mike laughing for the first time in he's not sure how long as Ricardo mocks the Brit on the outside. His laughter fades to a smirk as the Mexican champion's quick thinking saves his ring announcer when Barrett chases after him, the match going back and forth for awhile until finally Del Rio eaks out a victory.

Once the show ends, his thoughts return once more to the situation he'd put himself in. Steeling himself, he knows what he has to do. "I'm going to tell AJ," he finally speaks the words aloud despite their tasting like charcoal on his tongue. He feels Alex's uncertain stare on him and smiles mirthlessly. "About how I used her. It's time."

When he finally looks over at Alex, the younger man looks almost as uncertain as Miz feels, his teeth scraping across his lips until finally he speaks, his eyes dark with sincerity. "Whatever you need, Mike. I'm always here for you."

_That_ is one thing Mike has never doubted. "First things first, I gotta go talk to those two," he says, nodding at the monitor which has frozen on that last shot of Alberto and Ricardo staring down at Swagger and Kolter, the Wrestlemania sign hanging in the distance as if a prelude of what's to come between the four men.

"Oh?"

"You'll see," he grins, eyes gleaming with humor as Alex rolls his eyes and punches his good shoulder lightly.

"Tease!"

Mike laughs again before leaving the room, heading off to find the two men to discuss what he was thinking of suggesting to Vickie Guerrero for Raw.

With all of the far-reaching news coming from Swagger winning Elimination Chamber and moving onto Wrestlemania, it's an easy sell to get Vickie to agree to another edition of MizTV for Raw. Although he'd been annoyed by the more recent editions of his show, this one has some meat to it. Actual current issues. After noting that, for whatever reason, the entrances for his show had all happened during commercial break, he takes it upon himself to introduce the four men appearing on his show.

He notes out of the corner of his eye that, while Del Rio has a large smile on his face, Ricardo Rodriguez looks grim, though he does relax slightly when, upon Miz introducing the ring announcer, Alberto looks over at his best friend and pokes him slightly with his microphone. All traces of good humor leaves the champion, however, when Kolter begins to talk, and they get into the politics of their disagreement. Miz stands back and lets them go at it for awhile, only interceding when he absolutely feels like he needs to, trying to keep control over what's _his_ show no matter what Kolter and Swagger seem to think, and personally, despite his growing friendship with Ricardo, thinks he handles it as unbiasedly as possible.

But Kolter doesn't seem to agree, returning when Mike tries to leave, arguing with him that he _was_ biased, just for Swagger to blindside Mike and lay him out against the rough steel ramp. Referees try to help him up, beseeching him to go see the trainer, but his head is aching, his shoulder is throbbing, and hatred is pooling in his veins. "NO!" he snaps at them, all of the men surrounding him scattering away as he forces himself back to his feet, one hand on his bad shoulder and the other cupping his head. "Leave me alone," he grumbles.

He returns to Vickie's office and, ignoring Brad Maddox, demands a match against Swagger from her. She examines him with a shrewd eye before granting him his match. Before the clueless former referee could try parroting her, Mike storms out of the room once more and finds Ricardo standing anxiously there, wringing his hands. Miz stops short before running right into him, grunting when his shoulder protests the sudden movement. "What are you doing here?"

He frets and bites his lip, looking up anxiously. "I guess... I just wanted to make sure you're ok. Swagger attacked you partially because of us, so, you know..."

Mike groans, shaking his head. "I get myself into enough trouble without you or Del Rio helping, don't worry about it. It's not your fault. I'm going to be fine. Especially after I kick Swagger's ass tonight." When Ricardo frowns, confused, Miz smirks. "Vickie just granted me a match against him. And, hey, do me a favor?"

"O- of course, what do you want?"

"Tell your amigo over there that I don't want him to get any ideas, I don't need help tonight. I want to handle Swagger on my own." The ring announcer turns quickly and looks over to find Del Rio standing a few feet away, keeping a watch out, as if he didn't know his employer had followed him.

"Oh," he breathes, shaking his head in surprise as he locks eyes with his best friend. "Si. Of course, I'll let him know, Mike. Um, good luck tonight." Walking off, he rejoins the older man and they leave, Del Rio's arm wrapped loosely around his shoulders as he ducks his head, listening to whatever the younger man is telling him.

But luck isn't enough, no matter how he tries, Swagger lays him out again and defeats him with the Patroit lock, his hand flailing against the mat as he taps, taps, taps, desperate to get free as his ankle throbs like hot fire. Referees once more crowd around him, helping him up, and this time he allows it as his ankle protests each movement, pain stabbing up to his thigh. Alex greets them outside of the trainer's office and sits quietly with a stewing Mike as the usual happens, his ankle poked and prodded before wrapped up in ice packs for nearly an hour. They leave shortly after the show ends, the trainer determining that his ankle should be alright as long as he takes it easy for a couple of days.

Mike agrees more just to get out of there than anything and hobbles over to the door, Alex supporting him all the way to the car. "Are you hungry? We could probably find some drive-thru that's open, or I could run in and get some carry out, or..."

"I just want to go back to the hotel and wait for AJ," Mike says, his head resting back against the carseat and eyes closed as he tries to mentally prepare himself for whatever might come.

Alex hesitates, taking in the paleness and tight lines of Mike's face. "Maybe you should wait to talk to AJ," he suggests, knowing immediately that it's the wrong thing to suggest as Miz sits up and looks right at him, blue eyes steely and full of warning. "I'm just trying to help, Mike. You're hurting, and-"

He deflates some, a little of the anger easing from his gaze, and shakes his head. "I have to do this. Just drive, Alex, please."

The former NXT rookie releases a deep breath and slowly guides the car out onto the road, keeping his thoughts and comments to himself. The ride is very quiet and tense, both men lost in their own ponderings. Despite not agreeing with this, Alex stays by his side and they watch from their car as Superstars trickle into the hotel lobby, fans lingering around inside for autographs and photo opportunities. It's obvious when Dolph, AJ and Big E. arrive, the large man scaring off fans with his steely glare. Mike's out of the car before Alex can even blink, limping to the building as quickly as he can.

"Dammit!" the younger man exclaims, quickly leaving the vehicle as well to try to help his friend. But, despite his ankle issues, Mike is tenacious and fast and Alex can't catch up with him, left in the dust all the way to the elevator. He's waiting for another car when a group of fans, some vocally complaining about Mike all but ignoring them, converges around him and distracts him, A-Ri too goodnatured to diss them, no matter how worried he is for his former mentor.

Mike hobbles through hallways, watching and listening for the trio, knowing that this is the floor they'd been on because he'd just caught sight of the floor the elevator they'd gotten on had stopped at as he'd pressed desperately for his own elevator. The hall is quiet however, so he figures that they must've already made it to their room. Frowning, he balances against the wall, his ankle pulsing in pain against the confines of his shoe even as he tries to take some of the pressure off of it. He's about to give up and go back down to the main floor, find Alex and go lay down, begrudgingly admit to AJ his weakness from minute one of their... whatever you could possibly call it... some other time, when he hears a door click open and...

"I'll be right back," the voice he'd grown so fond of over the past few months laughs as he gulps and looks around, unable to move or do anything. Sure enough a moment later, AJ Lee is walking down the hall towards him, her eyes widening when she looks up and catches sight of him. She tenses and looks away, his words from the week before fresh in her mind. She's just walked past him, a bucket for ice in her hands, when he reaches out and catches hold of her wrist, unable to stop himself. When she finally locks eyes with him, she looks truly deranged, her eyes flashing with both anger and pain. "Let me go or I will scream. And trust me, you do not want to be here when Big E. hears _that._ "

He obliges, letting her go, but before she can rush past him, he speaks. "Can we talk for a minute? I have... I have something to tell you."

She snorts, but does stop to Mike's bitter relief. "Haven't you said enough? You don't want anything to do with me. Message received."

"You deserve the whole story," he tells her faintly. "I need to tell you."

"Then tell me and leave me alone, Mike. I have a _boyfriend_ who really cares about me to go back to."

The words sting and he closes his eyes, knowing deep down that he deserves to have each and every one of them seared into his brain, especially with what he's about to say. "When I... I first started showing interest in you, it... It was because of your being General Manager. I wanted you to have a reason to help me get Morrison's job back. After awhile, I did honestly care about you, but at first... it was just a means to an end, for my benefit. I used you. And I just wanted to say I'm so sorry, and I hope that Dolph is everything for you that I couldn't be."

She stands still for long, scarily silent moments and he swallows, not sure what to expect. When she finally turns completely towards him, he is unsurprised by the look of angered pain in her eyes. "Do you think that I didn't suspect this? Everyone used me when I was general manager," she tells him cooly. "It should've been the best time of my life, but it honestly was the worst. Instead of being on top of the world, I had everyone after me for this, do that, be better, act saner. I tried telling myself that you were just maybe the one person there for _me_ but it lurked in the back of my mind that maybe, maybe you were no better than the rest. So, you know, thanks for the confirmation."

Ice now forgotten, she walks past him back towards Dolph's hotel room and he stands there with his hands held into fists, listening as the door beeps open as she enters the keycard. "Babe, the ice was all melted and disgusting. I'll try again later, ok?"

Mike releases a shuddering breath when she shuts the door behind her, staring down at his aching leg. "Way to go, Mike." Uncomfortably aware that Alex is either still stuck in the lobby or looking fruitlessly for him, he stares at the elevator in consideration, but eventually walks past it to the stairs. He doesn't feel like waiting to get off of this floor and, although it's going to be murder on his ankle, he decides that the pain of walking all the way back down the stairwell to the lobby to look for his friend is the least of what he deserves right now.


	145. chapter 145

A-Ri smiles faintly as he stares up at the stage of the Pink concert. He's still worried, uncertain where things will go with Miz from here- his former NXT mentor had been distressingly quiet ever since whatever happened in the hotel with AJ Lee, barely speaking, sleeping or eating until they had to go their separate ways, Mike off to promote Marine: Homefront while Alex reluctantly returned to Florida. As much as he enjoys concerts, he's just barely able to focus on the show and eventually ducks aside to exit the arena and get some air by the concession stand.

He's still standing there when there's a soft sound of a throat clearing behind him. He steps aside, thinking it's someone wanting to walk around him, but the person doesn't budge and finally he turns to look. The dark haired man staring at him somehow looks familiar but it doesn't click completely with him. "Hello?"

"Hola," the man greets him just loud enough to be heard over the echoing music and general noise of the crowd around them. "I'm Memo Montenegro. I think... I've seen you around NXT, si?"

 _This_ does click with Alex on a few fronts, his eyes widening as he nods. _Del Rio's brother, of course._ "Oh, hey, man. Sorry, my mind's just elsewhere right now."

"No problem. Er, are you in line for concession?"

"Oh. Nope, go ahead."

Memo nods, then glances back at him. "Eh, is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine." He forces a smile. "Just needed a minute. It's kinda hot in there."

"I see," Memo says slowly. "Ok, well see you around."

"See you." As he walks off, Alex presses his hands to his face and shakes his head, wishing that this night had done what he'd hoped it would and succeed at distracting him for at least a few hours. "Ugh..."

Miz shakes his head as he wanders back towards the locker rooms. He'd thought he had a good chance, really, 2 out of 3 falls against Antonio Cesaro, but the Swede had come out on top again, beating him for two of the falls and yeah, he's sore, but he's more aggravated than anything. March was supposed to be his month, 2013 the best year of his life with Marine 3: Homefront finally being released, but so far it was shaping up to be anything but. He hasn't even seen Alex yet tonight, adding to his unhappiness, but considering how he's been acting, he thinks it might be just as well. No need for both of them to be miserable. Realizing that being around all of his fellow competitors right now would probably be foolish, he finds a trunk in a quiet part of the arena and sits down on it, his head lowered as he considers everything, his first wrong move, and everything that had led him to this moment.

His thoughts are disrupted, however, when the door across from where he's sitting crashes open, Alberto Del Rio leaving his room hurriedly, Ricardo Rodriguez standing alone in the doorway, gaping after him. "El- El Patron?" He looks unsettled, frowning, and Miz can just see over his shoulder into the personal locker room, where the monitor is visible from where he's sitting, Swagger and Kolter on the screen harrassing Jim Ross. When Miz coughs faintly, Ricardo spins towards him, blinking. "Oh. Miz. Hola."

"Hey." Ricardo glances over his shoulder at the screen once more before venturing out into the hallway and sitting down next to him. They watch quietly as Alberto makes it out in time to help JR, handing him his hat and glaring warningly down at "We the People" as they retreat.

Once the show goes to commercial and things seem to quiet down, Ricardo turns to look at Mike, unsettled by his silence, utter stillness. "Are you alright?"

Mike blinks a few times, turning to glance over at him. "Oh. Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I be?" The words come out a good deal more bitter than Miz had intended them and Ricardo blanches as he looks away, staring at his hands.

"What happened, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I told AJ about how... I used her."

Ricardo licks his lips, remembering some of the story off of what he'd been told over the past few weeks. "I see. She... didn't take it well?"

"You could say that," he grunts. "She... went back to Dolph. And I don't blame her, they just don't have the bad start that we do."

Ricardo nods, understanding all too well about regrets and how they can eat one alive if allowed. He's not sure what to say, if there is anything _to_ say, to make Mike feel better. When Del Rio returns, looking somehow both accomplished and unhappy with the whole situation- tension becoming a constant part of the man since Swagger and Kolter began their rhetoric, far from pleased with the open refusal to accept their people into the country that Alberto had called home for years now-, Ricardo looks at Mike with a hesitant smile and pats him on the arm, murmuring a hurried, "I'm sorry, Mike," before getting up to join his employer.

Mike's fine with being alone. He still has a lot to think about, after all. Even more to sort out. However, his thoughts are disrupted again when Alex appears before him, his body tense and sadness in his eyes. "Hey, man, you wanna get out of here? The show's over anyway." Staring at him in some surprise, Mike takes a breath and then nods, _some_ of the nonstop thoughts revolving around everything from Monday quieting as he slowly stands and follows Alex outside.

Mike and Alex end up working the Raw house show tour that weekend, driving around Canada's roads that Sunday night as they head on down to New York for the Raw taping the next day. Alex has just taken over driving when, thumbing through the texts he'd missed out on while maneuvering around the pitch black scenery, Mike swallows and stares, shaking his head. "No way..."

"What is it?" Alex wonders, focus still locked on the road ahead. Mike doesn't answer immediately and the younger man glances over at him. "Mike?"

"AJ tweeted that Dolph proposed to her at the house show tonight in front of his parents," he finally responds, hands tight against his cell phone as it creaks in protest between his fingers, voice lifeless. Alex takes a deep breath and starts to turn the car towards the shoulder of the road, Mike immediately snapping, "No!" When he hesitates, slowly easing up on the wheel, he closes his eyes. "Just don't. I don't want... I don't want to stop, just... keep driving." Alex nods reluctantly, straightening the car out once more. They've gone a few miles in silence when Mike glances over at his best friend. "Thanks," he murmurs lowly, only just releasing his cell phone as they near the border.

"Sure, man." Alex takes a breath as he prepares to enter New York, handling everything automatically while he dwells on Mike's broken words, painful murmurs that'd ate through him. _So much for the period of time around Marine 3: Homefront being good for him,_ he thinks grimly.

Once they finally arrive at the hotel a few hours later, Mike sinks onto his bed and sits there, staring blankly ahead. Alex does his pre-sleep rituals as quickly as possible, unsurprised but saddened to find his friend unmoved once he returns to the room. "Bathroom's free for you," he offers quietly, sighing faintly when this still doesn't garner a response. He sits across from Mike, watching him for a few minutes, wishing desperately that Mike could _talk_ to him about everything that's been going on with AJ, and that text, everything else, but he also has learned over the years that pushing him into any kind of conversation will usually just backfire. Morrison'd impressed that upon him quite regularly so finally, he gives up on waiting. "I'm going to grab some sleep, Mike. If you need anything, I'm here, ok? Just... wake me up."

Mike does nod faintly so Alex takes it as a bit of a victory and crawls under his sheets, clicking the lamp between their beds off and casting the room in shadows, his eyes closing as he tries to find some degree of rest before they have to resume all of this once more too early in the morning. It doesn't work, however, as Mike's disinterest in sleep seems to extend to Alex, leaving him staring into the darkness for the better part of the night, searching out his friend in the darkness every time he awakens after checking the clock and grimacing at just how slowly the time is passing. Mike only moves a few times through the hours, either staying on the bed or peering out of the window or sitting silently by the desk. It hurts to watch, knowing just how much this whole AJ situation is still eating him alive. Alex shakes his head and buries his face in his pillows, wishing that things could've ended up differently for the Most Must See Superstar.

Monday morning dawns freezing and bright, Miz barely bothering to grumble about the weather as exhaustion deeper than the usual he feels weighs him down, Alex peering over at him with a pained look on his face. It's clear that AJ's tweet from the night before still weighs on his mind, his hand unsteady as he stuffs his phone in his pocket, avoiding the mobile web apps that he usually is on whenever he has a free minute just in case he should run across some other piece of news he'd rather not learn of about the Smackdown houseshow that it'd happened at. Or pictures, GIFs, videos, whatever else some fan might upload to the massive expanse of the Internet.

"What do you wanna do this afternoon, Mike?" Despite the event being hours away, most still arrive with plenty of time to spare to film things, have interviews, take advantage of photo ops, whatever else needs to be done. But Alex rarely has anything to do but sit around and today, Mike's being given a bit of a break since he's been and will be on more press junkets to do with Marine 3 for the next few days. And if anyone could find something _interesting_ to do with free time, it'd be Mike. Normally.

But, as they enter the arena, Mike stops outside of the door and looks around. "I want to wait for AJ."

Alex's jaw drops. "Wha- what?"

"Not to talk to her, no. But..." He hesitates, licks his lips. "It might sound kind of ridiculous, but I need to see... I want to see her, with him, like... _that._ "

"Why?" His voice squeaks a little, making him sound like a teenager, but he's too disturbed by Mike's prospects to even flush. "Mike-"

"Closure, Alex. I mean... I _knew_ before, but this'll... I don't know, cement things the rest of the way for me, I guess." Dull blue eyes look up to meet Alex's worried ones and he smiles wanly. "Does that make any sort of sense?"

It's odd, but it does. "Yes," Alex finally whispers, hating the thought of Mike suffering any further upon seeing AJ with Dolph's ring on her finger, but the logic makes some sort of horrible sense. "I'll sit with you," he offers.

Mike doesn't say anything one way or another about that, sitting down on a ledge across from where they'd just come in at and Alex has just joined him when it opens, both men's heads shooting up... but instead of the trio they're looking for, Alberto Del Rio and Ricardo Rodriguez enter, both their clothes covered in a thin sheet of icy moisture but looking happy none-the-less, equal grins on their faces as they talk back and forth in rapid-fire Spanish, Mike only picking up some of it, especially _Niagara Falls._ Despite the happiness on Ricardo's face, he's visibly shivering and Del Rio looks almost as chilled, casting a quick glance around the surrounding area. He guesses what's about to happen when Alberto's dark eyes drop on him and Alex, resting a hand between Ricardo's shoulderblades and leading him over to them. "Amigo, sit here for a bit, I see catering from here. I'll bring back something warm for us to drink, si?"

Ricardo looks about as surprised as Mike and Alex both feel at the suggestion, swallowing. Even he's still growing used to the newer, kinder man that employs him. "El Patron, I can-"

"No, amigo. You only recently had the flu, I don't want you getting sick again. Stay, rest. I'll be back momentarily."

Once he leaves, Rodriguez swallows faintly and turns to face the other two. "Hola," he greets them. Mike raises an eyebrow at him, his lips twitching into a small smile for the first time since the week prior. "Wha- what is it?"

Reaching out, he grips the younger man's ice encrusted hat and tsks at it a bit before batting it against the side of the wall, shaking loose a pile of ice and snow before pressing it back into place on top of the startled ring announcer's head. "There."

Ricardo flushes, only now realizing just how much snow, ice and slush they'd tracked into the arena from the Falls, too wrapped up in the beauty they'd seen and pleased to get warm once more to notice. "Oops." He shakes his head, wincing as the arena cleaning staff, somehow aware of this already, sets to work on the entrance, sweeping up as much of the mess as they possibly could so no accidents would be suffered by those entering the building to begin work. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he tilts his head at them. "May I ask why you're both sitting out here?"

Miz closes his eyes, tilting his head. "I guess you saw Ziggler propose to AJ." Ricardo looks blankly on, a confused look in his eyes, and Mike frowns. "At the Smackdown house show last night?"

Blinking rapidly, Ricardo shakes his head. "I- I don't know what you mean... there was this one thing, but it- it wasn't a marriage proposal, if that's what you're talking about." He stares on as Mike pales, wide eyes boring into Ricardo's with something that looks almost crazed, the ring announcer shifting away from him. "It- it..." He sucks in a deep breath and shakes his head, wondering how much of what he wants to explain might make things worse for the superstar staring at him. "Ziggler did get down on one knee, yes, but- he didn't ask AJ to marry him... he just- he wanted to know if she'd... she'd wear his wristband."

Alex twitches as Mike stares on in disbelief. "He... that... is all?" He shakes his head. "No way. No. Way."

Ricardo nods and Mike turns to glance at his friend, still in disbelief of what he'd just heard. Their eyes have barely locked before both men break out in stressed laughter, finally releasing some of the tension from the past few days, not to mention from the past few hours. "Dammit. I can't believe..."

Alex sighs, wiping a hand up his face and through his hair. They're still sitting there when the trio walks through the entrance a little while later, honestly looking like they think they own this place- and Mike sees it- the garish pink band wrapped around AJ's wrist. He holds his breath as they walk by, Big E. staring at him warningly as AJ and Dolph both all but ignore him, for different reasons. He swallows slightly, listening as their footsteps slow, then stop, Alex also keeping his eyes straight ahead. But Ricardo glances behind them quickly before looking away. When the three resume walking away, Dolph's mocking laughter echoing back to them, Ricardo stands and walks over to what they had been staring at- the board with the show's scheduled matches and segments, something Miz hadn't really noticed until this moment. As he returns, an odd look on his face, Mike blinks at him. "What is it?"

"You have a match against Ziggler," he says lowly, watching Mike's face.

"Well, that explains a lot." His hands tighten against his slacks as he considers this, all of the resulting tension that will come from being in range of Dolph and AJ again, not to mention what she or Big E. could possibly do to disrupt the match. He wishes he could invite Alex out, or something, but the kid's been involved in enough of his drama lately... He's dwelling on how best to handle this when the door slams open once more, another chilly wind brushing over him. He doesn't bother looking up until Alex nudges him and he finds himself staring at Ric Flair, who's watching him with his hands on his hips, his words not even registering with the Awesome One as something clicks with him.

"I have a match later," he tells the Naitch as soon as he stops talking. "Wanna accompany me?"

"Whoo!"

As Flair struts around, Mike blinks and laughs, shaking his head slightly. "Guess I'll take that as a yes."

Even with the knowledge that Ziggler _hadn't_ proposed, that it'd all been a false alarm, Mike equally dreads and looks forward to the match that will be held fairly early in the card. As he prepares to leave, the three already in the ring and AJ hanging all over Dolph as always, Ric stands by the gorilla position, waiting to be announced out. Alex follows him as well, stopping at the curtain. "Hey, Mike, good luck out there."

He half-smiles, knowing that, even with Flair out there with him, between being distracted by AJ and trying to keep an eye out for any attacks by Big E., he'll probably need it. "Thanks, man." Clapping Alex on the shoulder, he turns and heads to the ring, staring at the three as they await him, AJ's dark, emotionless gaze locked on him, looking so cold that he shivers before losing himself once more in the adrenaline that he always feels before a match. As he introduces Flair, that rush and the after-effects of the tension he's been feeling for much too long now causes him to speak without thinking, saying something about how Flair makes his corner look much better than Dolph's, his eyes closing briefly when he realizes just what words had escaped his big mouth. _Way to go, Mike,_ he grimaces.

But he forgets for awhile, losing himself in staying ahead of Dolph as best as he can. As loath as he is to admit it, the guy is good, and with AJ and E. as distractions on the outside, well... Sure enough, this comes into play as AJ gets on the apron and appears to be trying to help Dolph away from the approaching Mike, his eyes immediately locked on her, wondering what she's doing- the distraction lasts just long enough until he realizes that Big E. isn't in his range of sight, turning quickly just to get punched while the referee is busy getting her off of the apron. He half-watches, ears ringing, as Flair takes on the much larger man. His chops and other attempts at offense do nothing against the enforcer, so Miz scrapes together whatever remains of his energy and shoots through the ropes, dropkicking Langston and allowing Flair to get away.

The world tilts almost immediately as he senses Dolph behind him, trying to get a victory via rollup, and he thinks perhaps it's over, but no- he breaks free and manages to lock in the Figure Four, laughing to himself as the man taps. He closes his eyes and takes a breath, watching with a heavy heart as Big E. and AJ recollect the Money in the Bank holder, forcing a grin nonetheless as Flair joins him.

Despite being invited to come along with Ric to one of his many parties, Mike decides to hang around at the arena and keep an eye on the show with Alex. No matter what drama's going on in his personal life, it is still the road to Wrestlemania and he's curious what might happen. In the end, he, like so many others, is a fan of wrestling at heart, and he's intrigued to see what, if anything, will come of Undertaker's return tonight. They're wandering the hallways, taking in the subtle tension in the air that only seems to multiply weekly every time Wrestlemania season arrives, when they hear something not heard in a long time, and something neither had thought they'd hear again. "What the-?" Mike mumbles, wondering what he'd missed while busy seeing Flair off.

As they approach, Alberto Del Rio's angered voice only grows in volume, what they see when they finally arrive only serving to piss Mike off further. He's yelling at Ricardo in the middle of the hallway, all but cornering him, many people stopping and staring and it's so reminiscent of what had happened for years, until his apparent attitude change recently, that Mike feels a little ill. No one had ever done anything to defend the ring announcer in the past, not liking either man enough to bother or care, this kind of thing happening around them all many times. Hands clenching into fists, Mike rushes forward and pushes them apart, standing between the two men. "Hey!" he yells at Alberto. "What the hell are you doing?" He can _feel_ Ricardo's anxiety coming off of the younger man in waves behind him, his breathing heavy, and it only serves to make him angrier.

"This is none of your business, _Miz._ Get out of here." He's still boring holes into Ricardo over Mike's shoulder and the Most Must See Superstar shakes his head, not liking being dismissed _or_ ignored so easily. He plants his hands strongly on Alberto's shoulders and pushes harder, sending the startled Mexican back even further before he lunges forward, pushing Mike back roughly in response.

Ricardo's frantic hands pressing against Mike's back keeps him from tripping over himself, reinforcing what Miz is doing here, and why. He shakes his head slightly as Alex approaches, ready to get involved if needed. "Yes it _is_ my damn business when you're screaming at him in the middle of a damn hallway where anyone can see, hear it!" he spits, glowering up at the angered Mexican. "He's my friend. Weird thing is I thought he was yours too, but not if you _still_ act like this towards him!" _This_ causes Alberto to falter and he glances uncertainly over Mike's shoulder, the look on Ricardo's face, how badly his hands are trembling finally seeming to register with the older man, _his_ face falling.

"Ay," he groans, turning away and scraping his fingers through his hair.

"What the hell happened?" Mike repeats, not wanting to let all of this go.

Ricardo stares at the ground, unable or unwilling to answer, until finally Alberto speaks up, his voice weak and sounding suddenly so tired. "Swagger attacked the legends. I... went after him afterwards, but Ricardo and referees held me back. I do not understand why- why _he_ stopped me. Swagger deserved what I was going to do to him."

Mike grimaces, glancing over his shoulder at the downhearted ring announcer before turning to face the champion once more. "Then why not ask him calmly, while _not_ screaming at him?"

Alberto stares at him before looking over at Ricardo as well, swallowing when he realizes just how badly he's mismanaged all of this, letting his anger overwhelm him once more to poor Ricardo's detriment. "Fine. Move." Mike stares at him for a long moment, judging his ability to withhold from making more of a spectacle of this whole thing, before nodding sharply and stepping aside to join Alex, only doing so because he'll still be close enough to intercede should Del Rio overstep yet again. "Ricardo," he says quietly. "Can you look at me?"

The ring announcer sniffs, miserable, but eventually scrapes together the will to do so, his wet eyes peering up at his employer. "Si?" he asks, voice cracking halfway through even that small word.

Del Rio sighs, his face softening even as he shakes his head, hating himself for causing this again. But he still wants answers. "Why, Ricardo? Why did you stop me? Don't you agree that Swagger would've deserved everything I'd have done to him back there?"

Ricardo looks like anything could break him at this moment, and his voice reflects that, but somehow he pieces together the strength to stammer out an explanation. "Of course, El Patron. I- I just, you've already been suspended once this month, and..." He struggles briefly, his hands trembling only harder as he frets, but the more he talks, the easier the words seem to come. "I didn't want a repeat of that, Swagger having a reason to go to Booker T and request you be suspended or... anything. Your title reign, your career, was disrupted enough while you were trying to defend me against Big Show... I didn't want it to happen again. That's- that's the only reason I tried stopping you. Lo siento, I shouldn't have overstepped."

Mike watches as the World Champion visibly deflates, smacked upside the head with the fact that Ricardo had _his_ best interest at heart with his actions, as always, and sighs heavily. "Ricardo, mi amigo... come here." When he reaches out, Ricardo stiffens instinctively, and Mike wonders just how the ring announcer had endured those brutal years when Alberto had been so obviously insufferable. Stilling his movements, Del Rio sucks in a deep, pained breath and shakes his head. "Por favor, Ricardo."

Hesitantly taking a step forward, Ricardo swallows and glances over at Mike before turning to face his employer again, stepping even closer while Alberto waits patiently for him to do so. As soon as he's within reach, Alberto sighs and rests his hands on his upper arms, smoothing the sleeves of his tuxedo while peering into his face. "You don't need to apologize, mi amigo. That falls on me, I should know by now you only ever set out to help me. I am just frustrated, and Swagger and Kolter's words and actions make me so angry... but it doesn't give me the right to take it out on _you._ I know this, it's just... I fall back on bad habits sometimes, and you know I am still trying to be better."

"I know," he whispers. "I do, El Patron."

Alberto sighs and pulls him closer, ignoring as he once more tenses up while wrapping his arms around him. Ricardo relaxes after a moment, gingerly returning the hug. "You forgive me, amigo?"

"Si, of course."

"Gracias."

Mike half-smiles, relieved to see that at least _those_ two were able to work out their issues, and nudges Alex. "C'mon, kid. Let's go."

"Alright." Alex follows him to the locker room, where he begins to pack up his things while the show drones on around them. After everything, some of his interest in what's going to happen for the rest of the show has faded, but they are still there when Del Rio's match begins and it's a much calmer looking Ricardo that introduces him. "They look better now," the younger man offers as Mike watches them.

"Yeah. That's good." He resumes reorganizing his bag as Alex turns his attention to watch him.

"Are you going back to LA at some point this week?"

"Yep. I get a couple of days before Smackdown." He looks up, eyes narrowing at the look on Alex's face. "Why, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we drop in on Morrison and bring along a copy of Marine 3, just for him." Alex grins as Mike considers this, figuring that if anything will cheer Mike up- even a little- it'd be throwing popcorn at John while he goodnaturedly snarks at Mike's movie.

"But you've already seen it three times by now," Mike points out, his having almost made it a game to see how many times he could force Alex into watching the advanced copy he'd received the week before it actually came out on DVD.

"Yeah, well, I learn something new each time I watch it," he smirks. "But seriously, what do you think? Sound like a plan?"

Mike considers his haphazard LA plans as they stand now- which just accounts for a number of errands that get overlooked while he's on the road, vague media for WWE and Marine 3, and ... a lot of quiet time which probably means he'd get stuck dwelling yet again on the dead-end subject of AJ Lee. He looks up at his best friend and smiles, nodding. "Sure, kid. Why not. And let me guess... You have a flight to LA booked already?" Alex coughs and Mike laughs. "What would you have done if I said no?"

Alex just smirks. As they set out to leave, he wraps an arm around Mike's shoulders and leans against him. "Hey, guess who I met in Florida?"

"Who?"

"Del Rio's brother."

"Oh? How did that go?"

A-Ri shrugs slightly. "Only talked for a minute, but he seemed ok, I guess. Kinda quiet, considering."

"Huh."


	146. chapter 146

Alex calls ahead at the airport. Not to warn John that they're coming, necessarily, since the older man's always fine whenever they drop in, the two men welcome anytime and well aware of this fact by now, but to warn him about Mike's state of mind. The true purpose behind the visit. Alex is younger, less experienced, and there's still the past rookie-mentor dynamic that lingers with him, leaves him feeling too uncomfortable to give Mike advice or do much else than just sit and listen to him, allow him a place to vent where he can say and do whatever and not be judged for it. But John's different, they're on equal footing pretty much, and had been tag team partners for so long and friends for even longer... he hopes that Morrison can work his magic and snap Mike out of this funk, help him to figure out what his next move should be.

But even that isn't the first thing on Alex _or_ John's agenda as he examines Mike from a distance while lagging in rejoining him on the uncomfortable airport chairs, while they wait for their flight to be announced. The AJ situation might end up getting addressed early, but Alex is all too aware of just how Mike hasn't been eating or sleeping well lately, and he's pretty sure John won't stand for it, even if it means stuffing some California food down his throat and dosing his drinks with melatonin or something. He gets distracted from these thoughts when Mike shakes his head back and forth at something on his phone, choosing that moment to return to his seat. "What's up, Mike?" he asks, taking in the annoyed look on his friend's face.

"They just now notified me they want me to do commentary on Main Event tomorrow night. Fabulous." He replies to the email as fast as he can, releasing a sigh. "Looks like I get Smackdown off this week though, they have nothing planned for me." He turns to look at Alex. "How about this, I go commentate on Wednesday, you stay in California, and then I travel back and we make a week of it before we return to the grind for Raw?"

"That's a lot of flying back and forth for you, Mike," Alex says with a frown, knowing that that won't help his friend's exhaustion any.

"I'm sure we've both done much worse," he shrugs. "It'll be fine, I'll get a few hours with Morrison tonight, probably long enough to force him into watching my movie, and then we can do whatever over the weekend when I come back. It'll work out. You two will probably have a million ideas by the time I _do_ return." Alex grins and Mike slaps him on the arm, just as their flight's announced. "See? Timed perfectly. Let's go get this show on the road, kid."

It's a long flight from New York to California and, though he tries his very best to stay awake, when Alex dozes off barely an hour in, Mike's wide awake, and when he comes back to awareness to the crackling intercom advising them to move their trays into the upright position and put their seatbelts on, Mike is just as wide awake. He frowns blurrily at him and shakes his head. "Didn't you get any sleep?"

He shrugs, undisturbed. "Nah. Too much on my mind."

Alex frowns at him and closes his eyes with a groan. _I hope you're stocked up on your Melatonin, John..._

But the trip is instantly worth it when they're actually met in the airport _by_ John, who seems to see what Alex has been seeing for far too long the moment he spots the Most Must See Superstar, eyes darkening in concern as he waits for them to join him. As soon as they have their luggage and joins him, he laughs slightly and bypasses the duffel and suitcase Miz is holding onto when he wraps his arms around his former tag partner and squeezes him in a tight hug, draining the breath from Mike in a rush. "Oof, hello to you too, John," he grunts, finally dropping his things and returning the embrace, smiling despite himself. "Missed me?"

"Something like that," he smiles faintly before stepping back from Mike and turning to Alex, who quickly lays his own bags down before John hugs him too. "Hey, kid."

Alex sighs, relieved to be able to let John take over for awhile, put Mike's care in his arms for now. "Seriously," he grouses, "where did this _kid_ thing come from? Now you're both calling me it!"

"You _are_ a kid," Mike and John say together and the former NXT rookie groans louder as both men laugh, amused that even after all of this time, they can still speak in unisom. "C'mon," Miz says after a moment of just absorbing being back in LA with his two best friends. "I have had mooooore than enough of airports. Let's go, California sun is calling my name!"

"Are you sure it's your name, and not a cry for help?" John cracks even as he swoops forward and collects one of Mike's bags, purposely ignoring the glare he gets in return. "No need for you to further ruin your shoulder while coming to see lil ol' me," he teases.

"Hey!" Mike exclaims at his back as John walks purposely to the exit. "My shoulder is fine, all recovered." He huffs, shaking his head. "Jerk." But even so, he has a bit of a smile on his face as he and Alex walk side by side behind him.

When they arrive at John's apartment, he and Alex sit in the living room and listen as Mike fumbles around in the guest room, putting his bags away. "I just don't know what to do anymore," he admits to a patient Morrison. "It was one thing when she was just _with_ Ziggler and things were normal, but... I don't know, when she told Mike she only wanted to be friends, and he had time to think, it's like he went on this self-sabotage thing by telling her that he was originally only paying attention to her to help you. Then this whole fake proposal thing happening a few days later... if Ricardo hadn't told him it was just embellished, I think he still would be staring aimlessly out of that hotel window right now." He's worried and right now that kid nickname _does_ make sense, because he does feel young, uncertain and unable to help his friend.

Morrison sighs, scooting over a bottle of coconut water to his friend. "Our first tag title run, I didn't know Mike at all. We were rivals for the ECW title, and we kind of maybe hated each other because we were each other's foils against Punk, but when we randomly won the tag titles, I don't even know, things began to click for real after a few months, and we realized that if everyone else was against us in the locker room, we might as well be allies. Sometime over the summer, the line just blurred and we realized one night we were talking about absolutely nothing and had been for hours, and we were _enjoying_ it. Our friendship came as quickly as our tag team did, and it was just as unbreakable once we realized and accepted it. Or so I thought, until the second title reign came to an end with a, how does that saying go, with a whimper and not a bang?" He smiles mirthlessly. "I didn't see the signs. I didn't realize how much it was all eating Mike alive, to not be champion, to not even get a role on Wrestlemania's actual broadcast. We were the preshow, hell they didn't even air them online in those days. Only the people in the arena got to see it and no one sitting at home knew what had happened. I still wonder how many people were sitting around watching the show, match after match, and wondering what happened to that tag battle they'd advertised so much? But Mike took it even worse than I did, and I never realized. He wasn't eating right, he wasn't sleeping well, he was just solidly falling into a bad place and I didn't see it until it was too late and I received a Reality Check for my efforts the night of that damn draft."

Alex blinks, not remembering that particular part of the story. John notices. "Never heard that before, huh? Neither did I, until recently. I knew we'd had problems but I didn't realize they were exacerbated by _that._ "

"Do you think he told you because of... all of this?" Alex wonders, trying to think back, determine if perhaps he'd missed the signs sooner. Yeah, the "engagement" had made him keep a closer eye on his friend, noticing these things, but perhaps they'd started sooner and he hadn't pieced it together, wrapped up in the aftermath of his recovery and returning to the road. "He sensed it coming, so he...?"

"Maybe," John shrugs. They look up as Mike enters the room a moment later, looking normal or as normal as he has lately, anyway. He seems unaware of what they'd just been talking about and even smirks as he drops down next to John. "So what do you want to do today? Beach, or...?"

"I have a better idea," he exclaims, reaching into the folds of his jacket that neither understood why he'd left on until this moment.

"Here it comes," Alex murmurs, all worries fading briefly as he laughs, Mike making a face at him. "Prepare yourself, John, your life will never be the same again."

When Mike pulls out Marine 3: The Homefront, John stares at it for a long moment, eyebrow raised. "Oh."

"Don't sound so enthused," Mike rolls his eyes at him. "We're watching this."

"Uh huh, ok. How many times has it been for you already, Alex?"

"This'll be number four." The two men share uncomfortable glances as Mike ignores both of them, beginning to mess around with John's DVD player in an attempt to learn its ways so he can begin his movie. As John gets up to help, Alex sits back and watches with a small smile. The movie hadn't been bad, some of the action scenes leaving him on the edge of his seat, and he's curious to see how Morrison will respond to some of it.

"There. Should I get snacks? Drinks?" John offers, looking around. Alex shakes his untouched coconut water and Mike simply refuses, sitting next to Alex while they wait for John to stop stalling and join them. Finally sandwiching Mike in, he grabs the remote and fastfowards through a half-dozen ads until the menu pops up, telling it to play. The plot sets up quickly and follows the previous Marine set ups, with its own variations here and there. By the first fight scene, John coughs and blinks, a bit surprised. He turns to look at Miz and freezes, looking over. "Alex," he hisses.

"Huh?" the younger man looks over and pauses too, surprised. Somewhere in the first half an hour of his first movie, Mike's exhaustion had finally caught up with him in the familiar comfort of John's apartment, stuck between his two closest friends, and he'd fallen asleep. John and Alex exchange a small smile before John turns the TV down, Alex getting up carefully. He motions to a blanket hanging off of the back of a nearby chair and, with John's subtle nod, picks it up and drapes it over the sleeping superstar. They return to the movie after a few minutes, making sure the volume's down so as not to disrupt his much needed rest. "Now that he's asleep, do you think that guy looks... a little like someone? Especially in certain angles... I think it's the hair," John ponders, staring oddly at Mike's character, Jake's, best friend.

Alex laughs softly and nods. "Yeah. I didn't want to say anything, but now that you mention it..." They alternate between being impressed at the fight scenes and wincing whenever Ashley Bell starts screaming, neither of which seem to bother Mike's rest thankfully. By the end of the movie, they consider waking him up but ultimately leave him be, accepting that his rest is more important than their teasing him about the movie's conclusion.

"C'mon," John whispers, wandering out onto the balcony overlooking the nearest beach so they can talk without disrupting . "Well, it's good he's sleeping, huh?"

Alex stares out at the sun-kissed sand and sighs. "Yeah, I was starting to think we'd have to drug him or something. It sucked, watching him the night after the 'proposal' scare. I didn't know what to do or say, and it seemed like talking was the last thing he wanted to do. I was glad to learn he was coming back here, I figured being around you would help."

"I don't know if I should try bringing up the AJ thing right now, there isn't a lot of time to get into things if he has to leave for Main Event in the morning." John leans against the railing and shrugs half-heartedly. "He's coming back on Thursday, so why not spend this time forcing him to sleep and eat, and then get into the heavy stuff _after_ Main Event, when he has more time to process everything." Alex considers it briefly, then nods. "Alright then, that's what we'll do."

Mike is confused and groggy when he comes to to a dark room, the TV he swore had been on moments earlier as dark as the rest of his surroundings. He sits up and scrubs at his face as the blanket covering him pools in his lap. "Alex? John?" he calls out, frowning when there's no answer. _Maybe they went out without me..._ He grouses a bit over that prospect before standing up and catching sight of the numbers on the cable box blinking the time at him. "Damn," he breathes, finding that it's almost 10 PM. "I slept for six hours?" Despite that, he still feels worn down, like he could lay back down and sleep for another six, but curiosity gets the best of him and he wanders the apartment, looking for his friends. Finally he finds Alex on the balcony, listening to music, and joins him, making the younger man jump. "Whatcha doing, A-Ri?"

"Oh, hey, finally decided to join the living, huh, Mike?" Alex notes he doesn't look much better, the sleep he'd just gotten barely taking the edge off, but thinks maybe after Main Event, that can be rectified the rest of the way.

"If you wanna call it that," he snarks back. "Where's John?"

"He went to get food."

"Oh, great, some of that tofu nonsense he keeps trying to force on me?" When Alex just grins, Miz's eyes narrow at him. "Alex... I swear to God-"

Before Alex can say or do anything, the door clicks open and Morrison enters, humming slightly. "On the balcony, John!" Alex yells out, dodging a clipping blow from Mike and laughing when his friend glares even harsher at him, holding his hands up in an innocent pose.

All anger drains from the former WWE champion, however, when John appears, holding a familiar bag in hand. "Is that...?" He gapes for a moment before snatching the bag clear out of John's hands, staring at the bright blue logo on the side like it's the best thing he'd seen in ages. "It is! I haven't ate from Burger Village in ages!" One of his favorite burger joints, a nearby privately owned place, but between his trying to be more conscientious of his diet since Marine 3 _and_ being on the road so much, he'd not had the time to even consider just going there.

"Yeah, well, I'm deeming this a cheat day for all of us. To celebrate your movie's release," John says smoothly, handing over one of the bags to Alex and the other to Mike. "Have at it."

Mike stares at him for a moment before peering inside, his eyes widening. "Damn," he breathes, pulling out a milkshake. "Chocolate?"

"Of course," John responds with a smirk, pulling out his own chicken sandwich from the bag in Alex's hands.

Once all of the food is dispersed, Mike raises his eyebrows at the two. "So, what'd you think of my movie?" Drawing it out, the two exchange glances, Mike looking back and forth between the two anxiously. "Oh come on," he snaps finally, losing his patience.

Alex cracks first, laughing helplessly as John finally grins. "It was good, man. But are you sure that was your _sister?_ Some weird vibes there for a sibling relationship."

Mike rolls his eyes, huffing. "Careful, John, remember I have gun training now... You've finally seen it firsthand too."

He shrugs, undisturbed. "A, there's no guns here unless you somehow got them through airport security, and B, I just bought you food so I doubt you'll want to off me just yet."

"...Maybe." Mike smirks and leans against the balcony railing, pulling the lid off of his milkshake and scraping a fry through the creamy drink.

After finishing commentary duties for the week on Main Event, Miz returns to California and, after catching a red eye back and crashing for a few hours, he and John end up waking up earlier than Alex on Thursday, opting to leave him behind as they trail along the beach in the late-morning silence. Miz isn't dumb and neither is John so neither are surprised when Mike begins the conversation he'd been dwelling on for awhile now. "I'm gonna guess Alex has told you what's been going on with AJ."

"Some," he admits. "Some I'm just guessing on here." As they walk, the water lapping against the sand sounding so calm and peaceful in contrast to Mike's words, he lays it all out for his best friend, almost reluctantly. He needs to talk about it but it sucks to admit all of the mistakes he'd made, especially when he can _now_ see them so clearly but at the time, it'd seemed like his only recourse through the whole thing. To his credit, John merely listens, waits Mike's flood of words out and, when he finishes, doesn't seem mocking at all, merely sympathetic. "You think this thing with Ziggler is serious then?"

"I do. She seems... happy with him." He stuffs his hands in his pockets and kicks at some sand, watching half-heartedly as the grains scatter here and there. "Which is what she deserves, after everything she's been through the past year, I just..."

"You wish it ended up differently," John concludes for him.

"Yeah." They walk quietly for a bit longer before he smiles wanly. "But that can't happen so... I guess I give her her space, try to move on, focus on other things?"

John inclines his head. "Might not be a bad idea, maybe time will straighten everything out for you both." He glances at him out of the corner of his eye before wrapping an arm around Mike's shoulders. "It probably won't be easy, but hey, Wrestlemania's around the corner... if anything's a good distraction, it'll be that, right?"

His smile fades completely, pondering once more not having a match on the card as the days tick away quickly, a sick reflection of the year prior when he had been so overlooked thanks to Laurinaitis that going to Canada to film Marine 3 for a few months had been a welcome change. "Yeah, I guess." They walk quietly for awhile until Mike sighs. "Who knew trying to get through to the board would bring about all of this?"

John squeezes his shoulders. "I'm sorry. I know you were just trying to help me... If you had told me what you were doing, I might've been able to tell you not to before all of this got rolling. I'll admit, I miss WWE but I'm not sure I'm ready to go back right away, you know? Physically or emotionally." When Mike stiffens, he hastens to elaborate. "Not that I'm injured or hiding some secret ailment, it's just... when Laurinaitis made it such a public thing about _not_ renewing my contract, I was in a bad place, worn physically and emotionally and it took awhile and a lot of pride swallowing to admit that. But never say never, right?"

Mike nods. "Yeah." They'd all had fluxuations in their careers, days where Mike had thought he might not be able to get up and do it all over again, but where John had been unable to, he had. And he would continue to, no matter what happens with the whole AJ situation and being aimless yet again leading up to Wrestlemania.

They make it to the water and stop, letting it wash over their sandals as they stare out at the midday sun glistening against the waves. "Whatever happens with this AJ situation," John says after a few moments. "You'll take care of yourself, right? I don't know if you've noticed, but you've been worrying Alex."

He knows. Of course he knows. Alex only suggests they go see John whenever things are especially worrisome. He feels bad about that, but it's yet another unfortunate circumstance from his bad decisions always coming back to bite him long after. "I will. I just... needed some time." He smirks. "Besides, with neither Alex or I needed on Smackdown, you have plenty of time to force me to sleep and eat. Will that make you feel better?"

"Oh yes, being your caretaker always makes me feel ecstatic," he snarks back, rolling his eyes. Mike just grins.

The rest of their time off is spent on the beach, exploring various places in LA that Miz doesn't get to see that often anymore, and just being lazy around John's apartment. After all of the Marine 3 and WWE press junkets and media events, Mike is beyond relieved just to have some time to sit and not overthink things. Especially with Wrestlemania and its own hyperactive media schedule looming ever closer. That Friday night, they're hanging around the living room, Alex watching Smackdown while Miz looks over a list of events he's marked for the coming week and John works on something to do with OOYM's pre-release, when Ziggler vs Del Rio begins. All eyes rest on Mike while he taps a pencil against the sheet of paper, stoically staring at the TV.

After a few minutes, John and Alex turn to watch the match as well, in time to see Ricardo being stalked by Big E., just for AJ to stop him for whatever reason. What happens next causes all of them to blink repeatedly as Ricardo grabs the ever present bucket and slings it at Big E., who happens to move just in time for AJ to be drenched head to toe in water. As she fights past Big E. and begins chasing Ricardo around, the ring announcer yet again gets away when Big E. grabs her and lifts her up so she can't get away. The referee, growing more and more angry with the shenanigans, ejects them from ringside as Ricardo stands at the stairs, looking innocently on.

The show goes to commercial and an awkward silence fills the room until John barks out a laugh, Alex and Mike looking over at him. "The look on Ricardo's face," he tries to explain, waving his hand at the TV.

"Did you see Del Rio in the background?" Alex demands, finally giving into his own humor over the situation. "He looked so confused."

Mike listens to them laugh for a moment, conflicted because Ricardo _was_ just trying to defend himself and his employer, but also... It's AJ who'd just been humiliated on national TV. Again. He finally settles for just shaking his head, smiling a little, before turning to watch the rest of the match. He _does_ laugh, however, at Daniel's 18 second diss towards Ziggler afterwards, not feeling even a little bit of guilt at that one.

However, whatever good feelings they might gain after that weekend fades quickly come Raw, when Mike hears the crash and yelling from down the hall. His eyebrows raise as he looks over his shoulder towards the main locker, barely having time to blink before Kane comes storming out of the room and past him, raging and yelling at what CM Punk had done. He swallows and winces, going to see what'd happened, who'd taken the brunt of _that_ attack. He's barely inside when he realizes that it's Alex Bo Dallas is kneeling near, trying to help sit up. "Hey, hey!" he exclaims, glaring around as he brushes Bo aside and leans Alex against him. "What happened?"

"Kane was in here rampaging over what Punk did to Paul Bearer's tribute," Bo explains quietly. "Alex was, I don't know, trying to calm him down, and Kane tossed him clear across the room. I think he landed on his arm-"

Immediately losing interest in what the rookie is trying to say from here, Mike leans closer to Alex. "Hey, man. You with me?" When he nods in response, Mike releases a soft breath. "Good, good. Come on, kid. Up you get."

"Trainers," he groans out as Mike helps him up.

"You know it," he replies, slinging his good arm over his shoulder. "Hold on. It's not far." Alex's head rests against his shoulder as he eases him out of the room, ignoring all offers for help, knowing that he can get Alex there fine on his own. "Now what have I told you about avoiding Kane? Didn't you learn anything from Zack Ryder?"

"Forgot," he grunts. "Sorry."

Mike just shakes his head, using his free hand to open the door, the trainer immediately looking up as he drags Alex over to the nearest cot, settling him down on it. He steps aside, watching as the younger man's arm is examined and questions are asked, sitting down heavily on a nearby couch. "I thought we were all in here a lot when Morrison was still with the company, I think we're challenging that record now..."

They're still sitting in those positions, an ice pack melting sluggishly on Alex's arm, when Daniel is brought in by referees following Big E.'s attack. Mike stares at him, lips thinning, whatever good humor he might've held from Friday long gone. "Hey, man, control your tag partner, huh?!" When his former NXT rookie looks up, Mike glares viciously at him.

"Hard to do when I haven't seen him," Daniel snaps back, wincing as his body protests everything from him moving to talking, and all in between. "Haven't seen him since word broke about Paul's death, actually. He's mourning in his own messed up way, what do you want from me?"

Mike rolls his eyes, knowing that it makes sense. The whole locker room had been... quiet, off since they'd all heard. Paul Bearer had been well liked by a good many people, despite his supernatural past and creepy actions, not to mention role in so many of Undertaker's more frightening activities. That Kane would react like this isn't exactly a surprise, but Alex? Really? Really?

Thankfully the trainer eases some of Mike's fretting when he deduces that Alex is going to be sore, his arm tender for a few days, but all in all, nothing is seriously injured. He leaves the younger man in the office, promising to come get him so they can leave after this Highlight Reel. He gets another opportunity to plug Marine 3, showing it off against Wade Barrett's Dead Man Down, and somehow it becomes a fight over the Intercontinental Title. Which, after a cringeworthy promo from Brad Maddox- yikes- becomes a #1 contendership match between Miz and Jericho for an opportunity next week. They go back and forth for awhile, Mike determined to see this through- being Intercontinental champion walking into Wrestlemania sounds so much better than nothing at all- but it all devolves when Jericho throws Miz into Barrett, angering the Brit until he attacks both of them, it devolving into a brawl between all three men upon the match itself getting called off. Miz lays Wade out with a Skullcrushing Finale and then Jericho adds onto it by hitting his Codebreaker, the two men staring over at each other until Mike leaves to check in on Alex.

No one is necessarily surprised when Vickie decides to make a triple threat match for the Intercontinental title next week, Mike's chances at walking into Wrestlemania with the Intercontinental title still alive and well. He smiles, feeling a little bit more hopeful that _this_ will be the turn around he'll need to get out of the slump he's been stuck in for much too long.


	147. chapter 147

The rest of Mike's week is comprised of commentating Main Event and more media for Wrestlemania and Marine 3, his schedule busy enough that he doesn't really have time to think about all of the things that have been weighing him down the past few months. He does take a few minutes to check in on Alex now and again, make sure he's hanging in there after Kane's attack, but the kid seems like his normal self so Miz goes about his business, fulfilling all of his obligations until it's time for Raw.

He and Alex drive there together and spend the time before Mike's triple threat match wandering through the hallways, mostly quiet as they just take it all in, the buzz that proceeds Wrestlemania infecting them despite both men having no spot on the card thus far- until the air is taken over by something else. Something horrible. Piercing, desperate screams of agony that send both men running to the nearest monitor, Mike skidding to a stop as he stares on in horror at Ricardo Rodriguez writhing around on the ground, gripping at his ankle and begging the swarming referees to not touch him. The camera only gets a brief glimpse of a sweaty, dazed Del Rio struggling to stand and stagger over, before it goes to commercial.

They stand in awkward, tense silence before Mike slaps Alex on the shoulder. "Come on." They make it to the gorilla as Swagger and Colter make their way through and Mike's suspicious are proved as he glowers at the "True American". "That was you?" he snaps, waving back towards the ring where they can still hear Ricardo's cries of pain through the curtain.

"Wanna make something of it?" the deranged man asks, glowering down at him. They stand there, eyes locked in mutual disdain. "You're honestly friends with those... illegals?" he spits out, disgust in each word. "It's so typical of you, Miz. You're no better than all of the others who can't stand up for their rights, their homeland. You have no pride."

Mike continues to stare at him, thrown speechless as the heartless man looks almost pleased as Ricardo's painful cries continue on, until Colter finally intercedes, muttering something to Swagger and guiding him away, not wanting to be around when Del Rio makes it through with his ring announcer on the stretcher that they'd put him on. Mike is so angry that he's almost trembling, his eyes an icy cool blue as the curtains finally part and the group of referees appear, pushing Ricardo's stretcher along the uneven tiles, Alberto's hands on either side of the younger man's face, murmuring to his pale, sweaty friend. Miz and Alex join them, Alberto looking up suspiciously but relaxing slightly when he sees who it is, Mike nodding grimly at him as he takes in the look of shocked horror in the Mexican aristocrat's eyes.

The younger man is still whimpering, his hands trembling as he covers his face, soft mumbles too quiet for any of the men present to catch. Mike, not sure what else to do, rests his hand briefly on Ricardo's shoulder, squeezing slightly, catching his eye too when the ring announcer peeks through his fingers at him, tears of pain dripping down his face. Not a word is said as they arrive at the trainer's office and they begin to set up what equipment they have to run a quick exam on the poor man and his ankle. "I want a real doctor with full equipment looking at him, I'm taking him to the ER," Del Rio says after a moment. The trainer looks up, still in the middle of dictating where things go, but his mind is made up. "He's in too much pain, this is taking too long-"

"Alberto, you'd just have to wait in the ER too," Mike says softly, shaking his head as Ricardo whimpers again, barely focused on what they're saying.

"You clearly forget who you're talking to," he snaps through gritted teeth. Turning his attention back to the injured man, he takes a deep breath and sighs, cupping his face until their eyes lock. "Amigo, I want to take you to the ER. We'll get this sorted as quickly as possible, alright? It won't be like last time, I promise you." The two murmur back and forth briefly in Spanish, Mike and Alex exchanging glances as the trainer steps back, displeased with it all. Finally Ricardo nods in agreement and watches tearfully as Alberto immediately goes into action, ordering the men lingering around to help push the stretcher back out to the parking lot where an ambulance is always waiting for chance injuries like this.

Mike follows them to the exit, pausing. He can't go with, not with the triple threat match for the Intercontinental title lingering, but Alex has nothing scheduled for the night. "Hey, kid," he says quietly. "Go with them, huh? Help keep Ricardo distracted for me?"

Alex nods quickly, knowing that Mike's grown to think of Ricardo as a friend, and trusts Alex to do what he can to make things easier for the younger man. "I'll call you with news when we have it," he tells him before taking off at a run to clear this with Alberto and the EMTs.

"Thanks," Mike calls after him, watching from the doorway as Alex hashes it out with Del Rio for a bit, their conversation ending when a still frantic Ricardo reaches out from the stretcher, snagging Del Rio's arm. Finally Alberto concedes and the two men enter the ambulance after the stretcher, sitting on either side of Ricardo. He closes his eyes and returns to the locker room to begin preparing for his match, though he doubts he'll be able to focus on it at all, the ring announcer's horrific screams trapped in his mind.

He's right, though he tries and even comes close a couple of times- in the end his distraction and everything else going on in the match helps Barrett to sneak in and get a cheap schoolboy pin in on him, Mike staring up at the lights in disbelief at how quickly that happened. Jericho seems as annoyed as he as they walk back up the ramp, but Miz's mind is far away from the match's conclusion. "Hey, Jericho," he says once they're backstage again.

"What, Junior?" he asks, shoulders tensing like he thinks Mike might be looking to start something.

"You know Ricardo, right?"

"Yes, he was on The Highlight Reel a few weeks ago. Hyperactive, odd guy but seemed alright. Why?"

"When you wrestle Swagger this Friday," Mike says slowly, almost not believing he's requesting anything of the man who'd been his opponent barely five minutes earlier, "don't let him get back up. Alright?"

Jericho's grin is quick and more than a little dangerous, recognizing a friend's need for vengeance in the former WWE champion. "I was planning that already," he admits. "But since you asked so _nicely..._ " He smirks. "I'll make sure to."

Mike nods, watching him leave, and he's about to return yet again to the locker room when he almost runs straight into- AJ. He swallows, staring down at her for a moment before remembering through the fog in his mind how exactly they'd left things, the tight, pained look on her face finally registering with him. "Sorry," he mumbles, brushing past her. He'd overheard, while waiting for his match and half-listening for any possible updates on Ricardo, her terms on a tag title match for Big E and Ziggler against Team Hell No, and he wonders if Kane and Daniel can hold it together long enough to retain their titles at Mania. The few weeks he'd spent involved with the tag team months back had left him semi-invested in their friendship, something about their dysfunction reminding him a little of how he and Morrison had been in the early days, but he'd gotten distracted by AJ and then Ricardo's troubles, all of it now just a wild jumble in his mind as every part of his life seems to be collapsing in on each other in strange ways.

He's only taken a few steps, though, when he remembers something else and looks over his shoulder at the girl as she still lingers in the shadows, head tilted as she stares at him. "Happy birthday, AJ." He almost expects her to lunge after him, screaming and striking out, but she doesn't move, doesn't say a word. He shrugs tiredly and continues walking, relieved and dejected all at once. He's almost done stuffing things in his bag when his phone rings, quickly answering. "Hello?"

"Hey," Alex greets him, his voice low and solemn. "Did they announce it on TV?"

"Yes," he confirms. "Broken ankle... Did Del Rio bribe a tech or something? Those results were in within half an hour, at least."

Alex pauses, chuckles weakly. "I didn't dare to ask, but I'm pretty sure..." They both sit silently for a minute, Alex's breaths crackling against the phone. "Anyway I'm calling because once he's released, Ricardo is going back to Florida to rest at home. Del Rio wants me to fly back with him though, since he has media the next few days and Ricardo is insisting he doesn't cancel them because of this."

Mike thinks about his best friend accompanying the ring announcer home and nods slightly, knowing that Alex understands better than anyone how it feels having to be stuck at home injured while the wrestling world continues on without him, since that very thing had just happened to him a few months ago. "Ok, man." His eyes fall on Alex's duffel bag at his feet and he tilts his head, doubting that the younger man had even remembered leaving his stuff here. "I'll drop your bag off at the hospital when I leave."

Alex's sudden sigh causes Mike to chuckle slightly. "I forgot about that. It's a red-eye too, I would've been in _so_ much trouble if I left that there." He laughs. "Thanks, Mike."

"Leave it to the Awesome One to straighten out your problems for you," he teases lightly. "I'll see you soon." He suspects that, if they're talking about releasing Ricardo already, he's doing a fair deal better than the broken, crying mess that Swagger had callously left behind on the floor of the arena a couple of hours ago, and Mike's relieved that he'll be able to replace _those_ images and sounds rattling around in his head with a more stabilized Ricardo as he shoulders both his bag and Alex's and heads for the exit.


	148. chapter 148

Miz wanders quietly through the hospital halls, head tilted as he half-heartedly listens to a nurse talking about things he can barely focus on. Alex's duffel weighs his hand down and he wonders what he'll find at the other end of this walk, Ricardo's room getting closer and closer with each second. When she points out the right curtained off room to him, he nods at her and walks slowly inside, blinking against the muted lights. He peeks around the curtain and watches for a moment, Alex sitting in a corner of the room while Alberto leans against the bed, focus thoroughly on his best friend. He steadies himself with a deep breath before entering the rest of the way, quietly clearing his throat. "Hey, guys," he says lowly, not sure if Ricardo's asleep or not.

Alex and Alberto both look up, Ricardo following suit a moment later, looking blurry eyed but aware enough as Mike rests the bag at Alex's feet, trying not to stare at the injured man's foot. "Thanks, Mike," his former rookie says, "but I tried texting you a few minutes ago, guess you didn't receive it."

"What's up?"

Alberto speaks up, his gaze returning to the morose face of his ring announcer. "I placed a few calls and managed to cancel my appearances for the next few days. I'm going home with him after all."

"I told you you didn't have to do that," Ricardo murmurs, his voice hoarse from all of the painful screaming he'd done earlier in the evening. "El Patron..."

"I'm not letting you go through this alone, Ricardo. I'll reconsider for Raw, maybe, but you need me more this week. Amigo, don't fight me on this, por favor. It's already done." He pats his face. "I want to be there for you, as you have been for me so many times in the past."

Ricardo sniffs but says nothing, just watching his employer through wet eyes. Mike takes that as their cue, clapping Alex on the shoulder as he takes a few steps towards the bed. "Hey, Ricardo, we're heading out now." He hesitates, taking in the exhausted brown eyes locked on him and smiles mirthlessly. "Hang in there, alright?"

"I will," he sighs, Del Rio's hand steady on his arm as Mike nods.

"See you soon." Alex echoing with his own farewells after collecting his bag, they leave the room, Mike's lips held in a grim line.

"I hope Jericho makes Swagger pay this Friday," the younger man says suddenly, Mike glancing over at him.

"You took the words out of my mouth, kid," he mumbles, nudging Alex. "Come on, let's get out of here, if I hang around much longer I'm gonna scream."

"Yep, I know the feeling."

The next few days pass quietly, Mike and Alex exchanging glances as they read over tweets Del Rio sends out about what he intends to do in respond to the attack against his ring announcer early Tuesday morning, and various tweets Ricardo himself sends out through the week. Commentary on Main Event devolves into another face off between he and Wade, Mike amused as he sends the British superstar floundering out of the ring to avoid further injury at his hands. As frustrated as he is, he's well aware that this business as a whole is a waiting game- title opportunities, revenge, everything... takes time.

When Smackdown rolls around, Mike's not surprised to find that Del Rio had opted to skip the show completely and remain with Ricardo, helping him through the beginning stages of his recovery, watching with a grimace as the evening kicks off with, of all things, Dolph vs Kofi with AJ on commentary. Alex, sitting nearby, seems to be waiting for something to happen, as if expecting Mike to throw the remote that he's currently pressing to his lips through the monitor they're watching, but he just sits and stews as she goes on and on about how perfect her relationship with Ziggler is. It finally ends with Dolph winning after some shenanigans from Big E, and Alex glances over at him. "Are you alright?"

"Never better," he shrugs, not looking Alex in the eye as he says it. With Wrestlemania looming closer, it's easy to pretend at times that everything is normal, that he's not left with an ache deep inside for everything he'd failed at snowballing larger and larger within him, but sometimes... He shakes his head, trying not to dwell on such things. Either way, Jericho's match against Swagger is nearing and he looks forward to it with a certain vicious need, his words to Jericho from Monday still lurking on the tip of his tongue. Despite his professional focus temporarily being on Barrett, he personally would like to be the one taking out Jack Swagger for his actions, but the matches hadn't shook out that way so he figures witnessing Jericho doing it would be the second best thing.

Alex is right there along with him, both men watching the match with tense stares, Mike's smirk growing as Jericho gets in quite a few good blows, sending Swagger against the barricade wall, it seeming like victory's almost in his grasp when... Fandango interrupts and ruins everything, causing Jericho the match. Miz curses, his eyes narrowing at the egotistical wrestler dancing on the monitor.

"That sucks," Alex says finally, once the show has gone to commercial. "He was so close, too."

"Yes, he was. Dammit." Mike presses his fingers into his eyes and shakes his head, aggravation growing. No matter what, he has a match against Antonio Cesaro and Barrett is on commentary, despite claiming to anyone that'll listen- which is normally no one other than the members of 3MB, of course- that he's beyond done with Miz. Mike holds his own against the strong Swiss and wins, smirking at Barrett as he holds in the Figure Four. _Soon,_ he promises, his expression telling it all as Wade glares at him, unnerved.

The weekend passes, Raw looming closer, Mike staring at the calendar with a bemused smile on his face as he listens to Morrison's faint breathing on the other end of the phone. "I can't believe Mania's so close again. Time's been flying, man." John hums in agreement and Mike releases a soft breath. _I can't believe this'll be the second Mania without you in the company,_ he thinks, allowing himself to briefly slip once more into that vision of how things would be currently if his manipulations with AJ had panned out months back.

"Do you think you'll get an opportunity against Barrett at it?" he finally asks, snapping Mike out of his thoughts.

"I'm going to try," he nods. "I wouldn't be adverse to holding the Intercontinental title again." He smiles wanly, recalling that it had been being Intercontinental champion that had made him think he had a chance at having any kind of pull with AJ in the first place. "So what are you up to?"

"I've got this match against ROH's champion on April 20th, it's a free iPPV thing. You should check it out. Also have a few others things I'm working on. You know, keeping busy with OOYM."

"Yeah. If I get some time that day, I'll try to remember to watch," he offers, knowing that weekends can be notoriously busy, even in the lull that seems to proceed Wrestlemania. He's just glad to hear that John still hasn't completely given up on competing, even after all of this time and with all of his other side projects. No matter how many roadblocks and disinterested parties there appears to be in the matter, a major part of him still hopes to see John back in the company someday soon.

On Monday, Mike and Alex are leaning against a wall across from a monitor, still rolling their eyes over Punk and Heyman's antics with the urn, half-watching Dolph coming out with AJ and the large enforcer flanking him for a match against Jericho, who had interrupted Fandango to get some retribution for Smackdown- which had yet again been something Miz had wanted to see out of Jericho, the Most Must See Superstar growing more and more disturbed by just how his need for retribution was slowly entangling itself with Chris' career. His attention, however, is distracted by a slow, uneven step approaching them, Alex's elbow digging into his ribs. He turns to snap at the younger man when his jaw clicks shuts, amazed as he catches sight of what had the former NXT rookie's attention. "Ricardo?"

Crutches and a walking cast seem to be the only thing keeping the ring announcer on his feet, but he's there and, despite the tightness of pain on his face, he nods and forces a smile at them, releasing a faint breath upon reaching them. "Hola."

"Damn, man!" Mike hisses out, holding a hand out towards him as if afraid he's about to fall over right then and there. "It's good to see you. Here, sit down." He finds a nearby trunk and nods at it, resting his palm on Ricardo's arm to assist him, the ring announcer looking relieved to do just that. "How are you- I mean, dumb question, obviously, but...?"

Ricardo's smile grows a little more sincere as he awkwardly hops up, fumbling with his crutches until Alex takes them from him and rests them against the wall nearby. "Gracias. Um... I'm better," he finally ventures, blinking when Mike pushes over a thin crate that's just tall enough for him to stretch his bad leg out onto. Before he can say anything further, Alberto Del Rio arrives, the tight worry on his face fading when he sees that his friend is comfortably settled, nodding slightly at Alex and Mike. "El Patron," he greets his employer. "What's scheduled tonight?"

"A champion vs champion match against Cesaro," he says, seemingly disinterested in what he's saying as he stands next to his injured ring announcer. "No one gave you trouble, si?"

"No," Ricardo shakes his head. "I'm ok, El Patron. I'll be fine to announce you tonight." The somewhat off vibe between the two men suddenly makes more sense to both Mike and Alex, who exchange uncomfortable glances of their own. Based on the look on Del Rio's face, he's not completely sold on it either but obligingly taps Ricardo on the jaw, shaking his head slightly. "I will," he insists. "Anyway, um, I just wanted to say gracias to you both for coming to the hospital last week," he says awkwardly, glancing from Mike to Alex and back. "Muchas gracias."

"No need to thank us," Mike says, shaking his head. "We're all friends here, that's what friends do, right?" As Ricardo nods sheepishly, Miz thinks he understands the younger man's surprise and slight discomfort. Both he and Del Rio had been isolated through their time in the WWE, as had Mike for awhile before first Morrison, then Alex had wormed their ways into his life, and now as the new World Champion and his ring announcer try to make inroads on fixing bridges they'd burnt over the years, Mike also is gaining alliances and friendships he never would've thought possible even six months ago, such as Ric Flair.

Alberto breaks into the thoughtful silence, resting a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "Come, Ricardo, if you're going to be announcing, we should go get ready for my match." His grip shifts to a more supportive position as the younger man inches off of the trunk, grimacing as his feet rest once more on the cool tile floor. "Cuidadoso," Del Rio whispers, glancing over as Alex collects the crutches and holds them until Ricardo's ready for them, half-smiling once the ring announcer reaches out for them, releasing a faint breath as he adjusts them under his arms and takes his first hobbling step.

Mike steps forward and rests a hand on Ricardo's shoulder, squeezing gently in a move that reminds him just a little too much of last week, in the trainer's office. "Be careful out there, huh?"

The ring announcer nods, his lips twitching as he takes in yet another deep breath. "I will. Gracias, Miz." Mike releases him and watches as he determinedly continues on to Alberto's locker room, the World champion patiently walking alongside him with a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not sure about this," Alex mumbles.

"Me neither, kid. Me neither." But there's nothing to do for it except watch, and watch they do, immediately growing tense when Zeb Colter makes his appearance and distracts Alberto during his match, Ricardo responding by making his way over to stand between the commentary table and ring. However it quickly worsens as, sure enough, Swagger appears, glaring at the ring announcer and- Mike's fingers dig into his knees as the xenophobic madman grabs Ricardo, slinging him into the steel steps, the poor man immediately curling in on himself. "Where's Del Rio?" Miz demands, finding that he's now on his feet as Swagger drags the defenseless ring announcer over to the timekeeper's area by his bad ankle.

He feels ill when the "True American" ruthlessly takes the casted leg and slings it brutally into the barricade wall, Mike biting his tongue so hard that he tastes blood. "No, no," he mumbles, seeing red. A second strike is attempted but finally Del Rio appears, leaping up onto the barricade wall and slinging into Swagger, knocking him away from Ricardo and chasing him through the crowd, throwing anything at him that he can get his hands on, the man ultimately getting away. Alex is on his feet too as Alberto makes his way back over to Ricardo, trying to comfort him while talking to the trainer over the ring announcer's strained cries of pain, renewed thanks to Swagger's cowardly attack. The match, forgotten by both Del Rio and the two men watching in the hallway, had been thrown by countout, and Alberto, overwhelmed by anger and disgust at Antonio continuing to mock and laugh at Ricardo's torture, races into the ring, taking out his heightened emotions on the US champion.

This spurs Mike into action as he slaps Alex's shoulder. "Come on, let's go." Alex doesn't even have time to respond, little choice but to keep quiet and follow as his mentor walks in hurried, clipped steps to the gorilla, ignoring everything as he pushes through the curtain and down the ramp, moving around the ring while ignoring the somewhat confused buzz of the audience. By now, Del Rio is done with Cesaro, back at Ricardo's side and holding his wrists while leaning down so they're side by side, murmuring to him in Spanish.

Mike arrives in time to hear Ricardo choke out, "Is it broken again?" his lips trembling as he stares beseechingly from the trainer to his employer. When the trainer says he doesn't believe so, they all sag in relief, Alberto's arms snaking more securely around the trembling man's shoulders. Not wanting to move him until he's absolutely certain, the trainer examines him more thoroughly, Del Rio's hold keeping him from completely losing it over the amplified pain, and finally deduces that the bone hadn't been affected, but the leg is bruised and swollen. Alex and Mike step aside to give the men some space as they prepare to help Ricardo backstage, Alex lifting one of the crutches lost during Swagger's attack. Mike, spotting the other one on the other side of the steps, grabs it as well and then rejoins the three men next to the table, Alex behind him.

Alberto looks up, seeming to realize that they're there for the first time, and nods, observing that they have Ricardo's crutches. Turning his attention back to his ring announcer, he helps him stand up from the chair, his face tightening when he cries out in pain again and tries to curl in on himself. "Ok, ok, it's ok, mi amigo, just... just take it easy..." He's considering asking for a stretcher again when Mike hands over the crutch to Alex and steps up, supporting Ricardo on the other side. Alberto examines him for a moment before nodding slightly, the ring announcer clinging to them both as the trainer walks ahead of them up the ramp, Alex lagging behind with the crutches, keeping an eye out for Swagger or anything else that could end up a problem for them.

They're halfway down the main hallway when Ricardo chokes out, "I can't- I can't- it hurts too much, El Patron-" Both Mike and Alberto stop as one, looking down at him. He's sweaty and pale, small pained whimpers escaping his mouth even while standing still. Alberto rests a hand on his neck and whispers to him, Ricardo nodding jerkily. "Just a few moments," he whispers, Mike quickly catching on as Del Rio begins to guide the ring announcer over to a trunk, the two men supporting him as he scoots up once more to sit and rest, his leg outstretched in front of him.

Mike's barely joined Alex, the trainer hesitating for a moment before continuing on to his office, when a cameraman appears and begins filming Del Rio, asking him what he plans on doing now. As he vows to break Swagger physically and emotionally, Colter too if need be, Mike scrubs a hand over his face. "Damn," he murmurs, watching Ricardo dig his fingers into his throbbing leg.

"Yeah," the younger man sighs. The interview ends quickly and Alberto urges Ricardo to come on, helping him off of the trunk, visibly not wanting to linger around and get disturbed by anyone else while he's in so much pain, and Mike joins them, taking his place by Ricardo's side yet again.

He only speaks up when they walk by the trainer's office, frowning. "Aren't we going to take him to the trainer's office?"

"No," Del Rio says grimly. "We've already discussed it, he can't do anything else for Ricardo. He needs rest and can't do that here. He'll be better off at the hotel, so that's where we're going." Mike isn't sure about this plan but Ricardo nods tiredly, so he stays quiet and continues on to the exit, where he helps Alberto settle the younger man into the waiting car. "I can take it from here," the Mexican aristocrat declares upon closing the passenger side door, turning to the other men. He hesitates, taking the crutches from Alex, before looking them both in the eye. "Gracias." The word sounds foreign coming from his lips, but also sincere.

"No problem," Mike murmurs, glancing into the car at the pale ring announcer. "Hope he feels better tomorrow."

Alberto pauses while stuffing the crutches in the backseat, standing once they're inside and he's peered at Ricardo for a moment, shutting the door and leaning on it briefly. "So do I." He nods grimly at them before returning to the driver's side and slipping inside. The two men go back into the arena and watch out of the exit's window as the car starts up and slowly drives off, Alex sighing while Mike shakes his head.

"Too bad Mania season's being ruined for him," Alex says, stuffing his hands in his pockets as they walk somberly back towards the locker rooms.

"Yeah, he seemed really excited for it too," Mike agrees with a wince. Although he hates knowing that the ring announcer's pain continues, it helps some to know he's out of the arena, away from Swagger's possible reach, safe in a hotel room hopefully where he can find some comfort. As he prepares for his upcoming match against Barrett, he half listens to the commentators while they discuss Wrestlemania and the various things that's happened on the show so far. Finishing coiling tape around his wrists, he bites it off and layers it properly before standing. "Time to go," he sighs as HHH comes out to address the whole situation with Lesnar.

"Knock 'em dead, Mike," Alex says as he heads for the door. Mike lifts a hand in response and pushes his way out of the room, slowly forcing himself to let all that had happened so far go. By the time he makes it to gorilla, Barrett is already out there, having a staredown with HHH, his ego coming off of him in waves. And does he pay for it as The Game lowblows him and leaves him laying, choking and writhing on the ramp.

Various superstars mingling around, watching the show from the monitors scattered around, start to laugh, and Mike looks around, a smirk on his face as he considers the affect this'll have on their match. Shrugging it off, he makes his entrance and quickly falls into that zone, going back and forth with the Brit. He starts to worry that the match is lost when, by chance, the taller man overshoots and ends up riding the top rope, his face turning an interesting shade of red until he flops over and wheezes, once more knocked senseless. From there, it's almost too simple- a quick Figure Four, and he taps, Mike looking towards the Wrestlemania sign yet again as he wonders what else could possibly happen in the next thirteen days to all of them.

He's just wandering back to the locker room to change back into street clothes and get out of the arena when he hears loud screaming, coming to a sharp stop as he realizes that it's the trainer's office. He's just peeked in when Team Hell No forces their way out, dragging a squeeching AJ Lee with them. He gapes for a moment before stepping forward. "Hey, hey, what are you doing?" he demands of the two men, eyes narrowing as he takes in just how upset she seems.

Daniel sneers at him as he releases the girl, pushing her out into the hallway a good deal rougher than Mike fines to be necessary. "She attacked Kaitlyn." He stares down at his ex-fiance. "Go, get out of here. Find Dolph, he apparently is the only one equally insane enough to be able to handle you." He looks up at Kane, who stares blankly down at him, and the two quietly walk back the way they'd come as AJ stares after them, frozen.

She lets out another scream, moving to dash after them, but Mike acts first, gripping her around the waist. "No," he says lowly, holding her in place. "Stop it, AJ. Come on. Calm down." Somehow, she actually does, her ragged breaths so rapid that he can feel them vibrating through him. "What'd they say?"

"Kaitlyn called me a beady-eyed crazy..." Her words become muffled as she grows upset yet again. "She claimed she was my best friend! She wasn't! She was a horrible friend!" Losing it once more, she spins around and punches him hard in the chest, screaming. Despite her tiny stature, she does have some pretty rough strikes and he winces against them, finally wrapping his arms around her and just holding her as she unleashes all of her anger and confusion upon him.

"It's ok," he mumbles, idly stroking his fingers through her hair. It had been so long, he had forgotten how silky her hair felt, the soft scent of her perfume that he could never quite place, not exactly floral but not exactly fruity either, just somehow something that suits her... "It's gonna be alright."

The moment passes too quickly, however, as she seems to remember that she's still so angry at him for using her. Pulling away, she only looks more deranged, cold now as she stares up at him. "What are you _doing?_ " she snaps at him. "Do you think feigning like you care by comforting me here _changes_ things? It _doesn't._ " He watches her quietly, shaking his head slightly. "I _love_ Dolph," she enforces, like he needs to be told that. He'd seen and heard enough over the weeks to not doubt her sincerity.

"I know."

"Then leave me alone." It's as if the last five minutes hadn't happened as she turns and, hair flipping back and forth in her wake, skips off. He watches her wistfully before finally turning to get his things together to go, desperate to turn his focus to whatever else the week has ahead for him.

Unfortunately, Alex isn't waiting for him in the locker room and he wonders where he'd run off to, setting out to find him with an exasperated grimace. He really just wants to leave, but just as he'd caught sight of Alex standing by catering, messing around with his phone, he hears it on the monitor he's venturing past: AJ has been placed in a match against Kaitlyn. His eyes close in defeat as he realizes he's just not going to be leaving this arena any time soon, dropping the bag at Alex's feet as he joins him. "Oh, hey," the younger man says. "I was going to get us something to eat but..." His words die away as he takes in the look on his face. "What's wrong?"

"Ran into AJ," he admits, body still tingling just from the few minutes contact he'd had with her.

"Oh." Alex swallows. "Are you alright?"

He makes an awkward motion somewhere between nodding and shrugging. "I will be. Her match is next?"

"Yeah. Do you want to stay, or go?" A-Ri kicks at the bag lightly, unsurprised when Mike barely glances at it.

"Might as well stay," he comments. "We've been here _this_ long after all." Alex just nods knowingly, tilting his head as the divas' match begins a couple of minutes later. The battle spills out to the ringside area pretty quickly, the two females vicious with their attacks, until Kaitlyn miscalculates. She appears to be trying a spear but AJ sidesteps, the taller diva's body ramming right into the barricade wall, where she crumples and struggles, eventually losing the match via countout.

Mike blinks, surprised at just how tense he finds himself to be, slowly uncoiling his fists. "Huh."

"Well, at least she's ok," Alex offers as the camera focuses on the sly smirk on the girl's face, and the dazed anger on Kaitlyn's as she realizes just what had happened.

"Yeah," Mike agrees quietly. The only thing left for the show now is Rock and Cena's pre-Wrestlemania legends panel, and he doesn't care about that at all so he leans over and collects his bag. "Ready to go, kid?"

"Yeah, let's." Alex offers to drive and Miz accepts, leaning against the passenger side's chilly window and staring out of the shadowed businesses scattered around downtown in silence, lost in thought over everything that had happened in the last three hours. Between AJ and Ricardo, not to mention his own lack of a match on the card, he's almost dreading to see what the rest of the Road to Wrestlemania will bring, but before he can fall further into these grim thoughts, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He only has a few people set for tweet alerts while on the road, one of whom is sitting next to him, and John hasn't tweeted in over a month, so that leaves Ricardo or AJ.

Curious, he pulls the device out and accesses his text messages, lips twitching wanly as he realizes it's from Ricardo. He reads it a time or two, a strange feeling coming over him as he takes it all in. "Alex," he says quietly.

"Yeah?" one of his best friends asks, glancing over at him while slowing to a stop at a red light.

He reads the text off, Ricardo laying his determination to be at Wrestlemania, no matter how weak his legs may be, that his heart and voice are still strong, out there on social media where everyone can see it. "This guy, he has a broken ankle, not to mention everything else he's been put through the past few months, and he never really seems to let it hold him back, keeps him from being there for Del Rio." He turns to look at Alex, whose focus is now back on the road ahead. "I can't count how many things I've given up on in my career, and this _ring announcer_ puts me to shame pretty much every day." Not that he's overlooking the things he's fought for, yeah, sure, just getting into the business itself and remaining there this long has been a struggle, but since then... he'd given up on title after title, getting John's job back, attempting to have more of a role in the company the year prior when Laurinaitis had shipped him off to Canada for Marine 3, and... he'd given up on trying to fix things with AJ.

He rereads Ricardo's tweet and takes a deep, renewing breath. "I think it's time for a change." His lips twitching into a grin, he nods, growing more and more confident in this feeling coursing through him. "I think it's time to _fight._ "

Alex parks the car at the hotel, turning to raise an eyebrow at him. "What are you planning, Mike?"

His grin turns a little more dangerous as he closes the text screen out and pockets his phone. "You'll see, kid. You'll see."

The next day, it's announced on that he's been granted an Intercontinental title shot against Barrett at Wrestlemania. He can't help but take it as a sign.


	149. chapter 149

After his resolution on Monday night followed by WWE granting him an Intercontinental title match against Wade Barrett at Wrestlemania, Mike is still riding high as he commentates Main Event that Wednesday, but even his good mood's not quite enough to keep him from bickering off and on with his former NXT rookie, Daniel Bryan, who is guest commentating through Kane's match. It's not too long before familiar theme music plays and he sits up a little straighter in his chair as AJ comes out, skipping around the ring and distracting from what's happening inside. Daniel, however, moves quickly and cuts her off twice, keeping her from disturbing Kane from the match any further. Mike watches closely, remembering the scene outside of the trainer's office from Monday, but Daniel doesn't touch her.

When his tag partner wins, she retreats towards the entrance ramp and Daniel heads into the ring to stand alongside his co-champion, both of them staring down at her as she coyly tilts her head. Mike watches until she leaves before turning to Cole, forcing his attention back onto his job for the evening. With Wrestlemania looming, and his newly granted match at the forefront of his mind, he hasn't quite decided what he wants to do, but he knows that it'll come to him, how best to make things easier. Make it so she doesn't look at him like he's the foulest thing she's ever seen whenever they come in contact with each other. Or outright ignore him...

He falls quiet as Cole begins talking about what Ricardo has gone through the past few weeks with his ankle injury, barely able to watch as the clip from Monday is played, remembering the pain in the ring announcer's eyes and Del Rio's own desperation as the younger man had barely been able to stand straight even with their assistance. He wonders how the last week before Wrestlemania will treat the two men, if they'll even be in one piece leading into Sunday.

That Friday, Mike and Alex are lurking around in the halls, staring at the board listing all of the matches and segments for the evening. Miz has no match scheduled, but his eyes immediately go to the Barrett match later on in the show, against Jericho, and his lips tug upwards again. "Hey, Alex-" he's about to say when another, unfortunately familiar voice cuts in, completely derailing his train of thought.

"Hello, Miz." The two men turn slowly around, faces blank as they find John Laurinaitis staring back at them, that old, stupidly smug grin yet again on his face. The cause of so much of Miz's anger and disconcertment last year, someone who he hadn't thought of for months, now standing before him, looking like nothing had changed. "I'm glad to see you."

Mike's hands tense into fists as he peers at him suspiciously, jaw tight. _He has no powers. He has no powers. He has no powers... right?_ His glance flickers towards Alex before he faces the past authority figure of Raw and Smackdown, _People Power_ now a dirty saying that haunts some of his nightmares. "What are you doing here, Laurinaitis?" There is no respect there, no sign of subserviency. It's not like it was before, when he'd won the man his power and gotten nothing but dead air in return. His return to something close to relevancy had only come when AJ had been granted the title of GM for Raw, and Booker for Smackdown.

If Laurinaitis notices the cold snap in Miz's voice, he doesn't address it or seem that affected, the grin on his face only growing as he steps forward and wraps his arms around Mike and Alex's shoulders, the younger man looking awkward and almost ill at the abrupt proximity of the much-hated former General Manager. "Teddy Long was kind enough to grant me some time to come and say hello, convince the WWE Universe that I haven't forgotten them, that People Power lives on!" Mike's just opened his mouth, unable to keep his long-withheld anger deep inside, when John disengages himself from them both and looks out towards the gorilla, at where The Rock is speaking. "In fact, I think I'll go say hello right now! Great seeing you two again." He grins even wider, it taking everything in Miz to not punch his gleaming teeth right out of his jaw, before jogging away to head out and interrupt the champion.

Alex shudders as he rejoins his best friend, shaking his head. "I think I need a shower now."

"Me too." They watch a monitor, grimacing as Laurinaitis drones on and on about this and that, the eventual Rock Bottom that comes only making it somewhat worth it. "He waited too long to shut him up," Mike sighs, scraping his fingers through his hair in aggravation. "What _is_ Teddy smoking?"

"Good question." Alex stares at the match listings briefly once more and shakes his head. "C'mon, man. Let's get some air. You'll have time to get back for Barrett vs Jericho."

"Fine." Mike drapes an arm around Alex's shoulders, trying to ignore the thought that Laurinaitis' grimy arm was there barely ten minutes earlier while he follows him outside. "I'll protect you from those mangy squirrels."

"Oh, haha. You're never going to let me live that down."

"Nope, neither will John." Smirking through A-Ri's grousing, Mike takes in the brisk late-March air and darkening sky, his inner exasperation after running into Laurinaitis so unexpectedly easing bit by bit. "Thanks, Alex."

"No problem." They're still sitting out there, quiet and thoughtful, when the exit door slams open and a tall form, hunched over in embarrassment walks right past them without noticing. When the person rushes past a light glowing off the side of the building, it's obvious: Laurinaitis is making a quick, painful get away following his embarrassing "return". It takes everything in Mike not to burst out laughing until the obnoxious man is in his car and out of hearing range.

Once he's calmed down, he feels better about going back inside and Alex follows, wanting to see how things go with Barrett's match. Mike is content to sit and watch at ringside, scoping out Wade for their upcoming match, as Jericho and Barrett go back and forth, though he wishes that Jericho wins- and there it is again, his and Jericho's careers yet again intertwined by a need to see the same end result. So, when Barrett comes out of the ring and starts arguing with him, Mike has no shame in distracting him and giving Jericho a moment to recollect himself- during which Wade pays by eating a Codebreaker and a pin.

Amused, he stops off at catering with Alex afterwards, only freezing momentarily as he spots Dolph sitting at a nearby table, idly thumbing through tweets on his phone. Mike's eyes automatically scan the room until they come to a stop on AJ Lee and Big E. standing at the end of the line, his lips twitching up. "Come on," he mumbles to Alex. The two men approach the line, ignoring anyone else who might've been heading there ahead of them, making sure to stand behind the girl and her enforcer. While trying to ignore Laurinaitis, he'd had little to stare at _but_ the match board, so the fact that there's an intergender tag match with her and Ziggler vs Daniel and Kaitlyn coming up soon is seared into his brain. He's not sure if she's aware that he's there or just ignoring him as she tends to do more often than not anymore, but he finally takes the plunge. "Intergender tag match tonight, huh?" She freezes, grows tense, but he takes a breath and continues on. "I remember another intergender tag match, not all that long ago. Do you remember it, AJ?"

The one where he'd first noticed her, before she'd become GM and he'd screwed everything up. They'd only shared a glance that night, really, but it'd been enough. He just always sucked in the follow through. She still says nothing and he's about to try something else when she reaches the front of the line and takes what she wants from the table. Big E. follows suit, both well versed in Dolph's likes and dislikes by now, and then quietly turns to return to their table. She pauses while side by side with Miz, however, and says in a falsely sweet voice, "I only remember Goatface and I destroying your team that night."

He's pretty sure if her hands hadn't been full of food, she'd have gone skipping delightfully away from him. When he watches the match later on, he wonders if perhaps his words had distracted her enough that it'd caused her to lose.

Monday, Miz commentates again. This time Barrett is competing against Zack Ryder and, though Miz wonders if perhaps he can recreate the circumstances of last Friday and help Zack to get out an upset victory against Wade, it doesn't happen: they _do_ argue a bit but Zack's offense just isn't enough against the angered Brit and he gains the win. It doesn't worry Mike, however. He gets the honor of kicking the show off on the preshow- to some, would look like a demotion or something unimportant, but he sets the tone of Wrestlemania by being in the very first match, and he's determined to make it a memorable one.

But for a brief while after that, his focus diverts from Wrestlemania. Del Rio's been challenged to a match by Zeb Colter, of all people, and it's so clearly a trap. So certain that something bad will happen, he and Alex wait by the gorilla to watch, just in case they're needed like they were last week. Both breathe a sigh of relief when Alberto urges Ricardo to go backstage and wait through the match, the young man reluctantly limping his way back through the curtains but... "Where is he?" Mike demands, confused when the ring announcer doesn't appear on their side. "He isn't-" But sure enough, he is, as the audience reacts and Del Rio turns to find Ricardo has made his way back to ringside, yet again insisting that he be allowed to stay with his employer.

"That's... not going to end well," Alex mumbles as Alberto attempting to convince him to return where he'd be safe waiting with them is interrupted by the bell ringing, the match officially starting. For a brief moment, things seem ok, but sure enough, Swagger quickly chases across the ring and corners Ricardo, pushing him down as he loses hold of his crutches. Alberto tries to help, dropkicks the xenophobe through the ropes, but Colter has one of the wayward crutches and he swings, striking Del Rio with it and making the match go by DQ. Alberto is incensed, obviously, and corners Colter yet again but Swagger regroups, attacks and clips the Mexican aristocrat's knee, sending him to the mat writhing in agony like after Main Event a few weeks back.

From there it's just a melee as the two men crack both crutches on every inch of Del Rio that they can reach. Ricardo crawls onto the apron at some point in the madness, possibly trying to find a way to help, when Swagger spots him and rams him onto the floor below. He's not seen again throughout. Swagger and Colter finally finish and leave, the camera locked on Alberto as he struggles to his feet, clinging to the ropes and spitting out strained Spanish words. Mike and Alex step back when referees and the trainer help the two to the back, Ricardo's head lowered as he lets the men surrounding him guide him, barely reacting when Mike rests a hand on his shoulder on the way by.

"Damn," Alex breathes as they get a look at the multitude of welts quickly forming across Del Rio's back. "That's not good."

"No... no it's not." Mike shakes his head grimly. Wrestlemania is only six days away, and he has to wonder what shape those two will be in for it.


	150. chapter 150

Pictures of Del Rio's back following that attack circulate all around the Internet the next few days, not that Mike needs to look, that visual still disturbingly fresh in his mind. It'd been a brutal attack, but thankfully Alberto doesn't seem to be blaming Ricardo for what had happened, the match possibly having a much different outcome if the younger man had listened to his employer and stayed in the back, safe.

That Wednesday, Mike is placed in a two-on-one match against both members of Primetime Players on Main Event. Although it makes little sense to him, this close to Wrestlemania, he doesn't question it. Just claps Alex on the shoulder and goes out to compete. It's a challenge, he won't lie, both men decent competitors alone and together, nearly a flawless team, but he holds his own through a struggle and eventually succeeds at defeating them, breathing heavily as he turns his glares onto Barrett, who's been doing commentary through his match, and his focus towards the weekend ahead. Axxess, the Hall of Fame, and Wrestlemania itself, his Intercontinental Title opportunity waiting for him at the tail end of it all.

But those aren't his only plans, as something else is happening this week. Many smaller federations piggyback off of the awareness that Wrestlemania brings to wrestling as a whole, considering the thousands of people who come from other nations just to be apart of all of this, and give even indys more attention. One of which had booked John Morrison months back, the first chance Mike or Alex will have to see him compete live since he'd been released from WWE back in 2011. When they arrive at New Jersey and receive their Axxess schedules, both sigh in relief- they have just enough free time on Thursday and Friday to go see the matches.

Mike smirks as he presses a ballcap over Alex's eyes, blinding him momentarily as he flails and swats at his mentor. "Dammit, Mike!" he grouses once he can see again, paying him back by gripping his hoodie and stretching it out, covering his face with it, holding it in place until Mike slaps him in the chest. Once freed, he snarls at the younger man and smooths his hair out, rolling his eyes. "What?" Alex laughs, sticking his tongue out at him. "You said we should cover our appearances as much as we can so fans don't harass us while we're at this PWS thing, I was just trying to help you out."

Mike rolls his eyes and checks himself in the small hotel mirror once more. "Well, I think this is the best it's going to get," he decides, peering back at his unimpressive reflection- plain jeans, the hoodie covering a non-logo black shirt. It's not great, but it'll do, he hopes. Likewise, Alex is dressed also as discretely as possible, dark denim jeans and a pale grey shirt, with the ballcap. He's less in the public eye as Mike, especially in the last few months, so he doesn't feel _as_ desperate to hide his identity, certain he'll blend in with everyone else, but he knows it doesn't hurt to be cautious.

Thankfully it seems to work, everyone too focused on the action in the ring to observe the two men hanging around in the middle of the area designated for seats, watching the matches quietly until Morrison's bout against Elijah Burke begins- to Mike and Alex's shock, he comes out to Ain't No Make Believe, the nostalgia eating at them both as they watch on silently, struck dumb by the varied memories dogging both men. Mike begins smirking at the somewhat New ECW reunion this is turning out to be, but he's blatantly in John's corner, cheering for his former tag partner when he wins. Afterwards, he nudges Alex and they sneak out of the crowd and head towards the locker room, Mike having called ahead to get clearance through the fed's head booker. Security confirms and lets them through, directing them to the room John's just entered.

"Shhh," Mike hisses at Alex before knocking on the door. "Room service," he calls in a falsetto, not sure and not caring who else might be in the room other than his best friend. He's not fully surprised when Morrison doesn't bite, recognizing this trick of his, and pulls the door open, looking at him incredulously.

"It's a locker room, _Mike._ There is no room service here," he laughs, before grabbing him by his sleeve and dragging him inside, the room only containing a few other men that Mike only vaguely knows by having seen them compete earlier on in the card. Alex follows, quietly shutting the door behind them. "Hey Alex," John greets the younger man.

"Hey, John." Alex grins, adjusting his ballcap.

Morrison tears off what remains of his wrist tape before raising an eyebrow at the other two. "Now _what_ are you guys _doing_ here?"

"We wanted to see how bad the ring rust has gotten over the last few years," Mike sneers at him before his face softens minisculely. "You looked good out there though."

John smirks, running his fingers through his still jealously perfect hair. "It has been awhile since you've seen me compete, huh?" His dark eyes trail over to the clock. "Wait, are you guys skipping Axxess for me?"

"We had some free time between signings, so we took advantage of it," he shrugs. "Besides, it keeps this one from pouting that his webcam chat thing didn't work out tonight." Mike laughs as Alex mumbles something viciously.

"Webcam chat?" John echoes, eyebrows up to his hairline as he looks from man to man in confusion.

"Don't ask, it's a long story." Mike chuckles as Alex looks even more offended, huffing at him. "Have someone help you set up next time, and it'll go smoother," he chides him mockingly. "I've never had these kind of technical difficulties."

"I told you, it wasn't me! It was the lighting, it was messed up. I'll try again at my house, it should be better there." Mike still looks amused, however, and Alex rolls his eyes.

John shakes his head, humored by the two men. "So you've become his new target for nonstop mocking, huh, since I'm not around as much? You have my sympathies," he smirks as the former NXT rookie winces. "You guys gonna come back tomorrow? I wrestle again then. Against Jushin Liger."

Mike is well aware of the match, nodding immediately. He's been curious how Morrison would do against the well-renowned lucha star, fairly certain now that John hadn't lost a step after seeing his match against Elijah, making it seem like a much more even fight to come. "Of course, wouldn't miss it."

"Maybe get some better disguises, huh? A wig, maybe some makeup..." He smirks, tugging at Mike's hoodie until his best friend smacks his hands away, suddenly looking as annoyed as Alex had moments earlier.

"Quiet or we'll bring toilet paper to throw at you," he warns. John only pouts harder when Alex laughs at that. "But we really should go," he finally concedes, catching sight of the clock. The auction for the Superstorm Sandy relief fund is beginning soon and they'll only _just_ make it if they leave _now._ "In case we don't see you before tomorrow, knock 'em dead. I know you will."

Pout disappearing immediately, John grins. "Thanks, man. See you afterwards maybe, huh?"

Mike nods, clapping him on the back before turning for the door. "Of course. See you then." As Alex and John exchange their own byes, he goes out into the hallway and closes his eyes, waiting for Alex to follow. Despite everything, his new resolve, the awareness that Wrestlemania is _so, so_ close they all can taste it, how all he wants is to become Intercontinental champion, and see Swagger get some comeuppance for all he's done the past few weeks, the lingering fear that this all could crash down around him like his attempts to get John back in WWE had leaves him breathless for a few moments. But just a few as he squares his shoulders and looks ahead stonily, aware that it had been self-doubts like that that had ultimately gotten him into this position to begin with.

By the time Alex comes out, he's secure and determined once more, offering the kid a simple smile. They quietly trudge out of the building, Alex's arm a warm, steadying force across Mike's shoulders.

The next day, they do it all over again, despite being ran ragged between autograph signings, radio interviews, and other Axxess activities before rushing out to the building once more for the second PWS event, both men cheering as John comes out, his music only causing them to smile a bit this time around. His match against Jushin doesn't last long, the two men going back and forth until Jushin strong-arms him up to the top rope, which ends up being a mistake as John's always been at home the most up there, kicking the skilled lucha star away and setting up for his Starship Pain, which he succeeds at hitting, and getting a three count off of it.

This time, when Mike and Alex approach security, they're allowed right back, John waiting for them in the hallway. He laughs and claps their shoulders, feeling obviously good on this mini-roll he finds himself. "I'm two for two," he explains as he leads them into the locker room and shakes his hair out, letting it fall naturally once more against his shoulders. "I've kind of forgotten how _winning_ consecutively like that feels." He doesn't notice how Mike's grin slips at these words, but Alex does, nudging his mentor quietly. By the time John turns back around, he's schooled his expression into another grin, less sincere this time, but present. "So how's Wrestlemania week treating you two?"

"Not bad," Alex shrugs. "I beat Mason Ryan."

"Busy," Mike sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Everyone wants a piece of the soon to be Intercontinental champion." He smirks dully, remembering how much John had loved that belt as well. "But it's good, I'm used to it after all. Always entertaining, meeting some of the fans."

"Ah yes, I well remember." Morrison chuckles, shaking his head. He misses some of what came with being a WWE Superstar, and some of it... not so much. Fans are, of course, the reason a lot of them do what they do, but some can also be weird, or on this side of scary.

"Guess who's rumored to be here this weekend?" Alex asks, a small smirk on his face and Mike's sure he knows what the younger man's going to say before John even asks. "Your old tag partner Snooki."

John winces slightly before chuckling, remembering that tag match in his last Wrestlemania with the company. "Huh. Makes sense, I guess." As they settle in on the metal chairs and rickety benches to discuss what other celebrities they'd heard were going to be in attendance, Mike tries to pretend that it's another, better lit, larger locker room that they're hanging out in, preparing for Wrestlemania, and not merely a hurried visit, not this...

That Sunday is everything Mike wishes it to be, and more, in ways. He actually runs into Snooki early on and she grins up at him, raising an eyebrow as she snaps her bubble gum. "Weren't you John Morrison's tag partner once upon a time?"

"So were you," he volleys back with a small smile as he wonders what to expect from the reality show star, knowing better than anyone that a lot of what's seen on these shows are caricatures of what a person's like in real life.

"True." She reaches up and pats him on the arm of his leather jacket, her dark eyes strangely compassionate as she reflects on her Wrestlemania match a couple years ago. "How's he doing, anyway? Heard he was released a few months after our tag match." Their whole team, despite eking out a victory, hadn't gelled the best, but she doesn't seem to hold any illwill towards him, and Mike's glad of that.

"He's doing alright. I actually saw him yesterday, he's competing for an indy fed this weekend so I went to see how he's doing." They exchange small talk for a bit longer, mostly about Morrison, but she's just mentioned his title match when an idea comes to him and he grins. "Hey, wanna help me with something?" When she agrees upon listening to his explanation, he leads her to the main locker room and tells her to wait. There's a camera waiting there so they're caught on film as he returns and greets her as if he'd not seen her yet, and they're talking when, just as he'd expected, Wade Barrett interrupts.

Snooki insulting Barrett is the best thing Mike's seen in awhile and just what he needed leading into their match- it's surprisingly a short match, and he wonders if perhaps he's feeding on whatever had fueled John the past few days in his matches, but either way he comes out the victor after slipping Wade back into the Figure Four and feeling him tap. He clings to the belt, relieved and amazed that it's back where it belongs with him, the white of the belt looking so good against his arm, and yells out to the crowd, " _Welcome to Wrestlemania!"_ Alex greets him with a bone-rattling hug as soon as he's backstage, the two men laughing as they part just enough to stare at the title belt reflecting every light around.

The night, however, isn't over as Alberto Del Rio retains his title against Jack Swagger, all of Mike's hopes for the evening slowly coming to realization. He and Alex are standing in the hall, Mike's title resting proudly against his shoulder, when the Mexicans make their way back, looking about as happy as Miz feels. "Hola, Miz, Alex," Ricardo greets them with a relieved grin, barely seeming bothered by his ankle, which Colter had kicked in the middle of the match, inciting more rage from Del Rio and a little bit of revenge with the crutch.

As Alberto helps him hobble towards them, Mike glances at Alex, who nods upon guessing what his mentor wants to do. "Hey, Ricardo. Del Rio."

"Hola," Alberto murmurs distractedly, helping his friend sit on a nearby trunk so he can talk with Mike and Alex for a moment without tiring out his ankle any further.

"Congratulations on winning the title, Miz," Ricardo offers once he shifts so he can look at them easier. Alberto sits down next to him after finding a metal chair for him to prop his ankle on, and stares at them quietly. "Plenty to celebrate tonight, hm?"

"Yeah, there definitely is." He grins. "Speaking of that, if your ankle is up to it, what do you say the four of us go do just that?" It's funny, inviting Del Rio to come celebrate anything with him, considering their history, but their careers had been following the same path for awhile now, there's no point in denying it, and the worst thing that could happen would be their refusing the invitation, so why not.

Alberto glances at Ricardo, who is staring at him uncertainly, but the want in his eyes are obvious to them all and finally the Mexican aristocrat nods. "Fine, amigo. But if your ankle starts to hurt worse-"

"Low-key," Mike promises, knowing that they're all worn down from Axxess and all of the Wrestlemania activities the past few days, his exhaustion a nonstop buzz in the back of his mind even as he grips the title belt with awed pleasure. "How about going somewhere to eat, where we can sit and just relax for awhile? Sound alright?"

"Sounds fine," Alberto agrees after a moment, smiling down at his ring announcer who just looks pleased to be involved in this.

"By the way, congrats on retaining your belt. I enjoyed seeing Swagger get what was coming to him," Mike offers, his eyes resting on Ricardo's ankle for a moment as Alberto helps him slide back off of the trunk.

"Gracias. I enjoyed making him pay." There's a grim smirk on the older man's face that fades when Ricardo winces slightly with each step. Mike hands over his title belt to Alex and slips into place on Ricardo's other side, helping him balance easier on his walking boot. He wonders how many crutches will be destroyed or lost by the time the poor ring announcer's ankle is healed enough that he doesn't require them. "Come, amigo," Alberto urges him softly as he and Mike eases the ring announcer down the hall.

After a quick drive, they stop at the first restaurant that Alberto had suggested, a quiet place with simple ambiance, decorated well enough to appease Del Rio but with a varied menu that all four men approve of. They've just settled in at a wraparound booth, giving Ricardo space to stretch his bad ankle out on the plush cushion, when a waitress greets them, waiting patiently for their drink orders. After Alex asks for whatever's on tap, Alberto requests an imported beer that Mike had never heard of, motioning to Ricardo before he can speak up, ordering diet coke and vodka for him. When the ring announcer looks pleasantly surprised, Del Rio smirks, patting him on the shoulder. "We're celebrating, right, amigo? I want you to enjoy yourself." Mike guesses that this means he's now off of the antibiotics Del Rio had mentioned he'd been put on as a precaution due to his past difficulties, and perhaps off of the stronger pain killers as well.

"Si, I'm just surprised you remembered," he admits, staring at the menu intensely.

Mike notes the small look of discomfort on Alberto's face, remembering after a moment that, yeah, the two men had only truly become _friends_ a few months ago. They'd been so inseparable since that he'd almost forgotten it was a more recent occurrence, something that had happened so naturally that it'd seemed like something that had been going on for years. He's about to state his own drink order when Alex speaks up, the grin audible in his voice. "He'll have a chocolate milk shake. And some french fries."

She blinks but marks it down without a comment, nodding at each of them before leaving to give them time to sort out their actual food order. As soon as she's gone, Mike nudges Alex and shakes his head with a knowing laugh as Ricardo and Alberto stare at them curiously. "Geez, if Morrison was here, he'd complain so loudly-"

"What if it was Morrison's idea?" a new voice cuts into the conversation, Mike almost choking on his own saliva as he twists around in the booth to gape as his former tag partner lingers behind them. "Yeah, I texted Alex and told him what to order," he says, smirk growing across his face. "Hey, Alex. Ricardo." He raises an eyebrow at Del Rio. "'Berto."

The Mexican aristocrat rolls his eyes, remembering their former tension, but says nothing as Alex stands up to let the fifth man scoot into the booth next to Mike. He's come a long way since Morrison had last been with the company, but it's still a seemingly impossible road to repair everything with everyone, not that he wants to with some. Even so, Mike and Alex are the former superstar's friends and John and Ricardo had somehow gotten on alright at times, despite his and Alberto's problems and that time that he'd left his ring announcer with bloodied shins after one of those ridiculous parkour competitions, but it was all so long ago... He ultimately drops it, too pleased to have walked out of Wrestlemania champion to dwell for too long on those bad memories, choosing to enjoy this time with his best friend, and, yes, the others.

Unfortunately all good things must come to an end, and sometimes faster than anyone could ever expect. After the night before, with his friends, Mike is still flying high and maybe it causes him to be just a little too cocky. A bit too confident. When Barrett challenges him to his return match, Miz grants it and walks into the match expecting a repeat of the night before. But the longer it goes, the more in Wade's favor it falls until... the angered Brit sends him face first into the post. The rest of the match is a blur. Being helped to the back is all but nonexistent to him afterwards, a wavering vision of Alex's worried, disappointed face fresh in his mind as he breathes in and out, tries to not get sick right then and there.

Words like _concussion_ and _loss_ floats around above him and he barely understands any of it- yeah, he feels lost, sure, but an actual loss? He has no idea... He thinks he must drift off to sleep at some point because all of the confusing sounds and sights die away, leaving him in blissful darkness, until more footsteps and loud voices echo around him, dragging him back to the painful light. It takes a minute but he recognizes the thickly accented voice of Alberto Del Rio nearby and the softer spoken Ricardo, one in pain and the other sounding almost tearful. He forces his eyes open and looks around, despite how the room swims around him. Finally he spots Del Rio sprawled out on the cot opposing his own, knee and ankle free of his boot and all wrestling gear, an X-Ray machine set up to examine it like what had been used on HHH the day prior. Gingerly looking the other direction, he finds Ricardo leaning against the wall, watching on with tears silently dripping down his pale, shocked face. Alex is standing next to him, his face tense and drawn. "What happened?" he mumbles, surprising both men as they stare at him.

"Ziggler cashed in," A-Ri finally explains dully, the words crashing around Mike like hail in a thunderstorm. "He's champion."

Mike struggles to look back over at Del Rio, his headache growing with each movement, and finally their eyes lock. Both men had been briefcase carriers, years ago. Both had cashed in, had won the WWE title in that manner. He'd never gone through having the briefcase cashed in on himself, but he can imagine how Alberto must feel: they can't complain, either of them, of how Ziggler had accomplished his second World Title victory- both would've done the same thing, if given the chance, and had, but still... it sucks. Something hits him like a freight train suddenly and he realizes- his own belt is gone. Just a little over 24 hours, and... "No."

Alex realizes what he must've remembered and steps forward, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It's ok."

"No, no," he groans, slamming his fist against the cot in denial, pain somehow spreading from his skull down his arm at the movement. "My belt..."

"Hey, hey, shhhh. You're going to hurt yourself, man. Relax." Alex's hands press against his wrist, holding him in place. "Ssssshhhhhh." He stands there, trying to calm Mike down, as the former champion's trembles shake through his body. A-Ri wishes that Morrison could be here, in the arena, the older man always better at comforting Miz than he himself had ever been.

He watches quietly as Ricardo limps over to his employer, murmuring apologies to him for the loss, and his inability to help because of his ankle, and everything else, Alberto immediately denying his each and every claim of guilt and pain. "It's not your fault," he whispers. "It's just one of those things, mi amigo. We are far from done, si? Ziggler will get what he deserves for all of this," he promises, reaching up to wipe a fresh flood of tears off of the younger man's face. "Stop that now. It's all going to be fine. I swear to you."

"Si, El Patron," Ricardo sniffs through a nod, trying desperately to stop the wave of emotions to make his employer relax even a little.

Whereas the four men had been connected the night before by success and happiness, they now share disappointment and sudden loss.

Later that night, Mike is released into Alex's care and they return to the hotel, Mike's balance wavering and worrisome on the way to the car, it taking everything that A-Ri contains to keep him on his feet and not faceplant into the concrete. Alex has never been more relieved than when they arrive at the hotel and Morrison is in the parking lot, waiting for them. "John," he breathes out, feeling his knees nearly go weak for a second when he sees him. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Hey, me too. Hear our guy had a bad night, huh?" John asks, leaning down to look in at Mike as he slumps against the window.

"Yeah, that's one word for it. Concussion." Alex sighs heavily and gingerly opens the door, John scooping up his tag partner before he can slide clear out of the vehicle. "Come on, man. Let's get you to bed. You'll... you'll feel better in the morning. I hope." His voice cracks and for a moment, he understands how Ricardo had felt earlier, dealing with both his friend's loss and injury all at once. Mike says nothing, still lost in the disorienting world of the concussion and struggling to accept that he's no longer Intercontinental champion.

"You look worn out too, Alex. Go to bed, I'll watch him tonight. It'll be fine. I promise," John whispers once they reach the room after what felt like an unending elevator ride for all three men, and get Mike settled in.

Bed sounds so welcoming that Alex only nods blankly and sinks down into the second mattress, watching as Morrison adjusts the sheets around Mike, before sinking back into his own bedding. Sleep claims him immediately, but it's restless and he wakes up every little bit, sitting up to check on Miz every time. John's always there awake and watching as he'd promised, blinking at him in the slowly growing light while the sun rises, Alex realizing anew just how badly he misses the way things used to be when John was in the company and all three of them could regularly travel together.


	151. chapter 151

Still suffering the affects of his minor concussion following the loss of his horribly short Intercontinental title reign, Miz is granted the night off Wednesday, WWE opting to err on the side of caution instead of making him travel and commentate Main Event. This news coming early Tuesday morning, Morrison takes over and gets him on the first flight back to LA, the two men wishing quick farewells to Alex as he waits for his own flight to head back to Florida to recuperate before the grind begins anew. "I'll see you soon," he promises Mike, hugging him quickly. "You too, John," he adds in an undertone, clapping the former WWE Superstar on the back before hugging him too. "Take good care of him, ok?"

"I will. Don't worry about him," John nods, glancing over his shoulder at the listless Mike. "I'll make sure he's ok."

It sucks leaving Alex behind, and although the former NXT rookie had been tempted to go with his two friends, he'd had a few things to handle in Florida, so the three of them have no true choice as Morrison rests a steadying hand between Miz's shoulderblades, easing him through the airport towards their flight. He'd been very quiet since waking up, and the two men are worried about him, but they know pushing gets them nowhere. So John waits and watches, determined to be there for whenever Mike _does_ want to talk.

Thankfully John is extremely patient, losing himself in meditation throughout the flight, during which Miz spends either deep asleep or staring blankly ahead. When a flight attendent passes by and asks if they want a drink or anything else, Mike shakes his head, the first bit of response he'd shown anyone in awhile. When she looks hesitantly at Morrison, visibly worried, he just shrugs at her and rests a hand on Mike's shoulder. "We're fine, thank you." Once she leaves, he leans closer to Mike and tries to catch his eye. "Hey..."

"What?" he asks dully, his voice quiet and so unlike Mike that it only reinforces John's worry.

He rubs his shoulder briskly and finally gives him a little shake, mindful of his concussion. "Listen, I know it sucks- I've been there, you're on top of the world and then it just comes crashing down around you when you least expect it. But Mike, this isn't good. You're worrying Alex, hell you're worrying _me._ I'm not going to force you to talk until you're ready but I just want you to know whenever you _do_ feel like it, I'm here to listen. I'll always be here, you know that." Mike's silence is expected. The bitter tears that well up in his eyes, however, are not. John sighs and keeps his hand steady on his best friend's shoulder throughout the rest of the flight, relieved to see California out of the airplane window within the hour. "We're home."

Mike sniffs and swallows, refusing to look out at the tarmac that will precede them venturing out into the bright blue sky, getting sand in their shoes almost from minute one. John's face tightens all the more as he shakes his head and follows his friend out of the airplane, both men silent and solemn as they collect their bags and move for the exit. Mike says nothing the whole way to John's apartment, not even reacting when they drive past the turnoff that would take them to his house. John sighs quietly and stops outside of his building, turning in the driver's seat to look at him. "We're here."

Mike pushes the door open with tight, jerky movements and steps outside, standing by the trunk and waiting for Morrison to open it so he can get his things. Once done, he trudges inside, his former tag partner trailing behind him and relieved to see his balance at least is better compared to last night or even earlier as they walk up the stairs to his floor. "Go to the guest room," he says quietly as soon as he's unlocked his door. "Relax. I have a couple of things to check on, then we can decide what we want to do the rest of the day."

He doubts that Miz will be up for much more than sleep, his eyes still dull and listless as he brushes past him and obligingly heads for the room that John had set up for whenever he and/or Alex had time to waste in California, which didn't happen often enough in any of their opinions. Tapping his fingers against the mail that'd come in since he'd been gone doing those indy events, and checking what he's got in his fridge that hasn't mutated in his absense, he sighs and closes the door before venturing down the hallway to look in on Mike. The silence is unnerving him, his former partner never having issue in the past with entering a space, claiming it as his own, and immediately filling it with his voice or music or _something._ But when John looks in on him he's laying quietly across the bed, staring at the ceiling, and it hurts to watch him so silent, so still.

He knows the other man's been through a lot the past few months, between the whole messy drama with AJ and bad luck in his career, and he wishes he could've been a more constant presence. But considering he's not even in the company anymore, and how their lives had gone in separate paths since November 2011... He sighs and pushes the door open, trying to smile at Mike as he looks up grimly. "How are you feeling?" A shrug is his response and he enters the room fully, dropping down on the bed next to Miz on his stomach so he can face him. Despite knowing Mike better than most, he feels utterly lost here, not sure what to do for him, how to get him to open up. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" he asks after a few minutes, causing John to jerk in surprise. "None of this was your fault. I'm a failure, is all." Before Morrison can even attempt to argue against this, Mike continues speaking, his voice wavering and sounding like it probably would've if he had spoke on the flight, bitter and emotional. "Fixing things with AJ, helping you or Alex out, succeeding at winning _and_ retaining the Intercontinental title. I'm just... worthless all around." He scrubs angrily at his face and releases a shuddering breath as John stares up at him, horrified and in shock at his hate-filled words. "Hell, I'm even a bad friend to Ricardo, I should've insisted he stay with me and Alex or- or something last week, then maybe that whole crutch thing wouldn't have happened, and..."

Having heard more than enough, John lunges forward and grips his arms, staring deep into his tear-filled eyes. " _Stop_ it, Mike. Right now. God, man. What the hell? You're not worthless, far from it. The fact alone that you feel so strongly about all of this stuff _proves_ how hard you try. You're _always_ determined to make things better for others, for yourself. Sometimes things just don't work out the way we want. It doesn't mean it's pointless or you should give up. Mike, the reason that you feel so badly when things go wrong for _us_ is why Alex, Ricardo and I hang around in the first place. You care about all of us, sometimes maybe too much and maybe to your own detriment."

"I didn't care when I turned my back on you after the draft," he refutes immediately. "I didn't care when I started charming AJ just to get you your job back. I didn't care when I threw Ricardo off of that ladder into the table below. I didn't care when I bet Alex's job and got him fired. I've done so much _crap_ over the years, I don't know how any of you can stand to even look at me." He angrily rolls away and buries his face in the pillows, shoulders shaking.

John stares at the back of his head and scoots closer, a hand resting on his shoulder once more like he'd done during the tailend of the flight. "Man, all of that is water under the bridge. You know I forgave you about what you did after the draft a _long_ time ago. I doubt Alex even remembers that that happened; you worked hard to get him his job back after that and he hasn't mentioned it since. And I can't speak for him, but I watched Ricardo on Sunday night. He holds no illwill against you for what you've done in the past either. AJ might take time to come around but what you've done to her is a whole hell of a lot more recent than anything you've done to Ricardo, Alex or I." His voice softens as he squeezes the still trembling muscles under his fingers. "You need to let this go, man. All of it, the guilt, the pain... We're all here for you, whenever you need us, and we always will be."

Mike lays there for a moment longer before twisting back around and gripping John tightly, now burying his face in his shoulder as more tears pour down his face. "I'm sorry. I'm just so damn sorry," he whispers, voice choked with emotions.

John holds him, shaking his head slowly. "Nothing to apologize for, Mike," he breathes, determined not to overreact and freak out. It's a number of things, he's sure- the concussion, the title loss, everything that's been going on in the road to Wrestlemania, and he thinks he's probably needed this for awhile now. "Just let go of it. It's ok. You're gonna be ok. Everything's going to be fine." It becomes his mantra, his fingers buried in Mike's hair as he waits it out, clinging to him as tightly as he dares.

Eventually the tears slow, stop, but Mike's worn out emotionally and physically so John says nothing as he slumps back against his pillows, face still wet and eyes red. He falls asleep quickly but Morrison remains on the bed next to him, listening to his breathing and thinking about everything that'd been said the last hour. He's glad that he'd stayed around 4 PM when Mike's cell phone goes off, John quickly scooping it up and taking it out into the hallway, answering without looking. He expects it to be Alex but the voice that he hears isn't the younger man, a surprised look crossing his face before he glances into the bedroom. "Huh," he mumbles once he hangs up.

Mike wakes up with a twitch, his eyes feeling gritty and glued together. As he scrubs at them, he feels tear tracks on his cheeks and swallows as the memories come back to him, completely breaking down on John and admitting what he'd been dwelling on since his Intercontinental title loss. He thinks he should feel embarrassed, or dread seeing what John will have to say from here, but Morrison had been so understanding and it's not like him to use these kinds of things against him anyway so he relaxes and merely enjoys being in an actual bed for the first time in he's not sure how long, used to rough and stiff hotel mattresses. John's is plush and comfortable and he almost can't stand just how good it feels to just lay, cocooned in the soft fabric of his sheets.

When the door creaks open he doesn't move, too relaxed to even open his eyes as his friend pads quietly over to him, resting something on the table next to the bed. He smells something sweet and familiar, almost tempted to open his eyes, but then John sits down on the bed facing him and brushes a damp cloth over his eyes, effectively waking him up fully and cleaning away the last bits of proof of his break down. "Mike," he whispers, smiling faintly as he blinks up at him. "I brought you some food. Up to eating?"

Now understanding what exactly he's smelling, he nods faintly and turns his head to look at the tray with two plates on it, lips twitching into the first smile he's had since the day before when he'd woke up, dizzy and a loser. "You brought me breakfast in bed," he teases vaguely as he realizes that it's french toast smothered in fresh fruit, potato wedges filling the rest of the plate. Unsurprised when John passes over coconut water to go with it, he sits up and stares down at it. "Thanks. John... about earlier-"

"No. C'mon Mike. Don't worry about it, we all have those moments, right? Just eat. We're fine." He squeezes his arm and smiles. "Are you feeling better at least? How's your headache?"

He hesitates, forkful of potatoes held in midair as he considers the question. He _does_ feel better, and he says so, a small smile forming across his lips again. "Thanks, John." It's almost 6 PM and he feels almost like a little kid again as he eats breakfast for supper, enjoying John's silent company while they sit side by side and work through the delicious food. As soon as he's done, John takes his plate, disappearing into the kitchen as faint sounds of his cleaning up echo through the hall back to the guest room, Mike finally pulling himself out of the ridiculously comfortable bed to look out at the bright sunshine still pouring down onto the beach just visible from the windows on this side of the apartment.

"Wanna go out and get some sun?" John asks a few minutes later, Mike turning to find his friend leaning against the doorway, smiling faintly. "I hafta tell you something anyway."

He feels _much_ better than he had even three hours earlier, his mind clearer and headache all but nonexistant, more than he'd thought was possible when he woke up to find his world turned on its axis only twenty hours earlier, and nods, wondering what exactly his best friend could have to say that has him looking solemn, almost hesitant, but he doesn't push the matter until they're both settled on the warm sand, sun pouring down on their bare shoulders and warming them both inside and out. "What is it?"

John reaches into the pocket of his shorts and hands over Mike's cell phone, the Awesome One blinking in surprise. He'd not even noticed it was missing until this moment. "WWE films called. Christmas Bounty production starts on Thursday. Mike, you have to leave for Canada tomorrow."

Mike stares at him, eyes dark and thoughtful. "Oh. I see." He thumbs through his phone, staring at the few tweet alerts he'd received in the last three hours. "Ok..." It's sudden. It's not how he'd expected this week to go. But it also means time away. Away from his failures, away from having to see AJ on new World Heavyweight champion Dolph Ziggler's arm, away from his guilt. Whereas the time before, leaving to film Marine 3, when he'd been so angry at the state that his career's in, now he thinks it might be a good thing.

John must realize it too because he runs his hand through Mike's hair, smiling slightly when his friend looks up at him. "It'll be a nice break for you, huh? Give you time to think, decide what you want to do from here."

"Yeah." He stares at his phone, still floored by everything, and releases a tight breath. "I need to call Alex." As John lays down, staring up at the sky, he hits speed dial 3 and stares out at the waves brushing against the golden sand, waiting for the one part of this he's dreading- an abrupt goodbye to Alex, who'd just come back from injury not that long ago, who was still trying to find his place in the business following that-

"Hello?"

He swallows. "Hey, kid."

"Mike! How are you?" Alex sounds quiet, worried, and Mike feels so bad for doing this to him, on top of everything else.

"I'm ok. Um, well... better. I guess. You know." He takes a breath, trying to figure out how to word what he needs to say. "Kid, do you remember when I told you I was cast into that movie, Christmas Bounty?" Upon Alex's confirmation, he smiles wanly and takes a breath. "They called a little bit ago. Production starts on Thursday. I, I leave for Canada tomorrow." He waits for Alex to say something, but when it doesn't come he sighs. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, I- I mean, this is just sudden," Alex says, subdued.

"It is," Mike agrees, his lips twitching. "I don't know how long I'll be gone, but I guess... we're going to be keeping Skype's usage up for awhile again." He glances over at John, reflecting on how when he'd been isolated in Canada, dwelling on how south things had gone for him, talking to Alex and John and having three-way Skype sessions with them had been the best part of his time up there sometimes, the only thing to keep his mind off of what Laurinaitis had done. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure, what?" Alex asks immediately.

"Two favors, actually. The next time you see Ricardo, give him my cell phone number, alright? I won't be much help up in Canada, but just in case he wants to talk or something. I know he has Del Rio but the more friends the better, especially in this business, right?" He's babbling, feeling oddly uncomfortable with all of this, but Alex agrees smoothly and waits for the second favor. "Just... keep an eye out for him. I won't be there for awhile, and with both him and Del Rio injured right now... he needs all the help he can get. Alright?"

"Sure, Mike, I- I can do that." He hesitates a moment and then breathes, "I'm gonna miss you."

Mike feels like he's been slapped, his guilt growing once more as he realizes he's been babbling on about Ricardo and everything else, trying to get all that he's leaving behind so abruptly handled at once without considering how Alex is probably feeling, shaking his head at his own stupidity. "I'm gonna miss you too, Alex. Anytime you want to talk, just call or check Skype, alright? No matter what time, I'll answer."

He sounds moderately better when he speaks up again. "Thanks, Mike. Look, I know you probably have a million things to do to get ready, so I'll let you go, alright? We'll talk soon. And hey, break a leg up there."

Mike laughs. "Thanks. And we definitely will talk soon. Bye, Alex." As he hangs up the phone, he flops down next to John and groans, still feeling horrible about leaving Alex, Ricardo _and_ John all behind so abruptly... and he hadn't even had the time to consider actually being completely away from AJ for the next few weeks, or more. "This sucks..."

John says nothing, just reaches over and squeezes his arm in support, somehow that alone enough to help Mike relax a little under the bright California sun.

That Monday, Alex wanders around the Raw arena, shaking his head. They'd be heading out to the European tour shortly, after Main Event and Smackdown, but despite all of the bustle and frantic looking people racing past him, the building seems quiet. Dull. It always does whenever he's here alone, Mike not nearby, filling the halls with his loud voice and exciteable antics. He sighs and looks up as the show starts, the crowd buzzing as Orton and Sheamus vs Big Show begins. Disinterested, he heads back to the locker rooms, coming to a stop upon finding Ricardo Rodriguez balancing precariously on his crutches as he looks at his phone. "Hey man," he greets him.

"Oh, hola, Alex." He looks up, then around, as if looking for something, Alex knowing immediately what has his attention.

"Mike's off in Canada filming Christian Bounty," he says slowly as Ricardo blinks in surprise. "It was abrupt. He just received the call last week. He doesn't know how long he's going to be gone." He stares down at the ring announcer's phone and smiles halfheartedly. "But he wants me to give you his phone number if you ever want to talk to him. He knows you're going through a lot and he doesn't want to leave you high and dry like this." Stepping closer, he pulls out his own phone and lets the younger man enter the information into his own contact's list.

"Gracias, Alex," he says quietly, saving it carefully. He looks up at the taller man and frowns, uncertainty flashing in his dark eyes. "Um, I'm heading to catering to get some food for El Patron once he finishes getting his knee examined and wrapped for tonight. Do you... do you want to join me?"

Every time they'd hung out had been because of Mike, Alex reflects, but the ring announcer had slowly grown on him, his quiet mannerisms and sheepish determination to be there for Del Rio no matter what leaving it hard to hate the man. "Sure," he finally agrees. _After all, as Mike had said, more friends in this business isn't a bad thing._ He follows slowly as Ricardo moves down the hall on his crutches, steadily growing more confident balancing on his bad ankle. It's good to see that he's recovering, the last few weeks being horrible for him and his employer.

Unfortunately the same can't be said for Del Rio, his steps little better than a hobble as he grips onto Ricardo to support his own balance when he goes out to address Ziggler later on. Alex watches with a grimace from gorilla as he challenges the Show Off to his rematch, hungry to get his title back. But it all goes wrong when Swagger interrupts, Colter babbling on about his agenda, and, with some distraction from Big E, eventually attacks Del Rio, putting more damage on his already weakened knee as Colter keeps Ricardo back. Ziggler and the others remain in the ring, just watching, and Alex gnaws at his bottom lip as Ricardo finally gets to join his employer, Alberto struggling and yelling as he grips his knee, ignoring the trainer and referees trying to examine it. Finally he grabs Ricardo's hand and allows them to do their jobs, the pain visible on his face as the screen fades to commercials.

Alex hangs around as the trainer examines his leg, Del Rio still determined to get out there and compete to win back his title. He knows it's impossible before the trainer even explains to him that he won't be cleared tonight, Ricardo's eyes dulling as he presses a hand to his employer's shoulder. Alberto grunts and shakes his head, lips held in a thin line. When the trainer leaves to check on other competitors, they watch as Teddy Long grants a chance at a title opportunity to Swagger, if he should beat Ziggler tonight. Alberto is incensed but tugs on Ricardo's arm, his eyes set on the screen with determination. "Help me up, amigo. I want to be there when this ends."

Ricardo doesn't question him, just walking awkwardly over to the side of the cot and easing his legs to hang off of the edge, before gripping him under the arm as if they've done this a million times in the past. Alex thinks they very well might've, pushing away from the wall to join them. This seems to be the first time that Del Rio has noticed he's still there, suspicious eyes locking on him as he approaches, watching the ring announcer help him to his feet. "Here, I can-" he's just started to offer when Alberto shakes his head briskly, pride still fueling him despite everything he'd gone through.

"No," he says simply, holding onto Ricardo. "We don't need your assistance."

The ring announcer nods, willing to go along with whatever his employer decides, even at his own detriment as he braces himself on one side with a crutch and clings to the Mexican aristocrat with the other. "We'll be fine, Alex. Gracias."

Alex knows pride, he knows stubbornness, and he knows that pushing matters will only make things worse. So he steps back and holds his hands up in concession. "Look, just let me follow you, alright? That way I'll be nearby if something _does_ go wrong." Del Rio looks like he's about to argue further, but Riley speaks over him. "Your knee's busted, Ricardo's ankle is still healing, I just want to be nearby to help if you guys need it. You don't want to injure him further, right?" he asks pointedly, knowing immediately when it clicks with the older man, his grip on his best friend tightening a little.

"Fine," he mumbles, barely looking at him as they make their way to the gorilla. The match is ongoing, Del Rio scowling as he watches it intensely, still held upright by Ricardo's steadying grip on him. Finally it ends, Swagger defeating Ziggler, and the Mexican's unhappiness grows. "Come," he tells his ring announcer, slipping through the curtain and attacking the "True" American, leveling him and locking in the armbar against the edge of the ramp as Ricardo holds off Colter with his crutch, until referees force them to separate.

Del Rio's night only continues to get better as Booker T revises Teddy Long's decision, making the title match a triple threat since he finds- as most sane people would, really- that Alberto is still deserving of his title rematch. Ricardo grins as the former World Champion laughs aloud, his eyes gleaming once more. "Si, si, how it should be," he says, clapping the ring announcer on the shoulder.

Alex smiles faintly, betting that Mike would be glad as well to hear that perhaps at least this has a chance of being redeemed... although he also hopes that his friend hadn't been watching tonight, as the commentators couldn't be bothered to mention his name once, even during Barrett's match. It's like he'd been erased from the company and it makes the former NXT protege uneasy.


	152. chapter 152

Alex wakes up to his phone chirping, thinking for a wild moment that it's his alarm clock, but after he hits the keypad, shutting it up, he flops back down against the bed... just to realize that it's still dark outside, the horizon only just turning a dull grey as the sun lazily rises. Knowing then that it's not his alarm, he fumbles for and finds his phone, squinting tiredly at the alert icons- the only one that's there being the _new email_ notice. He groans and accesses it, logging into his account after fumbling his password a couple of times. All exhaustion fades from his mind as he realizes who the email is from- _WWE._

He reads it once, twice... a third time, before it registers with him. "I have a match," he mumbles in shocked realization. "I... I have a match!" But his excitement is dulled abruptly as he rereads it again, realizing just what it all means- a Battle Royal for a chance at a match for the Intercontinental title, which means... little more than a week after Miz lost that belt, he could be competing for it. He stares at the small device in his hands and groans, eyes slipping shut. "Mike..."

He wonders how badly his friend's reaction will be, if he'll be mad or just slip further into the depressed state that Alex had last seen him in before Morrison had taken him off to California, a short stop until he continued onto Canada for Christmas Bounty. He only hopes that Mike repays his loyalty in kind- Alex had never complained when this, or that, or the other had taken his friend away for weeks or months at a time, all he can hope is that Mike will reciprocate in kind about this long shot chance at being #1 contender.

Alex stares at the clock blankly for a few moments before closing his eyes. Never one to shy away from difficult situations, he grabs his phone and hits #2, listening to it ring over and over. He's almost secondguessed his decision to call _now_ , when Mike might either be trying to sleep _or_ already on the set, filming a scene, when it connects. "Hello?"

He chokes and closes his eyes, trying not to sound as worried as he feels. "Oh. Hey, Mike."

"How's it going?" He _sounds_ normal but Alex is a horrible judge of these things, especially over the phone, hesitating long enough that finally Mike speaks again. "Alex? You there?"

"Oh. Um. Yeah, yeah, I'm here." He takes a breath. "Um. I guess- I just wanted to let you know before you found out some other way..."

"Are you alright?" Mike asks, going from impatient to worried as the extended, tense silences continue from his former protege. "Alex, if something's wrong-"

"No, I- I mean, it's just... I have a match on Main Event tomorrow, Mike." He can tell, even through the phone, by the confused silence that follows this that his friend doesn't understand his conflict- doesn't get why... "It's for contendership to the Intercontinental title, Mike."

"Oh." Another silence, this time from Miz's end, and Alex waits it out, uncertain what to say or if he can say anything to make this better. "Good luck, Alex." It's quiet, dull, and it hurts the younger man to hear it, but before he can say anything else, Mike clears his throat. "Look, um I have to go prepare for the day's taping. We'll talk soon, alright? Bye."

Before Alex can say or do anything, the phone clicks in his ear as Mike disconnects the call and he gapes at the cell phone in discomfort. "Dammit. I'm sorry, Mike," he mumbles, feeling badly despite it not being his fault- he has no say in what the general managers dictate for these matches, after all. He considers bringing John into it but ultimately drops it, knowing that pushing Mike, especially when he's so busy with Christmas Bounty, would more than likely backfire. All he can hope is that the former champion would be able to take this time and sort through his thoughts and disappointment, end up on more solid ground upon returning to WWE.

By Wednesday night, he's as ready as he can be, his ring gear on and mind clear of all grim thoughts: although they hadn't been friends for long before his firing, John's meditation habits had stuck with Alex better than they'd ever had with Mike, helping him through the months he'd not been used following his surgeries, and so as he enters the ring and waits for the others to follow, he breathes in and out and takes in the crowd, focusing on anything but the phone call he'd had with Mike.

And although he doesn't win the battle royal, he lasts almost half of the match- a decent enough showing considering it'd been so very long since he'd last been on TV for actual competition. Although any loss is hard to stomach, he can't deny he feels... relieved. He won't be competing against Barrett for the Intercontinental title; he won't be adding to Mike's depression any further than he already had. It's with a steady hand that he texts Mike later that night. _I lost the battle royal._

His response is as simple. _I'm sorry._

_It's fine._ He hesitates over the buttons on his phone and sighs. _Are we?_

_Yes, Alex. I just need time. It's been a weird few weeks._

He releases a soft breath, his eyes shining sadly. _I know. Take all the time you need, Mike. I'm here whenever you need me..._

_I know. Thanks._

Tension he hadn't even been aware of now drained from his shoulders, he settles in for bed that night, things much clearer for him. He falls asleep easily.

That Friday Alex is watching with a small smile as Del Rio walks out of his Smackdown match against Swagger the victor, despite taking more damage to his knee, Ricardo supporting him up the ramp with help from his crutches. It's difficult to watch the Mexicans forced to limp around, both working through their individual leg injuries, but it's somehow reassuring too that they could continue to work towards regaining what was lost to them over the past few weeks, refusing to be held back by all of the pain they must endure. When WWE uploads the video to the match, he DMs the link to Mike on Twitter, aware that he'll probably see it in the morning, since it's fairly late at this moment. _This might cheer you up a little._

Mike wakes up the next morning, annoyed that he'd woke up so early despite not having to. Filming's a half-day, starting at 10, but his body is still on the media schedule, waking him up just before 7 AM every morning that he'd not needed to. Grunting unhappily, he fumbles for his phone and idly scrolls through tweets and emails, stopping on Alex's DM alert. He can't tell what the link is to, thanks to Twitter shortening them all, but he clicks it anyway, knowing that Alex just means well. He watches the match quietly, sighing when Del Rio wins at the end, clinging to Ricardo as he struggles to his feet with the younger man's support. He gets what Alex's point is without it being said: Alberto had also lost his title the night following Wrestlemania, but instead of letting it and his injury hold him down, he'd gotten right back up and fought, continues to fight for what he wants most: his title back.

Miz closes his eyes and considers it. He can't do a lot for his title aspirations here in Canada, and won't be able to while the movie is filming, but it won't last forever. He'll be back in the WWE before long, and he can't be in this mindset by then. He knows this, people on the movie set already whispering when they think he's not listening or watching about how he's not what they'd expected, his attitude when not filming subdued and uncharacteristically quiet. Anger had fueled him during the filming of Marine 3, due to everything Laurinaitis had put him through, but now he finds he's just tired, even after the past few days of more regular sleep.

He glances around the quiet hotel room and sighs, forcing himself out of the bed. He knows he can't keep on like this, especially with how visibly worried Alex is. "First things first," he mumbles, changing into some street clothes. Once he toes into some shoes and collects his keys and wallet, he makes his way out of the room and does what he used to do when faced with free time while filming Marine 3: he walks, takes in the familiar sights from his last time in Vancouver. The city looks the same, yet so different, and he shakes his head, reflecting that it'd only been nine months since he'd last seen it, aware of how quickly things move in cities like this. Resting a hand on a nearby brick wall dividing a shopping complex from the sidewalk he's currently on, he smiles. "It's ok, I've changed a lot too."

He's still not sure if these changes are necessarily good, or bad, but adds it to the list of things to consider while in this city. Taking one step and another, he slowly continues his walk. He has to be at the set in a few hours, and he doesn't want to delay the day's filming. Despite everything, he hadn't forgotten about Morrison's match that will be streamed online later tonight. The last thing he wants is to mess up and miss that as well, pleased to find that his friend is competing more regularly. Even if it's not where he belongs, in the WWE.

He sighs. _Another of my failed attempts..._ Closing his eyes, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and crosses the street, turning back towards his hotel room to prepare for the day ahead.

That night, he races back once more to his hotel room, a grocery bag crinkling in his hand as he tries to make it back in time for the iPPV's start. With his schedule, he doesn't get much of a chance to check out wrestling outside of the WWE, the indy he and Alex had checked out during Wrestlemania week and now this being something utterly rare for him, and both had been for Morrison. He laughs slightly at the thought as he walks quickly through the hotel lobby, only stopping long enough at the front desk to leave an order for room service. His appetite hadn't been great the past few days but between skipping breakfast to take that walk and food at the set leaving much to be desired, he realizes he's starving, probably helped by the fact that he's actually excited to see John's match tonight, taking his mind off of his own problems for a few hours.

Once he's in his room, he pulls out bags of popcorn and a bottle of diet cola, setting up his laptop to wait until the show starts in five minutes. Room service arrives at the tail end of the first match, which just happens to involve CM Punk's best friend, Colt Cabana, a sneer spreading across Mike's face as he remembers when the man went briefly as Scotty Goldman, even appeared on the Dirt Sheet. Tipping the man who is waiting at the door with his burger and fries, Mike mumbles a quick thank you before returning to the computer, biting into his burger and sighing. He picks at the fries for a few moments, trying not to think about the post-Wrestlemania celebration he'd had with Alex, John, Del Rio and Ricardo, but finally gets distracted by the iPPV, laughing at another familiar name- Colin Delaney- coming out to, of all things, Ke$ha.

He half-watches for the next two hours, working through what's left of his burger and fries before digging into the popcorn, his body sinking into the mattress as he relaxes fully for the first time in what feels like forever. He'd competed briefly in places like this, where the lights flickered and the ring was as unforgiving as the floors, if not more, before entering in Tough Enough. He pays attention fully when John's opponent, Kevin Steen, storms the ring during one of the matches and attacks Spike Dudley. He's a big guy, physically imposing in a way, but worse than that, he seems brutal and the take-no-prisoners type and for the first time in a long time, Mike finds himself worrying about his former tag partner's physical well-being. Add that to the fact that the man had just lost his 2CW heavyweight championship the night before, apparently, and Mike's uncertainty grows. He doesn't seem the type to take such a loss in stride or get depressed over it...

He digs around in the bag of popcorn, hands shaking a little as he chews on the kernels. The last thing he needs is to see Morrison get injured again, after everything, but he'd promised to watch and so he forces himself to stay, keep his eye on the laptop as more matches go by. He knows when the heavyweight title match- for the belt that Steen had lost just twenty-four hours ago- starts that John's match will be next and his anxiety grows as the two men that he'd never really heard of before go back and forth, ladders and barbed wire, piledrivers skull-first into thumb tacks, and he grows ill as he wonders how either Kevin or John will try to outdo the madness going on in the ring that reminds him so much of ECW, if it's even possible for the two men to do so.

But when it finally starts, their match seems straight forward enough- even when the action spills out to the floor, the two men keep weapons out of it mostly, and John is holding his own against the much larger man... just to get caught up in a piledriver off of the top rope that leaves him gripping his neck and Mike loses track of the match for a few moments, reminded uncomfortably of when John was fresh off of his surgery, his neck and shoulder still a mess up until his release because he'd returned too soon. But his friend gets back into it and he regains the upperhand, hitting a second Starship Pain and pinning Steen, Mike releasing a faint breath as relief floods him, relaxes him. Steen doesn't stick around after that, rolling out of the ring and leaving up the stairs to give Morrison a few minutes on the mic before the show ends.

Mike listens to John's show of respect towards the company, towards his opponent, and the crowd, smiling slightly. Despite everything, John's love for wrestling seems intact, based on what he's seen the past few weeks- John's match against Elijah Burke and Jushin Liger, and now tonight's match. It's a relief, giving him hope that maybe, maybe someday... those disinterested in having him back in WWE would change their minds and he'd have his best friend back by his side. Blinking back to awareness of the reality, he realizes that it's getting late and he needs to be up early, filming schedules returning to the normal obnoxious morning hours, so when he calls John, he's glad to get the man's voicemail. "Hey, John, I have to get some sleep before filming tomorrow morning, but just wanted to say I watched your match. Congrats on the win. We'll talk soon."

Upon hanging up, he pushes the half-empty popcorn bag over to rest on the other side of the bed, rolls over and clicks the lamp off before sinking underneath his blankets, yawning. He knows he'll have to call Alex back at some point, having yet to respond to the DM he'd sent on Friday night, but for now, he's too tired to even consider it. His sleep for once is nightmare free, and when he wakes up the next morning, hugging the popcorn bag, its contents spilled all over the mattress and stuck to his face and hair, all he can do is laugh in exasperation at himself before going to get ready for the day.


	153. chapter 153

After a few long days of filming, Mike finally comes up for air on Sunday evening and takes a breath, finally checking his phone for something other than alerts from the studio. He's scrolling through tweet alerts when he realizes with a pang- it's Alex's birthday, and he'd been so wrapped up in learning lines, stunts and various other things that he barely glanced at a calendar, much less registered the date. "Dammit," he hisses, just pressing speed dial 2 when he notes a text from an unknown number. Curious, he returns to his texts and stares at the screen for a moment before smirking. "Well, then."

Putting the phone down, he finds his laptop bag and sets up the machine Morrison and Alex had given him for _his_ birthday and sets it up, directing it to Skype and sitting back to wait for it to load. When an invite screen pops up, he hits the enter key and watches with an inane smirk as the screen lights up. He tilts his head, finding Ricardo Rodriguez staring back at him, an uncertain look on his face, obviously unaccustomed to the chat program as he gapes at the monitor. "Hey, man. That phone number yours?"

The ring announcer grins sheepishly as he registers that it'd worked, the background moving in a jerky fashion while he walks with the laptop in hand down a hallway, the general buzz of the building leaving Miz wistful. "Ah, si, si, it was. I realized after I sent it that I forgot to say so. Lo siento."

"No problem. So what's going on? Everything alright?"

Ricardo grins. "Si, Miz, everything's good. I just- I had an idea and decided to put something together- it's Alex's birthday, you know?"

"Yeah, a lot was going on... I was just about to call him when I noticed your text," Mike admits, shifting in front of his laptop. Before anything else can be said, there's a soft pinging sound as their Skype screen splits, Morrison appearing on the other side. "John?"

"Mike?"

Both blink before, "Ricardo?"

He grins, eyes gleaming in the harsh light overhead. "Hola. As I was saying, it's Alex's birthday, so... I thought I'd spare you both some international charges." Mike and John both growing curious as Ricardo pushes a door open and enters a room, settling the laptop down on a bench nearby, their suspicions are confirmed when he turns it around and there's Alex, tearing tape off of his wrists and not noticing the screen at first. "Eh, Alex?"

"Yeah-" He looks up, eyes widening when he notices his friends. "Hey!" He leans closer, grinning, and adjusts the screen so he can see them better. "You set this up, Ricardo?"

Mike grins as the younger man confirms. "Happy birthday, kid." While John echoes the sentiment, Alex looks like he can't get any happier, considering he'd looked kind of low just a moment earlier, but somehow manages it anyway when Ricardo ventures to the door, peering out into the hallway and murmuring something in Spanish. A moment later, Del Rio of all people comes in, looking somewhat uncomfortable as he hands over a plate of German chocolate cupcakes to Ricardo, who smiles in thanks to his friend and rejoins Alex.

Mike and John watch from California and Vancouver respectfully as Ricardo takes over their usual roles in the festivities, some of their guilt being alleviated at Alex having to be alone on his birthday when a candle is pushed into one of the cupcakes and lit with a lighter, Del Rio still lurking around in the background as the former NXT rookie stares at the cupcake, deep in thought for a moment, before blowing the candle out. Once done, he looks from the laptop screen to Ricardo and Alberto, his eyes shining. "Thanks, guys."

Leaving Alex to talk with Mike and John, Ricardo collects a couple of the cupcakes and joins his employer, handing over one of the sweets. "Gracias for helping me with this, El Patron," he murmurs, reflecting briefly on how, barely six months ago, Alberto would've _never_ taken the time out of his schedule to do anything for anyone else, birthday or not.

He grins, unwrapping the cupcake after nudging his friend. "De nada, mi amigo."

After an exhausting flight, they're all back in America, relieved to see Ohio, and Alex smiles wanly as he ponders being in Mike's homestate alone. It must show on his face because...

"So the mystery of Mike's abrupt disappearance makes sense now," a somewhat familiar, female voice breaks into his thoughts. "Off filming another movie, is he?"

He sighs, turning slowly to face the off-balanced girl. "AJ."

Her head is tilted as she examines him, her confidence clearly on an upswing since Ziggler had cashed in on Del Rio and she'd won #1 contendership for the Diva's title. "Any idea how long he'll be gone?" She smirks. "The shows are so much more enjoyable without him around..."

"No clue," he says dully, trying to walk past her. He's barely made it a few steps when her hand snakes out and wraps around his bicep, holding him in place. He looks over and down, their eyes locking as she peers up at him, a dangerous look on her face. "Let me go, AJ. I'm not Mike, I won't be swayed by your act..."

"Oh really?" she asks in a fakely sweet tone of voice. Her lips stretch into a toothy smile as she sighs. "Poor, poor Mike. When he returns from _this_ movie, there won't be anyone for him to use for his own agenda. I hope he'll be watching Raw tonight, either way." Tsking, she releases him and starts to skip away, the smirk on her face growing as if she has not a care in the world.

He grimaces and turns away, trudging back to the locker room to wait for Raw to begin. Not for the first time, he's relieved for Mike that he has this time to himself, however much Alex may miss him. Any time away from AJ, especially after how low he was upon losing the Intercontinental title so abruptly, is a good thing, especially right now, with the girl now focusing her bitterness in cruel ways after seeming to be fine with just ignoring all of them the past few weeks. He sighs and presses his fingers in his eyes, unwittingly echoing her pondering about just how long Mike _would_ be gone...

In Canada, it's a pleased Mike returning to his hotel room after a ridiculous day spent on the track, practicing stunt driving on his day off. He thinks perhaps if he'd known with a little more advanced notice that he would've returned to America, gone to Ohio and been present for this week's Raw, maybe confront Barrett, but he'd not had the time, only told they wouldn't be filming the day before. _Maybe next week, I can make something work,_ he considers, staring at his remote as he walks into his hotel room. He hadn't been able to stomach a lot of WWE since leaving the states so abruptly, but decides perhaps he could give it a try tonight, still pondering how quickly Del Rio had moved on from his own loss.

He sighs and, decision made, turns the TV on while wandering around the room, dropping this and that off. He'd ate at the same diner he'd frequented during filming Marine: Homefront, a couple of the staff there recognizing him even after all of the months that have passed, so now he wants to do little more than watch as much of WWE as he can stand before collapsing into bed for some sleep before getting back on the early morning filming schedule.

The show starts with Del Rio's music and- Ricardo Rodriguez dressed in Zubaz, his ankle brace thankfully gone now, Mike's jaw slacking when he realizes... the younger man's in a triple threat match against Zeb Colter and Big E. Miz sputters and shakes his head, gaping at the screen as the ring announcer enters the ring, Zeb immediately ducking back out, leaving him to deal with Big E. on his own. After a bit, Swagger, Ziggler and Del Rio all get involved, just for Big E to get slung out of the ring as well in the melee. Colter almost sneaks a win but AJ gets involved, keeping the ref from counting the fall, and...

Ricardo grabs the older man, rolling him up and getting the three count, cementing Alberto's choice for the title match at Extreme Rules. Mike's eyes widen some more even as he laughs at his friend taking a running start off of the ropes and sliding on his knees along the ring, celebrating his win before grabbing Del Rio in a hug.

He's pretty sure the show will just go downhill from here so he turns the volume down and only partially pays attention while he skims his lines for the next day, barely focusing on the actual words on the page. He can't help but wonder why, exactly, AJ had stopped the referee from counting Colter's pin but not Ricardo's, considering she was right there the whole time...


	154. chapter 154

When Miz looks at the small pile of scenes that he has to read to learn the lines for what's to be his final scene for Christmas Bounty, it's bittersweet- his second movie under his belt now and his WWE return on the horizon. He's tempted to return quietly, surprise his friends, but he's never been that great with keeping things on the down-low. So, after sending a quick mass text out to John, Alex and Ricardo: _Guess who's about to wrap their second movie?,_ he tweets about it as well before turning his attention back to the final night he'll be spending with the Christmas Bounty cast and crew. Although two weeks isn't enough time really to move past the embarrassment surrounding Wrestlemania, he misses his friends. He _does_ miss competing, no matter how tainted it might seem by everything lately. In some ways, it'll be good to be stateside again. In others, he's still conflicted.

When his phone beeps, he checks it and smiles slightly. _Congrats, man. In time for Raw?_ comes from Alex and he sighs, glancing at the schedule he'd been sent with the scenes.

 _I'm not sure, it's going to be cutting it close. We have a couple more things to finish up tomorrow morning. I kind of doubt it, but maybe the week after._ He immediately curses himself for the slip of the fingers, hoping that Alex will let it go, but sure enough-

_Maybe?_

He closes his eyes. _... Probably. I just... I'm still weighing everything that happened before I left. I'll probably be there. That's all I can say right now._

Alex's response doesn't come for awhile but when it does, Mike has to smile at his friend's steadfast loyalty. _Alright, I do understand, Mike. You know where I'm at if you want to talk._

_Yeah. Thanks, man._

He wraps on early morning Monday. Returning the leather jacket he'd worn through a lot of the filming process is a little sad, as he'd grown to like the article of clothing, feeling like it suits him well. He considers booking a quick flight to Virginia but, after some research, realizes he has no option but to leave it: there are no available flights that would arrive in time for Raw, so he opts to stay in Canada for one more day, say goodbye to Vancouver before heading back to his life.

For a wild moment, he even considers returning on Smackdown that Friday, but in the end, he opts against that as well. Especially when, as he idly checks flights, the first one that catches his eye is one from Vancouver to LA. Home calls to him, although it's another place he'd seen relatively recently, spending time with Morrison before leaving to film. He wonders if perhaps another few days with his former tag partner would help settle his thoughts, ease him along to being ready physically and emotionally to return to WWE yet again.

When he returns to his laptop and books the flight, a smile spreads across his face. At least it's something of a plan, the rest of his week sorted as he figures out whether returning on Raw the following week is something he wants to do or not.

Still feeling ecstatic after the success he and Alberto Del Rio had enjoyed the week prior, Ricardo Rodriguez wanders the hallways of the arena Raw's being held in, smiling at the few people he passes by on his way back to his employer. He's almost to the locker room when there's a soft sound of throat clearing behind him and he jerks slightly, turning to find AJ Lee standing behind him, head tilted to the side as she takes him in with a somewhat eerie smile on her pale lips. "Ricardo," she greets him.

He swallows and shakes his head at her, not sure what she would want with him, but certain that it's nothing good, considering her boyfriend is embroiled in his feud with Alberto. "Um... AJ?"

She smirks and skips closer to him, causing him to gulp nervousnessly. "Do I make you uncomfortable, Ricardo?" Without waiting for an answer, she tugs on his green, red and white bowtie, causing him to shift awkwardly. "Aw, I don't mean to. I mean, it was thanks to me you won that match last week, right? If I hadn't stopped Zeb from pinning you, allowing you to get the roll up victory... well..." She smiles, eyes gleaming dangerously, and he looks around anxiously, disturbed by just how empty, quiet the hallway is currently.

"AJ, I have to- I have to get back to El Patron," he stammers, trying to turn away from her, but she has a surprisingly strong grip on his sleeve and he finds himself stuck in place, the only way to get free from her risking injury to her, considering how much taller than her he is. There had been a time last year when he'd felt sympathetic towards her, after she'd been ran into by Big Show and had been in a neck brace for weeks- Ricardo being well versed in neck injuries himself, he doesn't want to risk doing anything that could cause her physical harm to get free. "Por favor, let me go," he tells her, eyes wide. "I don't want to-"

"Don't want to, what?" she asks with a small smile. "Hurt me? Like your little friend Miz? I mean, you two _are_ friends, right? At least that's what locker room rumors claim." She digs her fingernails into his tux, Ricardo wincing slightly as his clothes threaten to tear under her motions. "Did he ever... talk to you about me?"

Not sure how to handle this situation without betraying Mike's confidence, or cause more damage to his suit, much less anything else- he's uncomfortably aware that Big E is probably lurking around somewhere nearby, just waiting for him to do or say something wrong- Ricardo closes his eyes. "He regrets what happened between you two."

Her smirk grows tighter, more painful. "I regret that _anything_ happened between us," she spits, releasing him roughly and tilting her head as she examines him, that dangerous look in her eyes once more. "I'll see you around, Ricardo."

As she skips off, he finally feels like he can breathe again, shaking his head with a grimace. "I'd rather not," he mutters, despite knowing that they'll have to share the ringside area later on, when she's out there for Ziggler and he's out there for Alberto.

Later that night, Alex Riley watches as referees help everyone from the ringside area- Big E refuses assistance, walking on his own recognizance past him, but referees are on either side of Ricardo and Alberto, easing them through the hallway to the trainer's office to get checked out, AJ tagging along with the trainer and referee helping Dolph, who seems to have gotten the worse of it, a clean shot to the skull from the ladder.

He follows, trying to ignore the sensation of AJ's dark stare on his back, Ricardo hunched over slightly as he clings to his shoulder, each step adding to his agony. It's sad, after the previous week that this week would start off so poorly for him, especially so quickly after getting rid of the ankle brace. Alberto also seems to be having issues walking, his balance off after the ladder had been slammed so brutally into him. He scrubs at his face and looks from man to man, shaking his head: Extreme Rules was an insane ppv, really, everyone going all out to prove themselves, try to outdo whatever performances they'd put on at Wrestlemania... especially when titles and pride both were on the line.

Patting Ricardo's good arm comfortingly, he watches as the trainer and the referees begin looking everyone over, the room full of all of them, thick with tension. Not for the first or last time, he wishes that Mike could be here. He sighs, trying not to think about how uncertain his friend had sounded about returning at all. "It'll be ok," he mumbles, not entirely sure if he's trying to convince himself or the injured ring announcer.


	155. chapter 155

John is gracious, as always, barely blinking when he picks Mike up at the airport mid-Tuesday, smirking slightly as he takes in his friend's lingering exhaustion. "Hey, man. They been running you ragged up in Canada?" he wonders, leading the way back to his car. As Mike slumps down in the passenger seat, making a nodding-shrugging motion, he grins a little. "It's alright. You can sack out at my place awhile. I won't bug you _too_ much for details."

"Thanks," he murmurs, knowing that, despite his reason for coming to California in the first place had been to think, get settled on the next step in his career and life, he won't be able to think about anything seriously without at least a few hours of sleep. So he's relieved when he slumps into the guest bedroom that Morrison stays true to his word, keeping quiet while he gets some sleep.

Except that a side effect of spending time at Morrison's place makes itself known before Miz had been prepared for it, waking him up after a few hours of hard sleep. He flinches and stretches, the soft sheets feeling good against his bare feet. "Ugh, God," he grumbles, not looking forward to getting up but knowing that he has to at some point, especially with a need for coconut water poking at him nonstop.

Stumbling free of the bed, he heads out into the hallway and moves towards the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes sleepily when he hears soft murmuring from the main room. Not wanting to be nosy, he continues on towards the fridge until he hears his name. Frowning slightly, he glances to where John's standing with his back to him, talking tensely into his phone.

He frowns harder and shakes his head, muffling a yawn with his hand before opening the fridge door as quietly as he can, staring inside blurrily as John's continued mumbles echo into the kitchen. He's really curious if something's wrong, but he knows his friend has many irons in the fire, between his various Indy dates, OOYM fitness and the movie projects he's involved in. He smiles faintly, thinking about how when they were teaming together originally, they'd volleyed around movie ideas they'd like to be involved in, never even imagining that within five years, it would've happened for both of them at the same time. When he leaves the kitchen, coconut water in hand, Morrison is still on the phone so he sighs softly, padding back towards the guest room. _Hopefully if something seriously is wrong, he'll tell me. But I won't push, it's the same kind of consideration he'd give me, after all._

However, when he wakes up the next day to find an interview on with Morrison, talking about Out of Your Mind fitness and... what John thinks about his being a "new and improved" Miz, he thinks maybe this was the wrong choice after all. He stares at the words on the screen, pondering why John would sound so... _antagonistic_ in this interview. He stares out at the blue sky beyond for a few minutes before standing up and leaving the bedroom, needing answers from his former tag partner.

Likewise, John is sitting at the island in his kitchen, staring outside with a vacant look on his own face. He only looks up when he hears footsteps, trying to smile through visible exhaustion. "Hey, man, how'd you sleep?"

Mike stares at him for a long moment, trying to reconcile the words he'd read on the screen with the man before him. It doesn't fit. "Better than you, apparently." He sits down across from him and takes a breath. "What was with that article?"

John blinks tiredly, not quite grasping what he means. "Huh?"

"You were saying that it'd be weird with us being on the same side- and that I stole the figure four. You were watching Raw," he says slowly. "Ric Flair was mentoring me and agreed to my using it. It was a sign of respect."

John grimaces, suddenly understanding. "I know, Mike. It's just... The last time people saw me in WWE, I lost to you and then was fired by Laurinaitis. I've never blamed you, but things like that stick with the crowd. Then I get into that mindset and things just kind of... go from there. I didn't mean anything by it."

Mike stares at him for a long moment before nodding. He's not sure if he believes him or not, something in his tired eyes hinting that he's leaving something out, but Mike has enough on his mind- the last thing he needs is to add John's issues to that, especially when John clearly doesn't want to discuss it. "Fine," he sighs.

Alex ends up on the same flight as Ricardo and Alberto on his way to Smackdown that week. They'd all returned to Florida for a few days once the trainer released the Mexicans, and Alex's almost surprised that Alberto's allowed Ricardo to travel with him, considering all that the younger man had gone through the past couple of months. But he keeps his thoughts to himself, smiling slightly at them as he walks by to his seat.

When the plane's in the air and the seatbelt sign goes dark, he stands and makes his way back to the two men, nodding at the flight attendant as she moves past him in the tight space. "Hi." Continuing on to the other two, he leans against the empty seat in front of them and sighs, taking in the tightness of pain in the ring announcer's dull eyes. "Hey, Ricardo, Del Rio."

"Hola," the Mexican aristocrat answers automatically, visibly not paying him any attention as he pours over a magazine, only glancing up briefly when Ricardo speaks, his voice low and pain-filled.

"Hola, Alex." The poor ring announcer, freed from one injury just to be thrown into another so suddenly, looks pale and tense with pain, his arm obviously causing him grief with the littlest movement. Alex feels horribly for him, but he also knows how determined the man is to accompany Alberto. Despite just sitting in the plane seat, his discomfort is obvious as he absently massages the shoulder that had been struck with the ladder only a few days ago. Del Rio seems unhappy with this, glancing up fairly often to check on him before ducking back behind the print. "How are things?"

"The same," he shrugs, not wanting to go into the various issues he's been having lately- worry for Mike, paranoia that AJ Lee will be lurking around any corner, waiting to harass him... insult Mike. He smiles half-heartedly, about to take his leave of the two men before the flight attendant makes him clear the aisle, when Alberto abruptly clears his throat and puts the magazine down, looking up at the former NXT rookie. Surprised, Alex pauses and watches him, sensing that Ricardo also is confused about what suddenly made the Mexican aristocrat pay attention to them.

"Do you know if you have any planned segments on Smackdown this week?" he asks dully, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow at the younger man.

Alex shakes his head, half-shrugging. "Probably not. Why?"

Alberto glances over at his best friend before shifting his position in the seat. "Ricardo will be remaining at the hotel while I go do commentary during Swagger's match on Smackdown. I don't want him to be alone, so if you wouldn't mind staying with him while I'm at the arena, ..." He hesitates, looking awkward and almost uncomfortable. "I'd be appreciative."

Alex glances at Ricardo, who doesn't look too thrilled at the prospect of being left behind at the hotel but says nothing, before peering back at Alberto, shrugging. "Sure, it'd be my pleasure." He smiles sympathetically at the ring announcer before noticing how, sure enough, the flight attendant doesn't seem too thrilled at his standing in the aisle for so long. "I'll see you after the flight, I think I've overstayed my welcome." He grins a little sheepishly before wandering back to his own seat, looking forward to hanging out with Ricardo. Raw and Smackdown always seem a little lonely without Miz, leaving him feeling a little abandoned despite his having other friends to hang out with in the locker rooms.

Once they land, Alex collects his bag from the overhead storage before ending up behind Ricardo and Alberto in the line of people waiting to exit the plane, tapping Ricardo on his good shoulder to make his presence known. The ring announcer looks around for a moment before realizing who's trying to get his attention, nodding up at him. "Hey."

Alberto turns at hearing his voice, looking almost surprised. "Oh. Riley. I want to leave for the arena when we're off of the plane, see what's going on... Would you mind taking Ricardo back to the hotel?" He sighs when the ring announcer looks even unhappier at this, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It'll only be for a little while, mi amigo. The show's on in a couple of hours, and as soon as the Swagger match is over with, I'll come to the hotel. I promise." He smiles faintly. "Besides, I told you if you rested today, I'd check with the trainer about letting you accompany me to the house shows this weekend. That was the reason for you traveling with me, si?"

Ricardo nods, only seeming a little appeased at this, before they reach the steps leading them off of the plane. Del Rio allows his ring announcer to go first, keeping a close eye on him so he doesn't lose his balance on the descent. Once he's safely on the ground, Alberto hands over the ring announcer's bag to Alex and claps Ricardo on the shoulder. "See you soon, El Patron," he says grimly, sighing quietly as he smiles sadly at him.

"Si, you will, mi amigo. Now go rest." Shouldering his own bag and nodding briskly at Alex, he turns and walks off towards the exit, confident in whatever it is he plans on doing at Smackdown. Neither Alex or Ricardo believe that he'll leave it at simple commentary.

Once the Mexican aristocrat is out of sight and Ricardo seems ready to leave, Alex locates his rental car and stuffs his bag and Ricardo's into the trunk before settling into the driver's side. He glances down, surprised to find that somehow Ricardo had managed to get his seatbelt clicked despite his bad shoulder, and smiles faintly. "If you want to stop somewhere for food on the way to the hotel, let me know- or we can just get room service, whichever you prefer." Ricardo nods, though he doesn't seem enthused by the offer, and Alex isn't surprised when he doesn't point any place out through the fifteen minute drive. He vows to get some sort of room service, not wanting to annoy Alberto by leaving him hungry.

In fact, as soon as they reach the room set aside for Alberto and Ricardo, he begins searching for the room service menu, finally finding it in a drawer with the local phone book. He peruses it for a moment, his back to Ricardo, before turning to the ring announcer, who's now sitting on the edge of the bed, staring grimly out the window. Tapping the menu against the wooden surface of the desk, he walks over and sits next to him. His worry only grows when he realizes that his eyes are welling with unshed tears, lips twisted in frustration. "Hey..." he says slowly as Ricardo all but ignores him, fingers curled into tense fists against his pants. "Do you want to talk?" When the ring announcer doesn't jump at this chance, Alex smiles mirthlessly and stares out the window too, not wanting to push. "You know, as close as Mike and I are, well... sometimes I find it easier to unburden myself to someone who's _not_ him. Because he always has so much going on, and I don't want to add to that. I bet you feel that way about Del Rio, huh?" Ricardo still says nothing and Alex attempts it again. "I usually go to Morrison when I feel like that. And I know you talk to Mike sometimes but with him filming the past few weeks, well... you've not really had many people to turn to, huh?"

Not wanting to push, the former NXT rookie falls silent and waits, knowing that eventually Ricardo will have to say _something._ Sure enough, it only takes a couple of minutes when he finally whispers, "I'm just tired of it." Alex looks at him, but lets the silence speak as he waits patiently. He shifts his shoulder, wincing in pain, before speaking once more. "I mean, I'm used to being hurt- it happened often enough... before." He takes a breath, staring at his hands. "But since... since El Patron has changed... everyone realizes... that I'm an easy way to get at him, an easy target, and they use me against him." Fingers digging into his hurt shoulder, he forces himself to continue despite how badly his voice is wavering, his eyes a dark well of misery. "Everything's just... so messed up, it's like I've gone from getting brogue kicked to KO punched, to having my ankle broken, now to my shoulder... and that's- that's just the worst of it from the past few months, there's been so many others... I just want to be able to do my job, is all..."

Alex sighs and pats his good shoulder, feeling badly for him. "I'm sorry, man. It does suck. But hey, at least you have some support now, right? Del Rio, and Mike, me... It has to make it at least a little bit better than in the past when you two were basically on your own for everything."

He blinks a couple of times and then nods. "Si, it does help." As Alex wraps an arm around him, giving him a minute to hopefully leave his grim thoughts behind him, he stares down at the menu in the other man's hands. Finally some of the tension leaves him and he breathes out, "What's that? Room service?"

"Yes it is, want to order something before Smackdown?" When he nods, Alex grins, opening the menu up. "Fantastic. Let's see what they have." The food comes just before Big E vs Swagger and they move over to the table and chairs across the room to eat, Ricardo picking halfheartedly at his grilled chicken sandwich and mixed vegetables as he watches, all interest in his meal disappearing as they reair his getting rammed by the ladder again, Del Rio barely saying five words afterwards before getting up from the commentary table and pulling a ladder from under the ring. It devolves into a melee quickly, the match forgotten as Dolph and Swagger war for the ladder, eventually Alberto getting back into the fray and ending up back in control, standing atop of the ladder after ramming the ladder into Swagger on the outside. Alex glances over to find the ring announcer smiling in some relief as commercials start up once more, nudging him after a moment.

"Hey, eat up, your food'll get cold," he says before turning back to his own BLT and potato wedges. To his relief, Ricardo _does_ finally eat now, getting the majority of the food down before he starts to slump in his chair, eyes heavy with exhaustion from the past week and all of the pain he's still in from his shoulder. Alex notices but doesn't say anything until he finishes with his own food, giving Ricardo the chance to continue picking at what remains of his. Giving up, he begins to collect the plates and utensils, settling them on the cart before returning to the ring announcer's side. "Are you done?" When he nods, Alex moves his things to the cart as well and pushes it out to the hallway for the staff to collect.

Ricardo looks a little embarrassed as he yawns, blinking tiredly at Alex. "Eh, gracias, Alex. I know I'm not great company tonight, lo siento."

Waving off the apology with a small smile, he glances towards the bed pointedly. "You look wiped, man, why not go get some sleep until Alberto returns?" When Ricardo hesitates, he continues. "I'm just gonna hang around and watch the rest of the Smackdown, don't worry about keeping me entertained. Go ahead, lay down for awhile."

The ring announcer still doesn't move, finally looking up at him. "One thing, before..." He sighs. "Has Miz mentioned anything about AJ lately?"

Alex frowns, remembering how she'd tried cornering him at Raw the week prior, wondering why Ricardo would mention her now. "Our conversations have been limited since he returned to Canada, so no he hasn't. Why?"

"She, um. She tried getting me to talk to her about Mike last week." Ricardo grimaces. "I wasn't sure what to do. I... I tried not to say much, but it's obvious she's really, really angry."

Alex leans closer to him and shakes his head. "She forced a conversation with me too. Don't worry about it, I'll tell Mike she's up to something the next time I see him. Just go to him if she tries anything again, alright? He _should_ be back next week..." For a moment, he doubts his own words, remembering the last conversation he'd had with his former mentor, but shakes it off, not wanting to add to Ricardo's problems.

Ricardo nods, looking a little relieved at this. "Gracias, Alex." Finally standing, he reluctantly makes his way slowly over to the bed, holding his arm protectively to his side as he slumps down into the sheets. He smiles faintly, which has been unfortunately rare tonight, as the other man rescues him from fighting one-handed with the sheets, spreading them out over him with a brisk shake. It's obvious he's planning on little more than just resting his aching body for awhile, but Alex doubts he'll last five minutes, considering how tired he seems.

"Better?" Alex asks, stepping back and watching as he snuggles further into the bed, eyes slipping closed immediately despite how hard he'd fought to stay awake since getting off of the plane, wanting to wait to see his employer after Smackdown. He smirks slightly, remembering all the times he'd had to all but force Mike to sleep, the man so desperate to do every media event, wrestling event, and everything in between sometimes to his own detriment. Despite his and Miz's current issues, he has to admit he misses making sure that the other man takes proper care of himself at least sometimes.

"Si," he whispers, already losing his grip on consciousness. As Alex walks away from the bed, to let him rest without disruption, he rolls onto his good side and curls into the sheets, cocooning himself.

Alberto returns about half an hour later, just as Smackdown is ending, and Alex stands, knowing that that will probably be his cue to leave soon. "Hey," he whispers to the Mexican aristocrat, nodding over at the bed so he realizes that the ring announcer is getting some much needed sleep.

His eyes soften as he slows down, placing the keys carefully on the table so they do little more than click against the surface. "How is he?" he murmurs, stepping between the beds to look down at his best friend. "His eyes are red," he observes aloud, frowning deeper. "Was he-?"

When he doesn't finish his sentence, Alex clears his throat awkwardly, certain that the Mexican aristocrat already knows at least some of what the problem is. "He's frustrated. He wants to just go out, do his job, but he keeps getting hurt, and..."

Del Rio nods briskly, eyes gleaming with compassion as he stares once more down at the younger man. "I know," he mutters. "I know he does. I do too. I miss having him alongside me whenever... But I can only do so much to keep him safe, especially in a feud involving a triple threat match... There is so much at play at one time..."

Alex reflects on all that Ricardo had said earlier and shakes his head, not wanting to cause problems between the two when Ricardo's already going through so much, leave Del Rio thinking the wrong thing. "He doesn't blame you, I think. It's almost like... he blames himself?"

Del Rio looks up at him roughly, face dark with displeasure. "Why would he?" he hisses. "It's not his fault!"

Hesitating, the other man swallows in the face of his anger, realizing anew just why people used to avoid the Mexican aristocrat when he was at his worst. "I'd say because he thinks he should be able to defend himself better, defend you more."

Alberto shakes his head, lips held in a tense line when he looks down at his friend. "That sounds like him, but... I didn't hire him to defend _me_ , I just... wanted a decent ring announcer. I simply didn't think about all that would entail, how often... he would be put in the line of fire on my behalf. Of course, in the early days, I didn't really care... but that's my personal failings, not his." Ignoring how his knee still catches sometimes since losing the title, he kneels down next to the bed and adjusts the sheets around him, brushing his hair back from his forehead to get a better look at his face. "Did he eat?"

"We ordered room service, he ate most of his." Sensing that he's about to overstay his welcome for the second time today, Alex moves towards the door. "Tell him bye for me," he requests quietly, staring at the back of Del Rio's head as he continues to examine his sleeping best friend.

"Si."

Alex almost wants to say more, but doubts Alberto is paying any attention to him now anyway. He quietly leaves, clicking the door shut softly behind him before leaning against the door, replaying the conversation he'd just had with Del Rio, and what Ricardo had said about AJ. He rolls his head side to side against the wooden barrier before moving down the hall towards the elevator to take him to his own floor. "Ugh, Mike, you better return soon, I can't take much more of all of this all on my own," he sighs, closing his eyes and wondering not for the first time how Mike handles all of it while juggling his own career issues.

After a weekend spent in California, handling errands and things he'd let slide while in Canada, and some more beach time with Morrison, whose article isn't brought up by either man, though the doubts linger with Mike, the Most Must See Superstar finds himself back on a plane, heading to the week's Raw. As soon as he's in his rental car, on his way to the arena, he realizes he'd not texted Alex to alert him he was on his way. After the week prior's discussion they'd had where Mike was still trying to think his way through all of his problems, they'd only sent a couple of meaningless texts back and forth and he feels a little bad about it, but now, so close to the building, he decides to leave it until they're face to face.

As soon as he parks and stares up at the arena, it rushes over him in a flood. Just how bad he'd missed the business, his friends, everything. Smiling slightly, he exits the car and collects his bag, quickly walking through the parking lot towards the crew entrance. He skids to a stop, however, when he arrives at the main hallway and finds AJ Lee standing with her back to him, eyes locked on the men at the other end of the hall. He frowns, realizing that Ricardo Rodriguez and Alex Riley are who has her attention, unfortunately aware of this fact as she approaches them with an annoyingly chipper spring to her step.

"If it isn't my two favorite of Miz's little friends," she taunts the two men, skipping up behind them and tilting her head as both of them slowly turn to face her, neither looking pleased at seeing her.

"What do you want, AJ? I told you already-" Alex snaps, his eyes narrowed at the girl. Ricardo stands quietly nearby, glancing from Alex to AJ nervously, visibly not wanting any part of this confrontation. Miz watches and wonders just what she'd been doing to them while he'd been gone, that neither had bothered to tell him about.

"I know what you told me," she says with a toothy grin. "But last I heard filming ended last week and he still didn't come back. Almost as if he's avoiding something... or someone."

Alex has just opened his mouth to respond when Mike finally interjects, walking up and tapping her on the back, smirking a little as he catches sight of the shocked look on his friends' faces out of the corner of his eye. "AJ," he says.

She turns slowly and glares up at him, eyebrow raised. "Oh, look who decided to show up after all."

He sneers for a moment before glancing once more at Alex and Ricardo, who are watching with baited breath and wide eyes to see what he might do, if they'll need to intervene in case _she_ should say or do something to worsen his already shaky confidence. Turning his attention back to her, he crosses his arms over his chest. "So is this what you do, since Dolph is off dealing with his little memory issues?" he asks, wiggling his fingers in a mocking manner in her face, amused when she swats them away.

"He has a concussion!" she all but screams in his face, eyes flashing, as he grins down at her. "It's not funny!"

His face goes decidedly blank at this and he nods at her. "You know, you're right. It's not. It's also not funny when I walk into a building and find you disturbing _my_ friends, and apparently not for the first time either. And once you're out of here, they're going to tell me all that you've said and done the past few weeks, because that's what _sane_ friends do, sweetheart." She glowers at him as he leans closer, almost nose to nose with her. "The next time you have something to say, come to me. Leave them alone. Understand?"

Her eyes dulling suddenly, she glowers up at him for a few moments longer before turning sharply and pushing past him, storming down the hall while ignoring everyone she passes by or runs into in her rush to get away. Mike shakes his head, scrubbing his hand over his face before turning back to his friends. "You two alright?"

Alex nods, glancing over at Ricardo. "Si," the ring announcer murmurs. "Welcome back, Miz."

He grins a little. "Thanks, man." Turning to look at Alex, he sighs. "Hey, kid."

"Hey Mike." They stare at each other for a moment longer before moving as one, hugging each other tightly. "Alright?"

Miz smirks, nodding slightly. "Better than I was anyway. I'm sorry about last week, I just wasn't... sure yet what I felt like doing. But I'm here now. I need to talk to Vickie Guerrero before the show starts, but I saw what was going on with AJ so..." Trailing off, he glances over at Ricardo, slowly releasing Alex and stepping back to look at the younger man. "Quite a few weeks for you, huh? How's your shoulder?"

Shifting it carefully, the ring announcer smiles mirthlessly. "A little stiff sometimes, but mostly alright. At least El Patron allowed me to come to the show tonight."

"That's good," Mike nods, peering down at his leg for a moment. "It's good to see you out of that brace, too."

Ricardo nods, looking over when Alberto joins them, clapping him on the shoulder. "It's good to be out of it as well."

"Miz," Del Rio says simply.

"Del Rio."

"Ricardo, WWE is having a vote on the App for who should get to face Big E later- me or Swagger," he tells him. "Come, let's get ready just in case."

"Si, El Patron. See you around, Miz, Alex," he offers before following his employer.

"Bye." Mike looks at Alex. "Well, wanna tell me what exactly AJ's been doing?" As Alex talks, they walk through the halls back towards Vickie's office, Mike determined to get a match on the card no matter what. Even when it ends up being against Heath Slater, he can't complain. Some competition is better than none, and he's still not feeling completely there, having to return to TV after that 24-hour title reign so he's almost relieved that it's a relatively _safe_ opponent.

But even so, Heath holds the upperhand longer than Mike's comfortable with, the only thing keeping him going being the fact that _everyone_ knows that even after the Corre broke apart, Heath and Wade Barrett had remained something of friends, and the more offense he takes, the more he thinks about it, the angrier he gets. Finally gaining control, he takes full advantage of it and sends Heath flying out of the ring, where Drew and Jinder are standing, cushioning some of their leader's landing, but not enough. It's downhill from there for the wannabe rock star as, upon standing, it's obvious that his knee is messed up. Which makes him easy pickings, Mike locking in the Figure Four and causing him to tap quickly, glaring up the ramp at him after Drew and Jinder get him to safety. It hadn't been a perfectly flawless victory, but still, he feels a little more confident, even grinning wildly into the camera. "I'm back!"

3MB is walking slowly through the hallway back to the locker rooms, Heath's gait still awkward and painful, when Mike pushes his way through the gorilla curtains. More than that, Wade Barrett himself is standing nearby, glaring at Miz as he adjusts the gleaming Intercontinental title belt across his shoulder. Mike narrows his eyes, thinking that the title looks better against _his_ shoulder, but says nothing as the current champion sneers at him before turning to follow 3MB.

He's still standing there awhile later when Ricardo joins him, blinking slowly. "Miz?" When he turns to look, the ring announcer forces a smile. "Um, Big E. won the vote, we're going to watch in the locker room. Alex is there... do you want to join us?"

"Sure," Mike agrees, following him. They're walking side by side when Mike notices a grim look on Ricardo's face. "Hey, you ok, man?"

The ring announcer's step falters before he glances over. "Oh. Si, yes. I'm fine. Just thinking..." They continue walking on in silence before Ricardo speaks again, his eyes lowered as he confesses quietly. "It's just that... the match choice I won for El Patron was voided tonight thanks to Ziggler's concussion... so my win a couple weeks back was meaningless. He still doesn't get to compete in the match he wanted."

Mike stares at him for a moment, unsettled by the look on his face. "I doubt Alberto sees it that way, Ricardo. Just because the match won't happen doesn't mean that you _didn't_ win the opportunity. It was nothing you or Del Rio did that caused the match to get thrown out, after all. We all know Swagger's unhinged, you more than most. He seems to care more about hurting people than actually winning that title."

"I suppose," he sighs. "I just wish... the _one_ thing I'd done right recently..."

Mike sighs, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and squeezing carefully just before they arrive at the locker room. "Come on, man. Things'll work out, you'll see."

Ricardo nods and swallows, looking at the door. "Come on, we should go in before El Patron or Alex begins to worry." Mike agrees quietly and follows him inside, Big E. vs Swagger just beginning when they arrive, the two large men feeling each other out, AJ and Zeb lurking around on the outside to cheer on their individual men. Alberto and Ricardo both seem pleased to watch the men destroy each other, but when the count begins, Langston down on the outside, Del Rio nudges his ring announcer and the two quietly get up, leaving the room.

Mike winces slightly when the match goes by count out, Swagger eaking out the victory, and AJ's screams echo out in angered denial at the loss, but he's distracted when Alberto and Ricardo both appear, walking down to the ring. Del Rio gets inside and immediately attacks Swagger, but the "True" American gets control, locking him into an ankle lock but Ricardo is right there, using his bucket on Jack and freeing his employer, just to get kicked out of the ring for his troubles. It's enough time for Alberto to regroup and get the armbar in before Big E interferes, Del Rio giving him an enzuigiri in response. After he clotheslines Swagger out of the ring, Ricardo struggles back inside, holding his jaw gingerly, and Alberto joins him, supporting him as he fights to catch his breath from the rough fall he'd taken.

When they return ten minutes later, Mike isn't that surprised to find that Ricardo has an icepack held to his jaw, his eyes lowered in pain as he sits down. "You alright?" Ricardo nods glumly and Mike glances at Alberto, needing clarification.

"Trainer says his jaw will just be sore for a bit, maybe bruised. There were no fractures." Del Rio rubs his friend's back comfortingly before standing to change, get ready to leave. "I'll be back in a moment, Ricardo. Then we can leave."

Peering from Alex to Ricardo, all Mike can think is, despite how bad things are going once again, he really is glad to be home.


	156. chapter 156

Miz spends Tuesday thinking. Trying to refocus. He'd had a few weeks to recharge and, yeah, it hadn't gone as well for him as Marine Homefront had, but still. It'd been time to rest, recuperate. Despite all of the disappointments he'd come back to, he knows he should be feeling pretty good. Barrett and Ziggler may be champions now but one's out with a concussion and the other, well... The other hadn't had the chance to regroup like he had after Wrestlemania.

The preshow match against Cody Rhodes isn't really what he wants to do for Extreme Rules but he knows it'll be good to start with on his road to redeem himself after Wrestlemania, maybe get himself back on top of the world.

So by the time he sits back at the Main Event commentary desk, he's able to at least act a little more like himself, his voice not even wavering when Cole mentions his embarrassment, or when Barrett himself comes out to compete against Sin Cara. A match he loses, to Miz's extreme amusement. Afterwards, Cody Rhodes barely gets a win against Justin Gabriel and the two opponents stare at each other, Mike standing up to show if Cody wants to fight now, he could just bring it, but the son of a son of a plumber turns and leaves, heading back up the ramp without a backwards glance.

Miz smirks as he sits back down, unsurprised. Sunday should be interesting, either way.

Friday, he's set for the first edition of MizTV since his return, Big Show and Randy Orton the guests on the show. He's feeling especially hyper this evening, and, after Show insults him, he takes it out on his guests, working them up in an attempt to make them fight each other. However, before anything could get going too seriously, Swagger and Zeb interrupts. The very last two people Miz ever wants to see, eyes narrowing as he stares up the ramp at them, dwelling on all they'd done to Del Rio and Ricardo both the past few weeks.

It's only respect for the two Mexicans and knowing they'd rather handle their own issues with the xenophobic men that keeps him towards the back of the ring, watching as his show breaks down more and more: finally Alberto comes out, Ricardo by his side, and they make their way down the ramp, Mike leaving the ring completely and waiting to see how this all plays out, smirking when Alberto holds the mic for Ricardo to announce him loudly, declaring that he'll win on Sunday. But from there, things only get more tedious when Mark Henry interrupts and then Sheamus, of course, comes down, the brawl that follows ending up with Sheamus, Del Rio, Ricardo and Orton standing in the ring, staring down their various opponents.

Mike smirks as he ventures back up the ramp once things are quieter, walking past Teddy as he approaches the gorilla to announce the six man tag match that doesn't really surprise anyone. Alex meets up with him halfway to the locker room, nudging him teasingly. "Did you do that on purpose?"

Grinning over at his former protege, he shrugs innocently. "Who me?" Laughs when Alex rolls his eyes knowingly.

When he gets placed in a match with Sandow, it amuses him even more. Especially when Cody Rhodes does commentary and has no choice but to watch, unable to interrupt as he forces his _best friend_ to tap to the Figure Four. Miz takes in the feeling of victory for the second time in a week and smirks at his opponent for this Sunday, vowing to do the same to him in less than 48 hours. It's small beginnings, really, but he has no doubt it'll lead to bigger and better things as his momentum grows once more.

Sunday goes well, despite some near misses. He beats Cody Rhodes after reversing a cross rhodes attempt into a figure four, closing his eyes as he poses on the top rope for the growing crowd below. Three wins in a week... though it doesn't erase the embarrassing loss he'd suffered just before being called for Christmas Bounty filming, it helps. Somewhat. He grins before leaving the ring, heading to the back.

Meeting up with Alex in the locker room, they sit and watch through the next few matches of the ppv, only waiting for Del Rio vs Swagger to see who will be named #1 contender for Dolph's world title. To Mike's relief, there's no reason AJ should come out through this match, so he's able to sit and relax, wait for the match to find its victor. Which seems to be going well enough, the contest going back and forth between Swagger and Del Rio so evenly that it's hard to tell exactly who has the advantage. Until Del Rio gets locked into the Patroit Lock yet again and the camera shows a visibly fretting Ricardo, holding a white towel out towards his employer as he tries to encourage him.

"Uh oh," Alex mumbles, exchanging a glance with Mike. Ricardo's worry is understandable, of course- he'd had his own ankle broken barely two months ago thanks to the submission hold, and he wouldn't want the same for his best friend- but there's no doubt that the prideful Mexican would have some issues with having the match quit for him, no matter the reason behind it.

Thankfully, it doesn't happen and the match continues- until Zeb grabs the towel from Ricardo and throws it into the ring, the referee mistakenly thinking that the younger man had called off the match for the Mexican aristocrat. "Dammit!" Mike hisses, watching on in disturbed fascination as Ricardo, frenzied, tries explaining he'd not thrown the towel in, his words failing on deaf ears until a second referee confirms it, forcing the first official to look around for a monitor to watch the replay on. This ends up being for the best, however, as the man, seeing confirmation, restarts the match, which ends a short while later to Swagger tapping to the armbar.

Alberto seems glad just to have won in the end, but there's something about the look on Ricardo's face... Mike shakes his head, remembering what he'd said the week prior, wondering...

On Monday, Mike is staring at the match list for Raw with a smirk, taking in how he is scheduled to start Raw off in a tag match, with... "Hey, Junior," a voice cuts into his thoughts and he turns to stare at his tag partner himself, Chris Jericho. They hadn't really talked since Mike had ordered him to get revenge on Swagger after he'd broken Ricardo's ankle, but he's pretty sure they'll work together decently.

"Hey, Jericho," he greets him. "Ready for the tag match tonight?"

"I'm always ready," he says with a smirk. "Are you?"

"Of course." Both men notice the WWE cameraman as he approaches, taking pictures of them while they discuss the upcoming tag match, Miz glancing out of the corner of his eye as he lingers. He rolls his eyes, seamlessly shifting into talk about his favorite hair gel, Jericho quickly joining in as they begin to argue over various namebrands and their durability during wrestling matches. Once the camera gets out of their faces, the man operating it quickly retreating towards the locker rooms with a weird expression on his face, Mike claps Chris' hand in success. "I'll see ya later," he tells his older tag partner, walking off to see what poor soul the cameraman is now taking pictures of, see if he can further tormenting him.

His plans stutter to a stop when he sees that it's Ricardo Rodriguez they're currently focusing their cameras on, the younger man sitting in front of a row of his Zubaz, one of which he's wearing, leaning over his phone and visibly trying to ignore the flash of the nearest camera that must be blinding him. Mike shakes his head and approaches, clapping the man roughly on his shoulder, startling him. "Tired of taking pictures? Good, go on, find someone else to-" He doesn't even bother finishing the sentence, pushing him out of the room and shutting the door securely behind him before rejoining Ricardo, half-heartedly smiling as the ring announcer looks up at him, surprise and relief in his eyes.

"Gracias, Miz. I didn't think he was ever going to leave," he says quietly, turning back to his phone.

"De nada," he smirks, glancing over his shoulder at the various pants hanging behind them. "How many of those _do_ you have?"

Ricardo shrugs. "A dozen? Maybe?" He smiles hesitantly. "You should buy a pair or two, they're ridiculously comfortable. Especially to wrestle in."

Mike laughs. "Trying to become a Zubaz spokesman, are we?" Ricardo grins a bit, Mike relieved to see him looking a little more stable after last week, and the night prior, when he'd looked near to hyperventilating after Del Rio had almost lost the #1 contendership thanks to the towel incident. They sit in comfortable silence for awhile longer until a knock comes at the door to alert Mike that his match is soon. He stands and claps Ricardo on the shoulder, turning for the door. "See you around, Ricardo."

"Oh, si. See you. Good luck."

"I don't need luck, I'm the Miz," he smirks as the ring announcer chuckles, ducking out of the room to go meet up with Jericho.

The match really isn't that difficult, especially after Fandango leaves the apron to dance with Summer Rae, annoying Wade to distraction until their team wins the match, leaving the Brit down in the ring as Jericho goes to confront Fandango, Miz following along. Except that the dancer/wrestler makes a quick getaway through the crowd, leaving Summer Rae trapped between the two men with nowhere to go. Upon Chris grabbing her and spinning her around for a bit, Mike grins and shrugs, leaving them to it as he heads up the ramp, watching what Jericho does, faking her out, on the titantron.

The last thing he expects is to run into AJ Lee in the hallway, her head tilted as it always is when she's in one of her _moods._ He only rolls his eyes, trying to brush past her, when she sidesteps and blocks his way once more. Finally deciding to get this over with, he stares down at her and waits, lips tight with displeasure. "What. Do. You. Want?"

She grins at his finally speaking and flips her hair over her shoulder. "Just wondering if I should warn Summer Rae about you. See, I know what happens when you get too close to a diva..." She taps him on the bare chest, lingering for a moment, before pulling away with a dark look on her face. "No matter what I think about those worthless girls, no one should go through that." She smirks at him before turning and skipping away, leaving him staring blankly after her until Jericho comes through the curtain, distracting him from his wayward thoughts.

"Alright, Miz?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," he says, shaking his head before following the man through the halls, relieved to get away from the chill in the air that AJ had left behind in the gorilla position. He and Alex are loitering around the locker room afterwards, watching as Alberto competes against Big E., Del Rio doing all he can to keep the bigger man down while Ricardo cheers him on from outside, when he's knocked out of the ring and lands hard. It happens after he regroups with a little help from the ring announcer, who rolls him back into the ring before the 10 count, AJ collecting the abandoned bucket from the floor and tossing it into the ring, distracting both ref and Del Rio as Big E scratches at the Mexican's eyes while the referee pushes the item out of the ring, which leads him into slamming Alberto roughly into the mat and pinning him.

Mike and Alex watch on in silence as Ricardo rushes to his employer's side, Del Rio scrubbing at his eye as they absorb this abrupt loss, the bucket laying forgotten behind them. Shaking his head, Miz curses quietly and wonders when things will get easier for the two men, if ever. They're still sitting there, half-focusing on what remains of the show, when there's a loud crash outside of the locker room and Mike glances over at his former protege before standing slowly and venturing to the door, peering outside. "Ricardo?"

The ring announcer is standing tensely in the middle of the hallway, shaking with nerves as he glares down at the bucket that now lays on its side at his feet, a dent in the wall shaped like the metal rim. He swallows and glances over, eyes wide and dark, before kicking the bucket aside and storms off, each step desperate and off-balanced. Mike watches him for a moment before rushing out into the hallway, Alex following him with a frown. Mike takes a breath and points out the bucket. "Grab that, Alex. I'm going to go after him." When the younger man nods, picking up the abused item, he rushes after Ricardo, not sure where exactly Del Rio is but knowing that being left alone is the last thing Ricardo needs right now.

It thankfully is easy to find him, his slumped form visible as soon as Mike makes it outside into the parking lot, despite his tux melting into the darkening night sky. He slows down, not wanting to overwhelm the younger man any more than he already is, approaching carefully. "Ricardo?" The ring announcer's only response is a faint sniff and Mike's eyes soften sympathetically as he sits down next to him, staring at what of his face he can see through the shadows. "Hey... what's going on? Where's Del Rio?"

"Trainer's," he says wearily, even that one word heavy with unshed tears.

Mike frowns, his eyes narrowing with fresh worry, before he reaches out for the other man. "Hey-"

"Don't- don't," Ricardo exclaims, scrambling away from him and rushing a few feet away before he comes to a stop, digging his fingers into his face. "I should be with him, making sure he's ok- but I can't, I can't even do that for him." He sobs dryly, turning back to Mike. "This is all my fault- he almost lost last night because of me, his #1 contendership, and- and now, tonight-"

Mike shakes his head, not moving from where he's sitting. "Ricardo, man, come on- it's just a match, right? He'll have other chances against Big E., I have no doubt."

"There are no _just a match_ type situations for him!" he cries, his fingers buried in his hair as he continues to lose it, everything seeming to be crashing down upon him all at once. "Especially now, when he's #1 contender. He can't- I can't-" Mike's starting to worry that he'll pass out from lack of oxygen, his breathing desperate and ragged as he gasps rapidly between each word, unable to vocalize any further, when...

"Ricardo." Both men look over as light suddenly pours out across them, taking the darkness away with it, drenching Ricardo in a bright glow which originates inside the building. Alberto and Alex leave the doorway, the older Mexican immediately walking towards his freaking out best friend as Alex joins Mike, looking as unsettled as Mike feels. He wonders how much they'd heard. "Amigo, what's wrong? Why did you run off, hmm? It's not, it's not like you."

Ricardo's face crumbles as he begins rambling on in trembling, rapid Spanish, shaking his head desperately even when Alberto drops his hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently. "I'm so sorry," he finally chokes out, words muffled as the Mexican aristocrat pulls him closer and presses his face against his shoulder, stroking his fingers through his hair.

"It's not your fault, amigo. It's not. Hey, we're a team, right? You need to stop putting so much on your own shoulders... I was the one distracted enough to let Big E. get the drop on me, and you were only trying to help me when you left the bucket behind." He continues to sooth the younger man, shaking his head slowly. "Listen to me, amigo. These things _do_ just happen sometimes, and yes, I hate losses, but there's no point in beating ourselves down over them. Best to use them as learning experiences, si?"

"Si," Ricardo sniffs, nodding plaintively as he slowly catches his breath. He pulls away after a moment and examines his best friend's face waveringly. "Your eye- is it ok?"

"It's fine, Ricardo," Alberto smiles. "Trainer said it might be tender for a day or two, and he gave me eyedrops for any redness or inflammation, but I'll be just fine. I promise." As he wraps an arm around his best friend and leads him back towards the cars, both of them looking forward to getting back to their hotel for some rest, Alberto glances over his shoulder and nods thankfully at Mike, who raises a hand in response.

"Always something, isn't it?" Alex asks lowly, glancing over as Mike nods. "Have I told you how glad I am that you came back when you did? Trying to deal with all of this stuff is kind of maddening. I don't know how you manage it."

He laughs, smirking at his friend. "This is true." They sigh as one before turning back to the building, Mike curling his fingers around his former rookie's neck, squeezing. "Did you hear about Morrison filming that movie?"

"Yeah, glad to hear he got back home safely..." Alex murmurs, neither man noticing the dark shape of AJ Lee as she steps out of the shadows from the side of the building, peering through the window of the arena door after them, her lips curling up into an evil sneer.


	157. chapter 157

****

Things turn around by Main Event. Miz watches from the commentary table as Ricardo and Alberto approach the ring for Del Rio's rematch against Big E, the ring announcer looking much calmer and even grinning happily as his employer greets him with the customary hand-clap before they head to the ring. The bucket is back in his hands since Alex had returned it to him early Tuesday, he and Mike spending what was left of Monday night looking it over and fixing the paint job where it had chipped when it met the wall. Mike has to grin as he reflects on the green streaks still staining his former protege's hair after Mike had gotten a little bored with the tedious touch up job, relieved that the red smears Alex had paid him back with had washed out easily enough.

Del Rio wins, despite AJ being out there. There are no major shenanigans, the girl barely even paying any of them mind as he watches her out of the corner of his eye, half-heartedly telling Cole he has as little to do with her as possible. It's the truth, too bad it's just on his end: the way she keeps showing up when he least expects it in the back, he wonders why, what exactly she's planning.

Between matches, he slips backstage for a moment and claps a hand on Ricardo's shoulder, grinning at him. "Doing better?"

Ricardo looks up at him, seeming a little embarrassed even as he nods in confirmation. "Si, Miz. Um, I'm sorry about that on Monday. It was just a bad couple of days..."

Mike shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, we all have them, right? Just glad you're ok now." He nods over at Del Rio as the older Mexican makes his way out of the catering area, handing over a bottle of water to his friend. "Congrats on winning the rematch, Del Rio."

"Gracias," he says simply, standing next to Ricardo and sipping inanely from his bottle.

Miz smirks a bit before nodding at the ring announcer. "I gotta get back out there, commentate this upcoming match. See you around."

"See you," Ricardo murmurs as Mike walks past to the curtain.

The next match involves 3MB and he and Cole watch on in some discomfort as Ryback comes out with his ambulance, interrupting the Usos vs 3MB match that's currently ongoing. At first Heath Slater, watching from the outside, tries to hide, but the monster spots him and shrugs off Heath's attempts at fighting back like he's nothing more than a gnat fluttering around his nose, slamming him to the floor and dragging him back up the ramp before tossing him into the ambulance, eerily similar to what he had done to Zack Ryder only a couple days earlier. "Damn," Mike mumbles in shock, shaking his head. Not many people like 3MB, especially Heath, but still... to see something like that happen twice in one week, well...

He's just glad Alex isn't here this week, choosing instead to stay in Florida for the week's NXT events. Just in case...

Alex doesn't come to Smackdown either, Alberto nor Ricardo there also, so Mike is alone to host MizTV and use his rematch clause against Wade Barrett. Which is ok, he can't complain- after all, Alex had been left to deal with all kinds of backstage ridiculousness, not to mention his own birthday, virtually alone for weeks while he filmed Christmas Bounty. Thankfully he doesn't see AJ before the show starts, but then Barrett interrupts his segment, lays into Fandango for leaving him high and dry in their tag match on Monday, and Miz's rematch begins. The dancer seems content to commentate for awhile... but that changes in a hurry when he demands his music and begins dancing with Summer Rae on the outside. Miz watches on, face crunched up like he's smelling something nasty- and that might actually be preferable to _this-_ but it leaves him vulnerable to Wade almost getting the upperhand, Mike fighting free just to get kicked in the face by Fandango, the match going by DQ.

He stares up at the lights and shakes his head, not sure how it all happened so quickly. For a minute he wonders why Jericho hadn't done something, gone after Fandango, but then he remembers that the Canadian has his own match to worry about- against Big Show, no less. He grunts, hating that his one chance at getting the Intercontinental title- and some redemption- back had slipped through his fingers for such a _stupid_ reason. Getting painfully to his feet, he staggers backstage and has just made it past the curtain when he hears a faint throat clearing sound, turning towards it with a frown. When he realizes that it's come from AJ, he turns back around and continues away from her, determined not to get wrapped up in her ridiculousness, not tonight.

"Aw, what's wrong, Mikey? Don't you want a dance partner too?" she calls after him, but he doesn't indulge her, relieved to leave the arena as soon as he collects his things, showers and changes out of his wrestling gear.

As hard as he wants to be his _usual_ self, nights like tonight, frustrating and far from ending the way he'd hoped, merely serve to remind him that it's all just a facade, his confidence still low after that stupid Raw following Wrestlemania.

Alex is back on the road that weekend, talking about NXT and what he'd done there, while Miz half-heartedly listens. Not that he's not glad that his friend got to compete for the first time in awhile, but unfortunately he's still too stuck on how badly Friday had went to fully pay attention. On top of that, it's Alberto Del Rio's birthday and Ricardo had requested they watch over a box that Ricardo had bought for him, Mike feeling obligated to do so since the ring announcer had taken it upon himself to at least observe Alex's birthday while Mike had been in Canada. Well aware of how easily it is for items to get smashed into people's faces or used as weapons- and, yeah, he winces a little at that, remembering TLC a couple years back when he'd smashed a plate of he's-still-not-sure-what in poor Ricardo's face, before throwing him off the ladder about an hour later-, he keeps a very close eye on the box, glad that it gives him an excuse to be distracted.

Alex eventually falls quiet, the two men just sitting there watching the thing, when Del Rio's match finally ends and he and Ricardo return to the back, grinning at each other and discussing the match in Spanish. When Mike clears his throat, however, both stop and look up, Ricardo looking slightly guilty as he remembers. "Ah! El Patron, come," he urges his employer, leading him to the box still waiting for them, untouched. "This- this is for you," he explains as Alberto stares at the simple box with some confusion. "Gracias for keeping an eye on it for me, Mike, Alex."

"But, Ricardo, we already had a party back in Florida," Del Rio shakes his head. "Sofia, you and I-"

Ricardo smiles. "Si, El Patron, yes, but this is your real birthday, I couldn't just let it go by without making _some_ notice of it." He laughs as Alberto shakes his head at the younger man, pulling him in to a quick hug before turning his attention back to the box. "Open it, por favor."

Nodding, Del Rio tears the flaps open, pulling the lid up enough to reveal a small, white cake with green and red borders on each corner. He laughs this time and squeezes Ricardo's neck, a fond grin on his lips. "Gracias, mi amigo." It makes four nicely sized pieces, Ricardo smiling as he hands out the decadent dessert with plastic forks he'd 'borrowed' from catering to the other three before taking his own, eyes gleaming.

"Feliz Cumpleanos," they wish the older man, Alberto nodding in thanks before they all begin digging into the layers of frosting.

Monday, Mike sees nothing mentioning him on the match board, though the Wade Barrett vs Fandango match is marked as an App Interactive match. He frowns and goes to see Vickie, curious exactly if he'll have something to do for the evening. Upon hearing from her that the App interactive choices will determine _his_ role in the match, be it announcer, commentator, or referee, he's slightly appeased but not by much. He'd rather wrestle one or both of them, since his ruined attempt at getting the title back the Smackdown prior, but if this leads into that... well, he'll make do. As he always does.

Del Rio's rematch against Big E is early on in the evening and Mike sits next to Alex, watching as the two Mexicans approach the ring, Ricardo grinning at his employer while Alberto keeps a supportive hand on his shoulder. "Well, at least he seems to be doing better after last week," Alex says quietly, shifting next to his former pro. "I guess Main Event helped with that some, huh?"

"Yeah, seems to have," Mike nods. "Hopefully tonight goes alright too." And although AJ gets involved a bit, it does seem to go ok, the girl's distraction ultimately working against Big E and assisting Del Rio into forcing him into the exposed turnbuckle and rolling him up for a three count. After which, there seems to be some tension between the enforcer and girl, her repeating that she was only trying to help him as he leaves her behind, storming up the ramp. "Huh," he mutters, watching closely as the enforcer ignores her all the way up the ramp.

Alex purses his lips, brows furrowed as he looks from Mike to the TV screen. "Well, that was odd."

"Yeah, a bit." But they forget when Alberto and Ricardo return, talking back and forth quickly in Spanish. Alberto seems to still be favoring his ribs a little, understandably after the hard hits he'd taken in that match, but he stops when he spots Mike and Alex, standing up a bit straighter. Mike notices but says nothing, smirking at the Mexican's unbending pride. "Congrats on the win again." He nods at Ricardo before shifting over so the other two can sit down, if they want.

Ricardo _does_ sit after a moment, glancing back at his employer who remains standing as he watches the commercial on the monitor while resting his hand on his friend's shoulder, half-listening when Mike asks Ricardo about how the paint on the bucket is holding up. "Ah, gracias," he nods. "It's fine, see?" He holds the item up so the two men can see it, and Mike grins at it for a moment. The four of them watch the show for awhile, Ricardo eventually turning to look up at Del Rio. "El Patron, por favor, sit down. You've just had a match," he beseeches his best friend, motioning to the space next to him.

Alberto hesitates, hating to seem weak, even if it's just in front of Mike and Alex, but finally sighs, nodding. "Fine, amigo. Fine." He obligingly sits down next to the younger man, some of the tension immediately leaving his face as he relaxes even a little. "Gracias," he murmurs after a moment, Ricardo smiling in response as they return to watching the show.

When Mike is alerted that it's time for him to go to prepare for the match he'll have to either officiate, announce or commentate, he waves at the other three before making his way to the door, pausing upon entering the hallway. "Well, here we go," he mumbles. He's dressed in black pants and his new shirt, smirking around at the crowd as he approaches the ring, waiting through a commercial break for people to vote on what role they want him to take.

He's more than a little glad when the voting time concludes with 85% of the votes going for him to referee the match, his grin growing as he switches out of his merch shirt and into the referee top. Relieved to leave the commentating to Main Event, and ring announcing to Ricardo, he turns and waits for Barrett and then Fandango to come to the ring. He tries to keep things clean, down the middle, but the two men in the ring make it nearly impossible. Before long, he's pushed across the ring and that does it, grabbing Wade just to hit the skull crushing finale on him. Even though this allows Fandango to get the win, he's equal opportunity on all fronts, so he dropkicks Fandango, causing Summer Rae to fall awkwardly on top of her dance partner, dazed. Laughing to himself, he counts the three and raises the girl's arm in victory before rolling out of the ring.

He's still grinning upon hitting the backstage area when he almost runs into someone, stopping short. "Sorr-" he's about to say, when he realizes that it's AJ Lee standing in his way. "Oh." Quickly turning and trying to walk past her, he's _almost_ not surprised when the girl follows him, lips twisted in annoyance as he continues to ignore her.

"Oh, Miz," she calls out. "Do you think going into the male locker room will stop me? It never has in the past, you know. If you really want Alex and Ricardo and who knows who else to hear what I have to say to you, that's fine... I'd be glad to tell them everything-"

Finally he turns and faces her, crossing his arms over the striped shirt covering his chest. "Look, I get it. You're bored, poor ol' Ziggly is off in Arizona, trying to recover after his brains were scrambled, and Big E wants nothing to do with you after you cost him that match tonight. All of the other guys in the building know better than to look twice at you. So you think that means I'll give you a moment of my time, for you to belittle me or try to turn people against me." He takes a few steps closer and ghosts a hand in front of her face, almost touching but not quite as he sneers some. "You had weeks to do so while I was off filming Christmas Bounty, sweetheart. Ricardo and Alex are still my friends, so I'd say you've failed. How about you focus on your title opportunity against Kaitlyn, whenever that may be, trying to get Big E to come around and nursing Ziggler back to health, and leave me alone?"

She stares at him, her lips twisting thoughtfully. "As believable as your speech is, Mike," she whispers, standing on tiptoe so they're eye to eye, "...I know it's the last thing you'd want. You like this little game, even though we both know it'll never go anywhere, because it gives you the illusion that a part of me still cares even an iota about you. Me, I just like watching you fall for it over and over again." Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she turns on her heel and skips away as quickly as she'd come, Mike shaking his head as he watches.

"Dammit."


	158. Degrees of Separation

The Shield. A faction that had kept the WWE tense, on their toes for months now. No one knows where they'll come from, who they'll target, what will come of their brutality. Things only grow more frantic when the men somehow survive Wrestlemania, beating three former world champions in Sheamus, Orton and Big Show decisively enough that the rest of the biggest show of the year had been overshadowed by uncertainty and worry from those who'd been targeted by the trio in the past. The weeks spent hoping that their threat would be vanquished, done away with, all for nothing. The situation is no better as that Sunday comes to an uneasy conclusion.

Only three people seem undisturbed by the evening's happenings, Heath Slater, Drew McIntyre and Jinder Mahal watch the locker room react pensively, smirks on their faces as they linger. Their eyes lock and Heath shakes his hair out. "Wha'dya think, boys? Wanna get into some trouble?"

"Yes," Jinder and Drew agree easily, eyes glinting dangerously. As the three men symbolize 3MB with their fingers, Drew slings an arm around both of his teammates, the three men leaving to party like only rockstars could. They'd been overlooked for far too long, if things won't change, then 3MB will force them to.

Once they leave, only a few stragglers remain in the arena, despite the event being long over with. Zack Ryder by catering, poking fun at Dolph Ziggler's battered and abused briefcase. A few feet away, AJ holds Big E. back, taking the cues from her boyfriend, who seems to almost enjoy exchanging barbs with his former rival. Towards the end of the hallway, Miz and Alex Riley sit, watching as Ricardo Rodriguez gingerly touches up the bucket that he'd randomly began carrying around a few months back, before his ankle injury. The ring announcer only blinks a bit as Alex leans forward and dips his fingers in the red paint used to mark the Mexican flag's colors along the surface of the metallic surface, painstakingly smearing it across the newspapers that had been spread on the floor around the bucket so he wouldn't ruin the arena's tile. Catching on, his former NXT pro grins and follows suit with the green paint, the two colors meshing together in a sloppy brown shade wherever they meet.

Neither men seem that offended as Alberto Del Rio ventures out of his nearby locker room a few moments later to check on his best friend, finding the two fingerpainting like a couple of kindergarteners, and says as much, before turning his attention to Ricardo's own handiwork, complimenting him on maintaining the show of pride in their heritage. The ring announcer grins through a soft murmur of _gracias,_ glancing anxiously over at the mess the other two are making.

None of them are aware of what's on the horizon, blissfully continuing on with their lives like everything will always be this peaceful and simple.

It starts the following night, before 3MB even arrives at the arena. The Shield makes their presence known early on, when Miz is in the ring with Wade Barrett in a face to face, Barrett quickly making a getaway after things rapidly escalate and he lands a harsh elbow in Mike's face, leaving him laying helpless and barely conscious. He's still struggling to regain himself when he realizes that he's all alone in the ring- the referee mysteriously gone, Mike half-sitting up to figure out what's going on. He's just blinked hard enough to work some of the blur out of his vision, focus on his surroundings when he spots a flash of black out of his peripheral vision, turning to stare at a sneering Dean Ambrose. His breath stutters as he realizes what this means, finding Seth Rollins standing to his left, smirking. He can't see him but just knows that the silent, menacing form of Roman Reigns also has to be around somewhere as well.

He stands warily and looks from side to side, knowing that there's no easy way out. Even if he did get to the ramp, the three men would chase him down and instead of beating him down out here in the ring, they'd accomplish their goal in the backstage area, where there's many more painful things to use against him. So he stands his own, waiting for what's to come. Nothing else, he'll fight for as long as he can. Since they'd walked out winners at Wrestlemania, the whole locker room was tense, waiting for the next shoe to drop with these three. Why, exactly, they're targeting him, he's not sure, but he doubts they really need much of a reason any longer.

They move as one, slinking up onto the apron and examining him with their varying expressions, eyes gleaming. All he can think is _These maniacs truly enjoy this,_ before they're on top of him, raining punches and kicks upon him, leaving him trying desperately to get free of the melee, managing a few blows of his own before getting overwhelmed once more. He finally has no choice but to curl up and try to block some of their offense with his arms or legs, wait for the body-shattering impact of their Trio Bomb, when the audience starts to freak out with cheers and murmurs, announcing the appearance of someone as The Shield members reluctantly leave him alone briefly, his hair standing up as he wonders who could possibly bother to rescue him- Sheamus? Show? Or...

His speculating thoughts stutter to a horrified stop when he rolls over yet again, ignoring his body's raw throbbing, to find Ambrose, Rollins and Reigns all surrounding an all too familiar form- Alex Riley also is trying and failing at fighting the three vicious animals off, slowly succumbing to their perfectly in-sync attacks. Mike grunts, finding his way to his feet and he tries to hold the three men at bay, return their focus to their original target, but only Ambrose and Rollins bite, leaving Roman behind to decimate Alex. Mike is pummeled down once more, forced to watch across the ring as Reigns, boring of the simplistic punches and kicks he'd peppered across the younger man's body, lifts Alex up and waits, his stance secure and strong, not wavering even as he waits for his partners to come assist in the trio bomb.

Rollins notes this first, nudging Ambrose and motioning over to the muscular man, both men quickly abandoning Mike and taking their positions on either side of Alex like some demented triangle of force and destruction. There's nothing to be done, Mike forced to lay and watch, blood trickling down his scalp from where they'd landed a particularly hard set of shots, as his former protege is slammed ruthlessly against the mat, his body not moving once they're done, even when Reigns crashes down next to him and roars in his face, joining his teammates as they quickly leave the ring and head out through the crowd, leaving a trembling Miz leaning against the ropes, pain vibrating from every inch of his raw, beat body.

The referee, who he'd heard yelling from a blurry, pain-filled distance through all of that, finally enters the ring and kneels to check on him, but Mike only has eyes for Alex, who hasn't moved yet since crashing into the mat with the impact that looks like what Miz thinks a car accident must have. He pushes away from the ropes, screams at the referee, and scrambles over to his best friend. "Alex, Alex-" He's not sure where to touch, finally settles on resting his hands on the still man's arm, chest. He's still breathing, heart beating quickly underneath his fingers, and Mike sighs in some relief once this registers fully with him. "Why did you come out? Why-?" But he knows why, painfully aware that the younger man was just trying to help, just to take the worst of their offense onto his own back to spare Mike. He scrubs at his face with a shaking hand, struggling to breathe normally. "It's ok, never mind. I'm here. You're going to be ok."

The referees and trainer begin swarming, trying to get Miz to move away from Alex, but he refuses, all but snarling at each of them whenever they touch him. "Come on, kid, come _on!"_ he's snapping when finally there's a flicker of response, A-Ri's arm twitching under Mike's. When he groans, eyes fluttering, the former WWE champion feels a little like crying. "Alex?"

He hisses out a breath, his face tense as he gingerly licks at his dry, raw lips. "Mike?"

It's the sweetest thing Miz thinks he's ever heard. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Things are going- going to be just fine." Only then does he allow the staff room to work on his friend, gnawing on his lip anxiously. Mixed in with his worried, distorted thoughts are simply: _They will pay._

As Alex is helped backstage by the group of referees and Mike, none of them notice the freshly arrived 3MB standing by the door, watching on with a knowing smirk, their expressions hinting to trouble.

By Friday, Alex is feeling relatively better. His neck still sends sharp pains down his spine if he moves wrong, but he accompanies Mike to Smackdown anyway, just needing something to do even if he's not cleared to compete yet. Mike had been against the move, continues to be wary and overly watchful, keeping an eye out for The Shield or anyone else who might dare to attack Alex. There's a dark match going on in the ring, Zack Ryder vs JTG, cameras being tested for the show that will begin shortly, when they hear an odd buzz from the slowly growing crowd.

Unsettled, Mike exchanges glance with Alex and slowly approach the gorilla, uncertain- if it's The Shield, he wouldn't mind going out to get some revenge for Monday, but A-Ri's presence holds him back as he doesn't want the kid trying to help and getting injured again, especially if The Shield should be somewhere in the arena, just waiting for their opportunity to attack again. But as they stare out to the ring, the three men laying Zack out with body blows and kicks aren't The Shield- no, it's the leather wearing, band-wannabes known as 3MB. As Heath Slater directs traffic, Drew McIntyre and Jinder Mahal hold the Long Island native up, allowing Heath to grip his jaw tightly and all but scream in his face before doing his air guitar taunt, smacking him in the face on the tail end of it.

Shaking off his mindnumbing shock at seeing _these_ three actually pulling off a successful beatdown for the first time in months, and so soon after The Shield's against himself and Alex, those memories leaving him motionless for long moments, Mike storms through the curtain and rushes the ring, unaware that Alex's followed him. But they're spotted and 3MB make their getaway, laughing and mocking them loudly from the timekeeper's area, before slipping through the crowd- so similar, yet so different, and... Mike swallows, forcing the thoughts from his mind as he turns to find Alex helping a dazed Zack to sit up. "Hey, are you ok?" he asks tensely, resting a hand on Zack's shoulder as he kneels by him.

"Yeah bro," the younger man grumbles, looking from him to Alex. "What _was_ that?"

Mike shakes his head, looking back through the crowd where the trio had disappeared to, feeling uncomfortable and somehow an easy target while sitting here. "I have no idea," he mumbles, wondering too. Their actions had been so similar to The Shield's, their exit, everything...

He has a very bad feeling about all of this.

"So you have the cast off," Mike observes with a small smile on his face as he stares at Ricardo Rodriguez, looking and obviously feeling much better than he had even a couple of weeks ago, when Swagger and his manager's xenophobic rants- and actions- had been following him and Del Rio around, soiling their enjoyment of the road to Wrestlemania, Alberto's first as World Champion.

"Ah, si, si I do!" Ricardo nods, smiling. "I still have to wrap it to give it some support for a week or two more, but I can now wear my shoe and don't need the crutch. As long as I'm careful, recovery should be finished soon."

Mike grins too, pleased for his friend. "I'm glad for you, man. Wish I could've helped more during all of that Swagger nonsense..." He hesitates. "My MizTV that one week might've made tension worse, and if it did, caused this..." He breathes and waves at Ricardo's leg. "I'm sorry."

The ring announcer glances down at his foot, reflecting on the past few weeks, and shakes his head. "This all probably would've happened either way, don't blame yourself, Miz. As long as Colter and Swagger want to rid the nation of people like myself and El Patron, one appearance on MizTV wouldn't have changed their viewpoint or plans."

Mike smiles at him, relieved that he doesn't blame him. "Yeah, I guess you have a point." They're still standing there, half-watching Raw, when Alberto Del Rio walks towards them, a small smile on his own lips.

"Amigo," he greets Ricardo, patting him on the jaw before turning to Mike. "Miz."

"Alberto." His and Del Rio's relationship is still rocky, the two men only getting along somewhat for Ricardo's sake, but every little bit of progress is good, their small group slowly gaining more and more of a bond with each passing day.

"Ready to go, amigo? My match is next," he says, grinning slightly when Ricardo looks up at him, nodding. "Bueno. Let's go then." He squeezes Ricardo's shoulder, nodding quietly at Mike before following the ring announcer to the gorilla position where Ricardo goes out first to do his introductions.

As he turns to the nearest monitor to watch, Alex joins him with a bottle of water. Mike had forced him to check in with the trainer again, who'd confirmed that A-Ri was basically recovered from the last week's attack, his injuries thankfully not _too_ serious, despite how long he'd been out of it, worrying Mike. So now they watch as Del Rio stares across at Big E., a confident look on his face. Miz tries not to think about it but neither of their individual successes at Mania had lasted long enough to really be enjoyed- Del Rio had been cashed in on the next day, just after Mike had lost his Intercontinental title as well. With the next pay per view still a good month away, both had been stuck looking for something to do, any chance to get another opportunity at the belts they'd lost so suddenly, but so far neither had been overly successful.

They're still standing there, quietly watching Ricardo cheer on Del Rio from the outside, when that familiar spree of words echoes through the arena again- _Sierra, Hotel, India, Echo, Lima, Delta-_ heralding the arrival of the brutal trio. Mike tenses and looks over at Alex when Del Rio roughly throws Big E. out of the ring, opposite from where Ricardo is standing, to turn his full focus onto the approaching men in the crowd. Ricardo looks as clueless on what to do as the rest of them, hesitantly climbing up onto the apron, but before he can enter, Alberto shakes his head roughly at the younger man. "Get down, go- get away from the ring, Ricardo. Now!" Ignoring his ring announcer's denials, he points at the floor. "Go! I will not have you injured again- go, Ricardo-"

"But-" His eyes are frantic and he doesn't want to distract his employer so finally he heeds his pleas and hops down to the floor, slipping away from the ring and just making it to the timekeeper's area when the trio hops over the barrier and surrounds the ring, identical cocky sneers on their faces. He's then forced to watch as the men fake his employer out, hopping onto the apron just to fall back to the floor before trying again, finally Roman entering the ring fully and immediately shoulderchecking the Mexican aristocrat to the mat. Only then do Seth Rollins and Dean Ambrose take the opportunity to enter as well, joining in the melee against Del Rio, kicking and punching any part of him they can reach.

Ricardo's hands are coiled into tense fists as he watches on helplessly, his mouth trembling while the beatdown continues on and on and on, finally the trio dispersing enough for Roman to scoop Del Rio up for their trio bomb. "No, no," he mouths over the crowd's response, but there's no stopping it as Alberto's body is slammed into the mat, the three members of The Shield standing over him with matching sneers on their faces, Roman roaring into the camera before they hold their fists together, proving their continued unity which had left WWE as a whole frozen the past few months. They finally leave back through the crowd, Ambrose's dangerous eyes locked on Ricardo as he leaves, and the ring announcer scrambles into the ring once he's sure they're gone, gripping his employer's arm, his hand, touching his face. "Lo siento," he murmurs. "Lo siento, El Patron-"

Del Rio says nothing, his eyes fluttering, but he squeezes Ricardo's hand and breathes roughly as the trainers prepare to move him for further examination in the back. The ring announcer feels horrible and disgusted, unsure how many times they're going to have to go through this in such a short period of time. He knows injuries are part of the business, but not like this- never like this, between his ankle and Alberto's knee, and now... He shakes his head desperately and strokes the soft hair at Del Rio's temples, hoping that it soothes him even a little.

They're almost to the trainer's office, no one paying much attention to him as they analyze Alberto's neck, his knee, anything else they think might be a lingering concern, when hands roughly grab Ricardo by the back of his tux and drag him away from his employer, a door slamming behind him as he blinks against the half-lit room he's been thrown into, shaking his head in confusion. As he turns slowly, dread leaving him tense and a little ill, he swallows when he comes face to face with three sneering faces, eyes wide. "Ay," he whispers, lifting his hands in a feeble attempt at defending himself as the trio approaches him.

Mike walks through the halls, his face tense and hands pressed to his sides as he reflects on The Shield attacking yet again- how similar it'd been to his own attack the week prior. He breathes deeply, glancing over at Alex, and shakes his head. "Something has to be done... This can't continue."

Alex nods as they push their way into the trainer's office to check on Alberto, make sure both he and his ring announcer are fine after all of that- Mike coming to an immediate stop as he realizes something's missing. Alex runs into his back but the former WWE champion says nothing, his narrowed eyes still scanning the room, and Alex catches on quickly. "Wait, where's Ricardo?"

Del Rio is still out of it, the trainer busy examining his neck, but murmurs something sounding like his ring announcer's name, hands twitching in discomfort at his sides. "Ric-..."

A chill of unease down Mike's back, he turns and pushes Alex back out of the room. "Come on, we have to find him- The Shield's already attacked him once, we can't just-" His words die away as they race back down the way they'd come, stopping only long enough to look in each room as they pass. They're almost at the gorilla position when a door opens, Mike not pausing in his rushed dash forward, ramming right into Heath Slater and sending him into the wall. 3MB, Alex and Mike all pause and stare at each other, a sneer on the three men's faces as they slowly back away and leave the area, Mike and Alex coming to the same conclusion at once. "Ricardo," Mike hisses, pushing the door open once more and staring around the room until finally his eyes rest on the motionless form of the ring announcer. "Ricardo..." He's by his side within seconds, gingerly rolling him over. "Hey, hey." The younger man isn't responsive, his face pale and slack. "Alex, go get the trainer!" he barks at his former protege, his eyes not leaving Ricardo once. As Alex thunders out of the room, Mike groans and shakes his head. "What is going _on_ around here anymore?"

Things move quickly once the trainer arrives, Miz standing nearby as he and a group of referees transport Ricardo onto a stretcher that they cart down the hall into his office where they settle him down on a cot near Alberto's, the trainer quickly settling into examining him. Mike closes his eyes as he stands by Alex, watching the trainer check his skull, spine, neck, anything else that might be a cause of his lingering unconsciousness. "3MB," he mutters in lingering disbelief. "This is..."

"Between them and The Shield," Alex murmurs, also seeming uncertain how to finish vocalizing his thoughts. They stand in silence and watch as Alberto and Ricardo both linger on, side by side, in unresponsive voids. "First us, then Zack, now these two," he finally concludes, shaking his head. "Why, though? What's the point?"

"Good question," Mike sighs, his words dying in his throat as Alberto's eyes flutter open a moment later, dark and weary. Exchanging glances with his friend, he wanders over to the Mexican aristocrat's cot and stares down at him. "Hey, Del Rio." He ignores the trainer, who takes position on the other side and runs a light into Alberto's pupils, checking for a head injury.

He blinks blankly a few times before releasing a soft breath, glancing around, visibly looking for something... someone. "Ric- Ricard..."

Mike takes a breath, shaking his head as he realizes that of course Del Rio would note the seeming absence of his ring announcer. "Hey, it's ok. He's here, just relax." When Alberto continues searching what of the room he can see while down on the cot for the younger man, Miz makes a face and steps aside, allowing the Mexican aristocrat to look towards Ricardo's cot, his mouth working for a moment until he begins to struggle to sit up, all of his own agony forgotten at first glance of his friend down. "Hey, hey, no, man, stop," Mike tries to hold him down but Del Rio's dark eyes glower up into his own blue. He sees in him something he's felt many a time prior- when Alex or John had been injured- and he lets him go, instead remaining nearby to assist if need be.

Staggering to his feet, Alberto moves to his best friend's side and rests a hand on top of his hair, eyes gleaming sadly. "Ricardo, mi amigo. What happened to you? Who did this?" The last question directed at Mike, he glances briefly from Ricardo to the former WWE champion before turning his focus back to Ricardo, brushing his fingers through his dark hair.

"I think it was 3MB," he admits lowly. "We went to look for him and found those three leaving a room; when we looked inside, he was like this." He watches as Del Rio's jaw tightens, his fingers still brushing against Ricardo's face. "He'll be ok, though. He's strong."

Del Rio nods grimly, his hand stroking against Ricardo's forehead. "Mi amigo," he mumbles, sighing in pained worry when he doesn't respond to his employer's voice like usual. "Por favor, wake up." As if a flip has been switched thanks to these words, the younger man's hand twitches a few minutes later, all eyes immediately resting on his spasming fingers. "Ricardo?"

His face crunches up painfully and Alberto leans closer, staring intently at him, his fingers gentle against his hair. "El..." he breathes out, eyes finally fluttering open. "El... Patron..."

"Right, right," he breathes out, smiling at his friend. "I'm here. It's ok. Mi amigo, what do you remember?"

He blinks tiredly and shakes his head. "I... I..." Grunting painfully, he releases a soft breath, making a face as he tries to sort through his memories. "3MB?" He looks over Del Rio's shoulder and stares at Mike, who smiles halfheartedly at him. "I think I remember hearing Slater's voice, then everything went dark." He licks his lips before looking back at his employer, paling further. "Wait, The Shield- they attacked you," he remembers slowly. "But... why- why are you on your feet, El Patron? You should be resting," he says, recalling how bad it'd looked from the timekeeper's area as the three men had mauled his best friend.

"I'm fine," he says, shaking his head. "Don't worry about me, mi amigo. I'm more worried about you. Trainer-"

Ricardo grimaces anew as the man he'd become much too familiar with over the last few months joins them, quickly going about his duties, checking Ricardo for concussion, examining his neck, even running a quick check of his ankle, just to ensure none of his numerous prior injuries had been re-aggravated. When he confirms that the ring announcer is fine, will merely be sore for awhile, they all sag in relief as Alberto pats him on the shoulder, smiling slightly. Ricardo sighs and grips his employer's wrist, looking up at him. " _Now_ will you sit down? Por favor, El Patron?"

"Si, si," the Mexican aristocrat sighs indulgently. Instead of going back to his own cot, however, he sits next to Ricardo on his and pats him on the shoulder some more while they wait to be released, the trainer keeping a close eye on them as he bustles around the room and allows them to talk quietly amongst themselves.

Mike ponders the situation for a few moments, uncharacteristically quiet, before Alex nudges him, curious. "What, Alex?"

"What are we going to do? Between 3MB attacking Zack and Ricardo, and The Shield going after pretty much everyone else..." He hesitates, examining his friend's somber expression. "I mean, something has to give, right?"

"Oh it will," Mike promises, dark blue gaze locked on Ricardo as he breathes painfully, shaking his head at Alberto while he rests against his employer's shoulder, groaning faintly. "It definitely will."

Alex stares at him, curious as to his plans, but when the former Most Must See Champion offers nothing, he just frowns but keeps quiet, not wanting to risk ruining his friend's thought process. Despite his unquenchable curiosity, he knows that whatever Mike has brewing will probably be interesting. His plans almost always are.

His arms crossed over his chest, Mike stares down at the woman before him, eyes resolute and determined. "It should be a simple match to make," he tells her. "After everything The Shield has done lately, 3MB too, it'd probably be a relief to you to get it out of the way at once. Right?"

Vickie Guerrero examines him quietly, her brightly made up lips pursed as she considers his idea. "I don't know, Miz, do you think you can find tag partners willing to put up with you?"

He sneers at her for a moment before nodding. "Piece of cake. So are you going to sanction this or not?"

She smirks at him. "Fine. Good luck finding suitable partners." The _you'll need it_ is just barely implied, adding to his determination to prove her and all of his other doubters wrong.

He simply smirks back, turning sharply on his heel and leaving her room with his head held high. "Step one, complete," he mutters, staring down at his phone with a look of certainty. Sending a quick text to Alex, he resumes walking while waiting for a response on the younger man's whereabouts. When his phone beeps, he glances at the screen and turns to the right at the next turn in the halls, quickly finding the locker room he's inside of, walking right up to him. "Hey, kid. Wanna help me with something?"

Alex smiles slightly, shrugging. He'd expected something like this from Mike, eventually. "Sure, man. What's going on?"

Mike's grin turns almost predatory. "Vickie Guerrero just sanctioned a match for me." He chuckles at the look on Alex's face. "I know, right?" He shrugs. "She's of the same opinion as myself. The Shield and 3MB both need taught a lesson for their actions the past few weeks."

Curiosity definitely peaked now, Alex urges him on, "Alright, what do you need help with then?"

"I need partners for a 12-man elimination tag match for next week's Main Event," he explains with a smirk. "Me and five partners of my choosing against The Shield and 3MB." Poking Alex in the chest, he grins. "I want you to be my first partner."

Alex makes a show of mulling this over before clapping Mike on the shoulder, laughing. "Of course, man. I'm in. So who will the other four be? Any ideas?"

Mike smirks, about to say something, when tanned arms wraps around them both, Zack Ryder drawing them in closer to him. "Bros! What's this I hear about a 12 man elimination tag match? Involving 3MB?" He grins brightly at them and pulls back, thumping himself on the chest. "I'd be glad to be your third tag partner!"

Alex watches his former pro, unsure how well _that_ will go over with him, but he surprises both of the younger men by nodding thoughtfully. "Alright, Ryder, you're in." As the broski fistpumps wildly, his grin growing, Mike catches the surprise on Alex's face and chuckles. "I was already considering him being on our team," he shrugs. "He'll want revenge too, so why not?"

Alex grins. "Well, that's true. At least he's enthusiastic. Who next?"

Mike just smirks and motions him to join him, walking through the halls. "Well, I was thinking, we're not the only one who's had problems with the Shield, so the next option is pretty obvious." He stops at a locker room and knocks, unsurprised when Del Rio answers it, staring down at him for a moment. "Del Rio."

"Miz." He steps aside, allowing the two men access quietly, probably thinking that they're here to see his ring announcer. He quirks an eyebrow when, instead, they turn towards him after nodding hello to Ricardo. "What do you want?"

Mike smirks. "Got a match proposition for you." He glances towards Ricardo and smiles, turning his attention back to Del Rio. "I know you've been looking for a way to get back at 3MB and The Shield both after last week." His words are confirmed when Alberto too glances over at his ring announcer, eyes darkening and lips thinning. "I've thought up a way for us all to get revenge on them for their actions."

"Such as?" Alberto asks, moving to stand next to his ring announcer, hand sneaking around the younger man's shoulders as he dwells once more on how 3MB had attacked him while Del Rio was being taken care of after his own attack.

"Vickie authorized a twelve man elimination tag match for me," Mike smirks. "Six of us vs The Shield and 3MB. What do ya say? Wanna be on my team?"

Alberto stares at him for a long moment before leaning down to discuss with Ricardo, who nods a bit and murmurs back to him. "Who else is on your team so far?"

Mike isn't surprised this is being asked, all too familiar with paranoia in tag team situations, often suffering from similar hesitations. "So far, myself, Alex, Zack Ryder. Are you going to be number four on Team Miz?"

Alberto is about to answer when Ricardo tugs on his sleeve, eyes wide. "El Patron-"

"Si, amigo?" he asks, half-smiling down at his best friend. "What is it?"

"I could compete-" he offers, glancing from Miz to Alberto, determination taking over his features. "Por favor- they attacked me too, I can-"

Alberto's grip tightens on him and he swallows. "I don't know, mi amigo," he says slowly. "3MB and The Shield both have attacked you, I don't think I want to chance it- if they get the upperhand, or somehow eliminate a number of us and you're left alone with them..."

"That won't happen!" he exclaims, looking surprised that his employer would even suggest such a thing to be possible. "El Patron, please- Miz needs two more tag partners, right? I'm willing, and we all get along well enough, so-"

Alberto sighs, visibly swayed as his best friend continues to look pleadingly at him, warring with his need to keep him safe versus his determination to allow him freedom to compete when he wants to. "I'll leave that decision up to Miz then. It is his team, after all," he murmurs, eyeing the other man as Ricardo then turns to look at him hopefully.

"Por favor, Miz- I promise, I won't be a liability. And my ankle is recovered, the trainer assures me-"

Mike smiles, holding a hand up to cease his rambling, aware that if it continues on, he'll start going in Spanish and they'll never get him to stop until he's about to pass out from lack of oxygen. "I don't need the hard sell, Ricardo. I trust you. But, before I agree, I have one request."

Ricardo glances uncertainly over at his employer before swallowing, facing Miz. "Si? What?"

"The Shield is a cohesive unit," he says slowly, resting his raised hand on the younger man's shoulder and kneading the muscles there. "I've seen you in the ring rarely, and I also know what you went through rehabbing your ankle the past month. So I think what we need to do is get in the ring and just... practice, make sure we can gel as well. Make sure you're 100% for all of this."

"We do have a bit of an advantage," Alex offers after a moment. When the others look at him, he shrugs. "3MB gets along with no one. The Shield seem like loners. Those two teams may not get along. If we all can work together even a little, we'll probably do alright."

Mike grins. "Well, you know I'm in."

Alex smirks. "Same." They look over at Ricardo and Del Rio, who are staring at each other in silent conversation.

Finally Alberto looks up and clears his throat. "We as well."

Mike claps sharply. "Fantastic! We'll figure out a time and place, and do this thing."

It's not until they're out of the room, Alex staring worriedly at Mike, that the leader of the team looks a little less certain. "I know what you're thinking," he sighs to his former protege. "We only have five teammates. And I know, I'm thinking of who else to ask. I just need some time to decide. I don't want to make a mistake and pick someone that's untrustworthy or..."

Alex nods, understanding. "I don't blame you, Mike, and the fact that you'd take the time to think about this so thoroughly proves you'll be a great leader during this match."

The words stop Mike mid-step as an almost sheepish grin crosses his face before he reaches up and over to wrap an arm around Alex's shoulders, squeezing his arm in thanks. "C'mon, kid. Let's get out of here. If you get any ideas for a sixth teammate, you'll let me know, right?"

"Of course, Mike," he says quietly, following him out of the building. Neither of them notice the shadowy form nearby, listening in. Once they're gone, it turns and skips away.

"Hey. Remember me?" a soft, almost coy voice asks.

 _"I can't recall the last time I heard from you,"_ a second voice comments, sounding low and tinny through the cell phone tightly gripped in a hand. _"Why are you calling?"_

 _"I need a favor. You_ do _owe me..."_

There's a lengthy pause. " _What do you think I can possibly do for you? Especially now-?"_

"It's not what I think, it's what I know," the caller tells him. "It's not that difficult, I don't think... whatever limitations there are, I'm sure we can figure out a work-around, between the two of us. What do you say, up to a challenge?"

_"Just tell me what you want. I'll see if it's at all possible."_

As the mysterious person begins to explain their thought, dark eyes peer down the hallway of the arena, a smirking kind of grin spreading across their lips. Once done, the other person agrees to look into it and the call is disconnected. "This should go well."

Miz, Alex and Zack stand in a ring, watching as Alberto leads Ricardo down to join them, massaging his shoulders briskly. "Ready, amigo?" he asks softly, waiting as Ricardo enters and holds the ropes for him, nodding once they're all inside. "Good, I know you'll do fantastic."

Ricardo grins a little before he peers uncertainly at the other three, licking his lips. "Hola," he greets them as he clasps his taped hands together nervously. He looks around and blinks. "Still no sixth partner, Miz?"

"No, not yet. I'll think of something before the match, don't worry about it." Mike forces a grin and claps the ring announcer on the shoulder. "Are we all ready?" When his four teammates all nod, he claps his hands together. "Great. Let's get started then." He wishes there was a sixth already, so they could all break off into three teams and practice, but it's not going to work out that way. Sighing heavily, he looks from Alex to Zack before pointing at the Long Island native. "Zack, I want you to have a test match with Ricardo. Nothing serious, just a warm up, alright?"

"Sure, bro," Zack agrees, turning to face the ring announcer as the other three get out of the ring to oversee, Alberto tense next to Mike like he's already preparing to go in and assist his friend. But it goes well, surprising most of them, as Ricardo shakes his hands loose and locks up with Zack, the two men going back and forth for a bit until finally Ricardo sweeps his feet out from under him, sending him down to the mat in an unexpected tumble. Zack blinks up at the lights overhead before making it to his feet, looking surprised. "Bro!" He rushes forward, looking almost offended, when Ricardo grabs his arm and sends him over in an armdrag, locking his arm over his head and gripping his wrist at a bad angle.

Mike blinks. Shakes his head. Grins. "Damn! Where did that come from?" He glances over at the now relaxed Mexican aristocrat and smirks. "You two have been holding back on us."

Alberto sighs and shrugs, glancing over at him. "I wish," he explains lowly. "See, mi amigo, he can compete- sometimes. Practice matches, like this, he's fine. Even during minor events like NXT, he can wrestle decently. But... any time he's thrown into a ring in front of a large crowd like Raw or Smackdown, and he... forgets, for lack of a better term. It's unfortunate, he's quite gifted in the ring, but he loses a lot of his self-confidence when it comes to actually competing on TV, in front of thousands. I've tried to assist him work past it in the past, but..."

Mike stares at him, the upcoming match suddenly seeming more daunting to him. "I see. So if he gets tagged in during this elimination tag match..."

"It probably won't go well, no matter how hard we train right here, now." Alberto sighs. "I try to be supportive whenever he wants to compete, but he has yet to break through these problems. I apologize, I should have warned you before you agreed to allow him on your team, but... he seemed so determined..."

Mike has a lot of thoughts due to this, his need to win this match warring against his friendship with Ricardo. Finally he takes in the grin on the younger man's face as he slips out of the ring and lands by Alberto's side, looking pleased with being able to keep Zack down on the mat for most of their practice match, and knows he can't take that away from him, not after everything he'd been put through recently. He sighs and claps Ricardo on the shoulder, smiling at him. "Good job, man."

As Zack regroups, Miz pits Alex against Del Rio, watching as the two men feel each other out, Del Rio quickly overwhelming the younger man and eventually pinning him to the mat in a bridge after suplexing him to the mat. Mike, curious to see how Ricardo would handle a former WWE champion, urges him back into the ring and stares at him for a long moment. The ring announcer swallows and holds his hands in front of him, waiting for Miz's first action.

When it comes, Ricardo moves quickly and ducks the first punch, returning it with a kick of his own, right in the middle of Mike's midsection and surprising the older man. He looks _almost_ uncomfortable as Mike massages his ribs, but falls back into it when Miz motions at him to continue, grabbing him in a sleeperhold when he approaches. Thinking quickly, the ring announcer grips Mike and slams him backwards into the mat, breaking the hold _and_ getting him in a cover, which Mike kicks out of before those on the outside can count a three against him. It ends pretty quickly after that, Mike hitting his combo backbreaker into the neckbreaker on the younger man and pinning him, but Ricardo had done so well. As he helps him out of the ring, Del Rio waiting to take over as soon as Ricardo's on the floor, all Miz can think is, _If we could just somehow work through his stage fright, he could... be quite the contender in this match._

_But how to do what Del Rio couldn't for the last few years?_

John Morrison sighs, scrubbing at his face as he looks over the script for the movie he's filming for, narrowing his eyes at the dialogue, still trying to remember one of the wordier scenes he has to make it through in as few takes as is possible, when there's a soft knock at the door of his apartment. He groans, resting his forehead against the sheet, before standing up. "Who is this?" he mumbles, quickly answering. "Hell- ..." He blinks down at the girl on his doorstep, shaking his head. Despite her mostly being after his time, she's become somewhat infamous to him, all of Mike's stories leaving him on edge and curious until he googled the girl and sometimes even watched Raw just to see what she's up to with his best friend. "AJ Lee," he says, moving out into the hallway and shutting the door mostly behind him so she won't get any ideas. "What are you doing here?"

She tilts her head and smiles, blinking slowly at him, but he's not swayed by her cuteness. Realizing this, she straightens up and acts a little less friendly. "I overheard Mike discussing something with a few others. He's a jackass, I'm sure you know this better than most, but I made promises to him and I failed, no matter how it all came about, and I hate _failing._ At anything." She takes in a deep breath and reaches into her purse, smirking as he stands warily at attention, watching as she pulls a stapled together document out and presses it against his chest until he takes it from her. "Read them over, get a lawyer to pour over them if you wish, then sign them, get them notarized and... I'll see you around." As he blinks at her, she turns and skips back down the hallway before stopping at the turn towards the stairs. "By the way, say nothing about this to Miz. He doesn't need to know..."

Once she's gone, he blinks and enters his apartment, locking the door securely behind him before dropping the papers on the table he'd just vacated, skimming them over. "No way," he mutters, jaw dropping as he reads it through again, more carefully. "She- I... _Wow._ " He stares at his phone, fingers itching to dial Mike, but... "He doesn't need to know. _Right_."

After another round of practice matches, Zack Ryder lays on a trunk outside of a locker room, fresh off of a loss to Alex, who'd hit him with a clothesline so powerful he'd sworn that it'd loosened a few of his teeth. He sighs tiredly, lost in a New Kids on the Block CD, when a familiar voice breaks into the song, an answering female voice also cutting into his relaxation. He groans, tearing the earbuds out of his head and sitting up to yell at the interruptions, when he places the voice-

"You left all mysteriously and didn't even tell me where you went!" Dolph Ziggler snaps, his concussion apparently healed well enough finally that raised voices, even if they are his own, doesn't bother him. "I just... I need to know, AJ. Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Don't you trust me, Ziggly?" she demands, sounding a little weary. After Big E had grown aggravated with them and began to distance himself, Dolph had become more determined to keep her close to him, and it'd began to wear at her.

"Of course I do, I just want to help you if you're involved in something-"

She groans and cups his face. "I love that you care about me, I do, Ziggly, but it's... just not something I feel comfortable telling you about right now." She turns away from him and is about to leave, when-

"Please, AJ." He sounds more vulnerable than Zack has ever heard him, even during their US title feud, and it surprises her too apparently because she turns back towards him, eyes soft. " _Please."_

"Fine," she breathes. "Fine, Ziggly. I'll tell you, if it makes you feel better." And she does, explains how Mike had used her in her early days of GM to get Morrison his job back, how she had failed and then resigned, but that the failure and her need to redeem even the smallest thing from her time as manager had stuck with her, despite everything Mike had put her through. It's only when she begins to talk about current things that Zack begins paying more attention. "You've heard about this twelve man elimination match Miz convinced Vickie to sanction?"

Dolph nods. "Vaguely, yeah. What about it?"

AJ takes a breath. "One of the board members owed me something so I went to him and asked for a favor." Zack can just see the confusion on Dolph's face from the position he's laying, tilting his head in some amusement as the girl continues to explain, his interest in Ziggler's reaction fading away as the meaning of AJ's words register with him, his eyes widening.

How he keeps quiet until she takes Dolph's hands and leads him away, skipping so that their interlaced hands swing back and forth, he's not sure, but once he's alone, Zack sits up and stares ahead, lips shifting into a startled grin. "Bro," he breathes. "Siiiick!"

Miz had planned things carefully, leading up into the twelve man match. Call him paranoid or whatever else you want, but he could see The Shield or even 3MB to try something before the match and take any one of them- or more- out. Considering his team already has the disadvantage with it being five on six, he has no doubts that one more strike against their team could cause them to lose from minute one. He had tried to find a sixth member, but those he attempted were either disinterested, busy with their own feuds, or just didn't like him. Too proud to go to Vickie and ask for more time- or anything else- he'd discussed it with the other four men, who'd ultimately agreed with him: They'd signed on for this match, knowing what they were walking into from the start, and they would uphold their responsibilities, no matter the outcome.

So when he'd booked all five of them to two adjoining hotel suites, he wasn't surprised when no one complained or argued, just quietly accepted, Ricardo and Alberto going through the door to their room that's connected to Mike's, so each room can hear what's happening in the other, just in case. Zack was supposed to stay with Mike and Alex but he'd been acting oddly for a few days now, a small smirk on his lips as he stands from the couch. "Hey, bros, I think I'm going to stay with Del Rio and Ricardo. You know, try to work on our chemistry so things aren't a complete mess tomorrow night."

Mike hesitates, blinking, before shaking his head. "Um, yeah. Sure, if that's what you want."

"Yep. See you tomorrow, bros!" He waves and knocks on the door dividing the two rooms, quickly slipping into the Mexicans' room when Ricardo answers, looking about as confused as Mike and Alex feel.

"Well. That was random," Alex says, eyes wide. "Do they... even get along?"

"I don't think so," Mike mumbles. "Not really. But whatever, at least he's not alone so The Shield or 3MB can't get ahold of him." He sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed, lips twisting thoughtfully as he once more ponders the situation about not having a sixth team member. "Do you think we'll do ok, just the five of us?"

Alex stares at him for a moment before sitting down next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, I do, Mike. Unlike those six, we actually gel pretty well in the ring. You've made sure of that, by scheduling all of these practice matches so we know each other's strengths, weaknesses, and how to work around them. Considering no one gets along with 3MB, I have no doubt that we'll have at least some advantage over them." But Mike still looks a little glum, staring at his phone, and Alex peers down at the screen, realizing with a sharp pang that he's staring down at a picture of Morrison from when they were tag team champions. He sighs and squeezes his friend's arm tighter, reflecting on how easy choosing the sixth person would be if John still worked here. But he knows it's a sensitive topic so he keeps quiet, not wanting to make things worse for Mike, considering how fresh _that_ particular failure still is sometimes for the Most Must See Superstar. The last thing their leader needs is a crisis of self-confidence hours before the match he was so determined to see through.

The night passes quietly, Mike not wanting to risk leaving them vulnerable with another practice match just in case. Early the next day, the five meet up in the parking lot of the hotel, all keeping an eye out just in case an ambush should happen. But The Shield nor 3MB are anywhere to be seen as they walk to the two rentals waiting for them. Zack looks confused, his brow furrowed, and Mike nudges him. "Things ok, Zack? You've been acting weird since we arrived in town," he says, trying to downplay just how long he'd noticed the strange attitude from the younger man.

"Oh, sure, bro," he says, forcing a grin even as he continues to glance around, as if expecting something- someone- to show themselves. "Just, you know, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious."

Mike isn't really sure if he believes him but, with Main Event looming so soon, now's not really the time to think too thoroughly about whatever weirdness Zack has brewing _now_ so he shrugs and slips into the car, Alex by his side as Zack glances uncertainly around once more before ducking into the backseat, his lips downturned as if disappointed. "Here we go," he mutters, stabbing the key into the ignition and pulling away from the hotel, Del Rio driving behind him. They'd all agreed to stay together, give their opponents no chance at all of dividing and conquering, so when they arrive at the arena rented out for the evening's Main Event, they follow a backstage tech to the locker room set aside for them all, the space thankfully big enough for all five of them, with some to spare.

"Do you know if 3MB or The Shield has arrived yet?" Mike asks the tech before he can duck back out, but the man shakes his head. Zack looks like he wants to ask something also but ultimately sits back down, biting his lip while untangling some wrist tape to wrap around his skin for protection.

The match is still hours away but the five of them begin to prepare early, Ricardo and Alberto stretching and talking lowly amongst themselves, the Mexican aristocrat's face tense with determination and focus as his ring announcer watches him with wide eyes. Mike double checks his knee and elbow pads, half-smiling as Alex does the exact same thing across from him, something he'd taught him to do before each match back in their NXT days. Nothing good comes out of having tears in your ring gear and not knowing it until it's too late, after all.

The afternoon passes slowly, Mike listening as his teammates go along with their individual prematch rituals, even Zack finding a way to be rather lowkey about it all: Although they all can hear the boyband music echoing out of his earphones as he does lunges in a corner, he at least doesn't sing out of consideration of the other four men in the room. Alex grins and pauses in sit ups as Mike releases his ankles before tossing him a bottle of water, nodding in thanks. Ricardo and Del Rio have taken over another corner of the room, the ring announcer catching his employer's punches and, rarely, kicks with bright red protective boxing gear covering his hands. Miz sighs and brushes some hair out of his eyes before swatting Alex's knee. "Switch," he says, sprawling out on the floor as Alex sits up and holds _his_ feet so he can do some situps for his own warm up, time slipping through all of their fingers suspiciously quickly now that the show's about to start.

Sixth man or no, Mike's as determined as the others to see this through, successfully. He stares at the ceiling as Alex counts, only just able to see out of the corner of his eye as Ricardo hesitantly hands over the guards to the Mexican aristocrat and begins punching at them himself, Alberto encouraging him to not hold back as he braces himself. He smiles faintly, glancing over at Zack as he continues on, lost in his own little boyband world. _If there were six of us here, none of us would have to prepare alone,_ he thinks grimly, losing track of himself mid-sit up. "Fifty," Alex tells him after a moment and he regroups, shaking the wayward thoughts from his head as he forces himself to pull off another, and another, and...

He's fallen completely into the zone, not paying attention to Alex's count or anything else going on around him, when there's a knock at the door, disrupting everything. They all freeze and look towards the barrier, another tech calling through the wooden barrier. "Main Event's starting, your match is up next!"

"Dammit," he mutters, scrambling to his feet. While he'd been lost in the repetitive nature of the sit ups, Zack, Del Rio and Ricardo had all finished getting into their gear, Zack in his new broski-free trunks and boots, while Alberto and Ricardo wear the matching Viva Del Rio shirts while Ricardo completes the ensemble with his zubaz again, Alex quickly adjusting his kneepads as Mike examines himself as best as he can, surprised at just how put together he looks considering. "Are we all ready?"

"Si," "Yeah, bro," "I'm good to go." Mike nods at each teammate as they confirm their preparedness, adjusting his merch shirt really quickly before approaching the door.

"Keep an eye out, who knows what those six might try, even now." Sure that the four men before him are focused on what's to come ahead, prepared for any unplanned circumstances, he grabs the doorknob and wrenches it open, peering out into the hallway. Seeing nothing suspicious, he makes his way out of the room and listens as the men follow quietly behind him, their sure footsteps bolstering _his_ confidence in being able to lead them to victory in this match.

He peers out through the gorilla position, waiting for the usual hype videos before Main Event begins to conclude, finding himself relieved when he spots The Shield in the crowd, patiently watching and waiting for their opponents, and smirks, feeling better at even that little concession. _At least they won't be able to disrupt us while we're still back here,_ he thinks. 3MB is still around somewhere, of course, but he doubts they'd try anything while all five of them are lined up. Finally the promo packages end and Mike's theme hits first, his smirk growing as he makes his way out of the gorilla position, looking around at the crowd and once more focusing on the three lurking members of The Shield.

Zack is next, rushing down the ramp with a large grin, eyes gleaming, as his most steadfast fans cheer for him, visibly pleased just to see him. Mike nods at him as he joins him in the ring, fistbumping him when Zack holds his fist out to him before climbing onto the turnbuckle to see over the crowd, grin growing even larger, despite Mike thinking such a thing was impossible.

Alex's music hits and the crowd reacts again, cheering on Miz's former rookie, and it pleases him to watch the reaction his friend still gets despite not being on TV much lately. He goes a little slower than Zack, pointing out certain sections of the crowd that's loudest, before sliding into the ring and one-arm hugging Mike. He takes a turn on the buckle, pointing out more crowd members, before jumping down to stand between Zack and Miz, waiting for the last two members of their team.

When Del Rio's music hits, Mike visibly relaxes, glad that no shenanigans had hindered any of their entrances. Alberto and Ricardo walk down together, Del Rio's hand sturdy on the ring announcer's shoulder as they point out and take in the crowd's response, grinning and looking so confident that Mike feels jealous of their ease, even in a situation where they're walking in vulnerable early just because the numbers are against them from jump.

3MB's music hits next and the wanna be rockband are visibly mocking them, pointing over-exaggeratedly at the crowd, and talking amongst themselves. Heath sneers at Mike as he enters the ring, the referee already working to keep the different teams separate. "Hey, Miz, did you lose a partner along the way?!" he calls, smirking when Mike glares across at him. "Oh wait, you couldn't find a sixth, that's right."

Alex's waving him off, his response lost to Mike as he once more considers what they can do to gap the vulnerabilities only having five men could cause them, when The Shield's music hits. He closes his eyes and listens more than watches as they make their way down the crowd, approaching the ring slowly. The ring jostles when the three men leap onto the apron as one, joining 3MB inside of the ring and, although the six men visibly don't get along, even 3MB know better than to argue with them to their faces, so when Roman Reigns snarls at them to get out, the three men raise their hands and duck onto the apron in supplication. Seth and Dean join them a moment later, letting Roman begin the match, and Mike looks at his teammates, about to suggest that he or Alberto start, just to get a feel of things, when-

The arena lights flicker, then die completely. Mike stands tensely in the ring, hands curling into fists as he wonders _what_ is going on _now,_ when yellow strobe lights pick up, flashing around the crowd before converging on the top of the ramp, a familiar theme suddenly echoing through the ringside area, not heard in the WWE for years now. "No, no way," Miz mutters, still unable to see much of anything. "It... it can't be..."

But then the lights kick back on for real, the crowd cheering wildly, as _Ain't No Make Believe_ plays on, all eyes on the entrance ramp as John Morrison himself steps through the curtain, his hair billowing around like it used to weekly years back as he poses, his cinnamon red coat shifting with his slo-mo movements. Mike feels dizzy, watching through tear-blurred eyes, as his best friend stares down the ring at them, taking in the shock on all eleven men's faces with a grin before he begins to walk down towards them, each step self-assured and determined.

The Shield look far from impressed, 3MB squabbling behind them as Heath stares on, jaw dropped in disgust and horror at what had just happened to their advantage in this match. John ignores all of them, his eyes only on Mike and Alex as he enters the ring, the former NXT rookie's hand tight around Miz's shirt sleeve, both of their eyes widening as he approaches them, the reality of the situation hitting them anew as they stare on in shock. "Hey, guys. Surprised to see me?"

Mike gapes at him for a few moments longer before swatting out, hitting him across the shoulder. "You jackass! How- when... I mean... what the hell?!"

John just grins before ruffling Mike's hair. "Good to see you too, Mike," he says teasingly as his best friend slaps his hands away. "I forgot how well you treated your tag partners."

Then it clicks and the tears fill his eyes faster, Mike shaking his head. "You- you're our sixth partner? Really?" He sounds younger than he's felt in years and Morrison's eyes soften, the dark haired man reaching out and wrapping Mike up in a hug, the former WWE champion clinging desperately to him, remembering just how _comforting_ these damn hugs always were, especially when John still had his coat on, and it felt like Mike was being blanketed in warmth on all sides. "But- but, how-"

John laughs, pulling away solemnly as he quickly wipes at his friend's face. "Hey, we'll discuss all of that later. But right now, we have a match to win. Right?"

Struggling to regain composure, Mike releases a shaky breath, catching sight of a sneering Reigns waiting behind Morrison, the referee still doing all he can to keep those six on their side of the ring, before nodding. "Yeah. You're right. Let's do this thing." He claps John on the back before turning to his team, feeling rejuvenated. "I want to start," he tells them simply as John hands off his coat to a nearby tech. No one argues, the other five ducking behind the ropes and allowing him to do as he wishes, Mike glaring down Roman as he gingerly approaches, arm outstretched.

The large man seems unimpressed as he stares down at the waiting Miz, dark eyes glinting evilly when he finally grips his wrist, twisting it backwards with the smallest bit of pressure. Mike immediately releases him, kicking him until he frees him with a tight smirk, seeming almost amused by how badly that had failed for his opponent. "Ok, bad idea," he mutters. "No lock up... now what should I try..." He glances over at John, still amazed that the other man had somehow found his way back to be involved in this match, and turns around just to get punched solidly in the jaw, crashing to the mat. He grunts and grips his face, shaking his head as he tries to regain composure. _Well, that sucked,_ he thinks, barely inching away from the point of impact when a boot lands repeatedly on his midsection, causing him to curl up in an attempt at defending himself.

He thinks he's close to blacking out when the ring fills up, his teammates finally fighting people away from him, and he looks up painfully to find John and Alex fighting off the members of 3MB, Del Rio and Zack working at keeping The Shield back while Ricardo kneels down by him, trying to sit him up. "Mike," he exclaims when he sees blue eyes peering up at him. "Ay, finally. Come, come." He supports him as he fights to sit up, the two men awkwardly making it to their feet. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah," Mike grunts, hating that the match has broken down this quickly, The Shield's apparent lack of weakness showing early on to his disgust. Ricardo forgets all about Miz when he looks up and finds Zack down in the corner, Roman holding Alberto in position for their trio bomb again, flanked by the other two members, their backs to Mike and Ricardo.

"No!" he exclaims, rushing forward and snapping off a solid enzuigiri kick to the back of Reigns' skull to rescue his employer, sending him toppling forward. Alberto lands awkwardly on the mat as Seth and Dean turn their attention to the ring announcer, Alex and John still busy keeping 3MB down while Mike fights to maintain his balance, feeling the effects of The Shield's earlier attack. Ricardo is cornered by the two men when he looks over their shoulders at Del Rio, who is struggling to sit up, their eyes locked. He glances around at the crowd, uncomfortably aware of all of the cameras focused on them, shaking his head as he looks once more at his employer.

"You can do it," Alberto says, his words indecipherable over the crowd noise and everything else, but Ricardo can tell what he means when he watches the movement of his lips. "I believe in you, mi amigo." Gulping, the ring announcer looks over The Shield members' shoulders and catches Mike's eye, breathing in deeply as he, too, nods in encouragement, the younger man closing his eyes before taking action. He hooks his arms on either side of the top turnbuckle and kicks out, planting his feet on Seth's shoulders, kicking him back and using the momentum that comes from it to send himself clean over the ropes where he lands on the apron, just regaining his balance in time to look up, and- duck hurriedly as Ambrose lunges at him, causing the leader of The Shield to plant himself in the post.

Relieved that, for now, Ricardo is safe on the outside, both Seth and Ambrose knocked off-center, Alberto makes it to his feet and turns his attention to Roman, who is staggering to his feet also. As soon as he's upright, Del Rio grabs him and backcrackers him in the middle of the ring, the large man writhing away in pain as Alberto rolls back onto his feet and nods at Mike, moving to check on his ring announcer while Mike takes over beating up the legal man. The referee finally seems to be getting control of things once more, all three members of 3MB on the apron, Morrison, Alex and Zack joining the Mexicans on their side of the ring. Dean and Seth are still angry from earlier but when the referee threatens disqualifying them both, they give in and duck under the ropes, each movement bleeding disdain and disgust.

Mike punches Reigns, trying not to panic as he regains his footing quickly, too quickly, but grabs him and tries to pull off his neck and backbreaker combo, just for it to be reversed, Roman sidewalk slamming him into the mat. He rolls around in agony before finding himself close to his corner. He knows that he can't take much more, thinking maybe someone else would have better luck against the brutal man, so he dives forward and tags blindly, relieved when Alex and Morrison reach out and help roll his limp body under the ropes so the referee doesn't continue to yell at him. Except that he regrets the tag the instant he opens his eyes and finds Zack Ryder struggling to get free from Roman's tight hold, kicking desperately until finally the larger man throws him clear across the ring and stares at him while he fights to his feet, barely able to lift his hands before Reigns spears him nearly into the turnbuckles before dragging him away from the ropes and tangling him up in an uncomfortably painful looking pin.

When the bell rings to confirm the elimination, Mike's eyes closing in regret, his team now at 5 on 6 for real, Alberto enters the ring, patting Ricardo on the arm as he goes. Reigns sneers at him before, apparently bored with all of this, turns and stares at his corner for a moment before roughly tagging Drew in, going to stand with his own team. 3MB looks startled but soon Heath and Jinder cheer on their fellow bandmate, the long haired Scot staring down the Mexican aristocrat with a sneer. "'Ey, Del Rio, it may be better off for ya to tag out right about now. I don't wanna hurt ya, after all. Maybe let in your little ring announcer, huh? We still have some unfinished business with 'im from December."

When Ricardo tenses next to Mike, he pats him on the back, frowning as Del Rio glances back at them, his eyes dark with displeasure. "Shut up, perro," he calls out to his opponent, slapping himself on the arms to refocus as he circles Drew, looking for the best place to start with. Finally he lunges forward and they lock up, evenly matched for a brief bit until Del Rio pushes back and gains some leverage against him, looking like he's about to snap his arm against his knees when McIntyre somehow lands a headbutt, dazing both of them a bit. Mike's team loses the bit of confidence they'd regained after that first elimination as Drew kicks Alberto, unbalancing him further

"El Patron," Ricardo mutters, stomping on the steps to try to get the crowd behind his employer when the Scotsman locks him into an armlock, twisting his wrist behind his head and causing him to kick out, desperate to get free. Finally Alberto begins to fight, staring right at the corner where his ring announcer, Miz, Alex and Morrison are watching on worriedly, all encouraging the crowd to urge Del Rio on. He elbows Drew in the ribs time and again, finally winding his opponent enough to wiggle free and elbow him from the other side, quickly diving away and getting the tag in to Ricardo, who only hesitates a moment before slipping into the ring after making sure his employer is settled on the apron safely.

Drew sneers at him, eyes glinting dangerously, while rubbing his midsection. "Well, well, look who it is," he calls over to the younger man who digs his fingers into the black tape covering his knuckles to his wrists.

Ricardo glances around the arena once more, taking in the crowd and cameras, bright lights, and... But it all fades away. More important than all of the eyes on him around the world are the four men behind him, supporting him and depending on him to at least survive this match. They can't afford another elimination, not when there's still six on the other side, and... and Drew had dared use armbased offense against Del Rio, the utmost sign of disrespect in this business. He swallows and inches closer to McIntyre, watching him and the five others closely. The taller man looks upon him derisively before holding a hand out, Ricardo swallowing as he meets him halfway, locking up with him and struggling against him. Drew keeps the upperhand, pushing the ring announcer down to the mat in an uncomfortable bridge but Ricardo squirms out of it, making it to his feet while McIntyre mocks him from the mat, receiving a solid kick to the skull in response, causing him to slump to the mat in surprise.

"Hey!" Heath snaps, distracting Ricardo for a moment but the ring announcer turns his attention back to the other man when the referee goes over to warn the members of 3MB as they try to get into the ring.

Ricardo takes a breath, closes his eyes, and decides to take the chance, stuffing down his nervousness as best as he can. _For El Patron and Miz and the others,_ he thinks before trying to snap off a standing moonsault right there, in the middle of the ring. He knows immediately when it hits, the wind taken from him almost as thoroughly as from Drew. But he forces himself to his feet and looks around at, first, his employer, then at the opposing side of the ring where Jinder and Heath are nearly apoplectic, before spotting the free turnbuckle nearest to where Drew is laying. He grins, an idea coming to him.

Dashing over to it, he climbs up to the second rope and stands there, his back to everything as he tries to psych himself into doing it. Fear overwhelms him, however, when he hears the ring rattling behind him, certain that either The Shield or 3MB or Drew himself will climb up behind him, counter whatever he's about to do and take it all away from him. Before he can worry too much, however, he hears more action in the ring behind him and a moment later, Alberto is in front of him, grinning encouragingly. "Go ahead, amigo, the ring's clear for you. McIntyre's waiting."

He nods, swallowing. "Gracias, El Patron," he tells his employer before standing up straight and completing the corkscrew moonsault off of the second rope, landing it perfectly on top of the 3MB member. As he lays there, automatically hooking his leg for the three count, it hits him. _I eliminated someone... better yet, I managed the_ first _elimination for my team._ He sits up, grinning, as Drew rolls out of the ring, spitting angrily as he slams a fist into the mat on his way out.

"Tag me in, amigo," Alberto calls out to him, halfway back to their corner, and Ricardo nods, rolling over just in time to do so, Alberto into the ring and across to meet Heath. The bright haired man fights as well as he can, considering, but he doesn't last long- a punch attempt gets countered into his arm slammed across Alberto's knees, which quickly leads into the armbar. Although Heath struggles and tries to get to the ropes, it's too much for him and he eventually ends up tapping, almost landing on top of Drew when Del Rio kicks him towards the ropes to prepare for the next opponent.

It looks like Jinder is going to be the next one in and Alberto sneers at the Punjab before turning to point at his ring announcer. The crowd cheers and begins chanting _si! si! si!_ but the Mexicans fail to notice as Jinder turns back to the members of The Shield, raising an eyebrow. Roman sneers at him before reaching out and roughly tagging himself in, Jinder relieved to slip back onto the apron as Ricardo enters the ring and pauses for a minute to exchange words with his employer before he returns to the apron, nodding quickly. It's over as soon as it begins, Ricardo turning, clearly expecting to see Jinder coming at him, but instead it's the dark blur of Roman Reigns barreling right at him, spearing him down to the mat.

Alberto freezes on the apron, his back to the action, when the bell ringing announces another elimination, Del Rio spinning around to find his ring announcer down, motionless on the mat, Reigns on top of him with a dark sneer on his face. "Ay dios mio," he snarls, staring at the muscle of The Shield with no lack of anger. It's clear that he wants in, wants revenge for Ricardo, but Mike grabs him before he can force his way through the ropes. "Let me go," he snaps.

"No," Mike commands attention, gripping his arm tightly. "Listen to me. Going in there now, when you're so angry, will do none of us- Ricardo especially- any favors. You want to try to get back at The Shield, right? Let one of us go in now," he orders, motioning to himself and his two best friends. "You can calm down some, focus your anger, and get in there later, when you won't get yourself DQ'd. Just... go check on Ricardo before they make him leave ringside."

Alberto closes his eyes, seeing Mike's logic, as painful as it is to admit. "Fine," he grouses. As he drops onto the floor to check on his ring announcer, Mike looks into the ring at the waiting Roman Reigns.

"Well-"

"I'm going in," Alex says before either of them could say anything. John and Mike both blink as he ducks through the ropes and stares at Roman, standing impassively. The man seems unimpressed with him, turning back to his corner and roughly tagging Jinder in before joining his other teammates. Alex rolls his eyes and crouches defensively, waiting for Jinder to finally enter.

When _The Fun One_ makes it inside, Alex uses his momentum against him and scoops him up immediately in a slam, getting to his feet and kneeing him solidly between the shoulderblades. Jinder falls forward against the mat, groaning and complaining in Punjab, when Alex grabs him in a sleeper, wrapping his legs solidly around him so he can't get away as easily. It only lasts a minute or two, Jinder elbowing his way out of it after the referee counts a two, but it's enough to give Alex time to think and wears Jinder down some, his movements following that just a little slower, less coordinated.

Causes Mahal to miss wildly with a clothesline and opens him up to be scooped up for Alex's sit out powerbomb, followed up by a pin that achieves the three count. Alex laughs, rolling himself free, but has barely gotten back to his feet when all humor leaves him: the mentally off-balanced Dean Ambrose takes his turn, staring at the young man with deadened eyes. A-Ri swallows uncomfortably, flexing his fists, before deciding to just go for it. He's barely taken a step, however, when Dean's on him with punches and kicks, each strike landed vicious and leaving his ears ringing. He can distantly hear Mike and John calling out to him, but he can't do anything about it- one minute he's on his feet, the next he's being slammed face first into the mat, his whole body rattling at the impact, Ambrose all but laughing in his face as he pins him.

Miz and Morrison exchange uncomfortable glances, growing all too aware that the match is heading down to the wire now, them and Alberto against The Shield. As if sensing that they're thinking about him, the Mexican aristocrat chooses that moment to slide into the ring, staring at the three men. Dean smirks dismissively at him before turning to tag Roman in, he and Seth urging the big man to do to Del Rio what he'd done to his ring announcer.

Mike knows immediately that this is the wrong tack to take, only serving to anger the older man further. He paces back and forth in the ring, staring darkly at Reigns, his movements rough and jerky. Reigns, growing tired of being ignored, lunges after him, trying to take advantage of his apparent distraction, but Del Rio sidesteps and listens more than sees as the larger man rams into the turnbuckle, his pride smarting more than anything else when he once more goes after Alberto. As if waiting for this, Del Rio once more steps away but this time catches him in a drop toehold, using it to bridge Roman into a chinlock. The longer that they sit, Alberto wrenching back on his face, the more he remembers how dazed Ricardo had been when he'd dropped down to check on him, and he begins kneeing him in the sternum, unsurprised when the referee begins to count.

He's on three when Alberto looks up, finding Miz staring down at him with cool blue eyes, a demand lurking in their depths. He's not close with Mike, not like Ricardo is, but he can tell what that look means, especially after what Mike had told him earlier. For that reason, when he hears _four,_ he releases the hold and kicks Roman away from him, standing up and glaring warningly at the other two members of The Shield as he ponders what else to do to his opponent. 3MB's status in the match hadn't been important to The Shield, but none of them doubts that, when it comes down to it, the two on the apron will get involved whenever the man in the ring is in danger. So it's Del Rio's turn to stare at Mike, and Morrison, until they seem to understand, nodding slightly while he turns back to the still recovering Reigns, kicking him solidly in the arm to weaken the appendage. He's just landed a second and third kick when there's two streaks of red over his head, Alberto glancing up in time to see the former tag champions tackling The Shield through the second rope to the outside, where the four of them lay tangled up in each other, Miz and Dean quickly exchanging blows as Seth and Morrison trade kicks.

Taking advantage of the opportunity this provides him, Del Rio resumes ramming his knee into and kicking Roman's arm, pausing when he's starting to get back to his feet to snap off another stiff enzuigiri to the side of the man's skull, stalling him once more. Although he enjoys weakening him slowly, the brutally abrupt way Reigns had taken Ricardo out of the match sticks with him and something comes to him finally. He glances from the ropes to his opponent before grabbing the arm he'd been working over the past few minutes, twisting it until Reigns begins to scramble to free it, knowing that he could easily dislocate it at this angle.

But Alberto is stubborn and determined to see this through, twisting and tearing on the already injured body part until Reigns follows, struggling to punch the quickly moving Mexican to get free. Nothing helps, however, and before long, Del Rio has him in the corner, bending his arm even further, ignoring his angry growls and desperate swipes that pound across Alberto's back in his attempts to get free. Climbing out of reach, the Mexican aristocrat holds his arm in the painful position while wrapping an arm around his face, holding him in place before he leaps forward, swinging around and dropping Roman head first into the mat before finally releasing his arm.

He checks to make sure that Miz and Morrison are still keeping the other members busy before rolling over and, holding Reigns' arm nearly in his usual submission hold, tweaking it just enough that he can feel how tense it is, he covers him and closes his eyes as the referee counts it, 1... 2... and the 3 feels like the first full breath of fresh air he'd had since Ricardo had been eliminated so suddenly.

He moves back against the corner, using the turnbuckle to stand back up and observe what's going on on the outside, laughing when Seth and Dean realize that their muscle'd been eliminated, Seth rolling into the ring, but before he can approach, Morrison makes his way inside and hits Rollins with a spinning kick, barely down on the mat for a moment before he makes it back to his feet, impressing even Del Rio, who motions him over to the apron.

John, guessing what he intends on doing, follows his directions, quickly tagging himself in to continue his and Seth's outside physicality. Finally the referee gets Miz and Dean's attention by threatening again to disqualify them both if they don't get to their corners, so Mike joins Del Rio to watch as Morrison and Seth face off, it hitting Miz yet again that this is the first time since late 2011 that his best friend has been in a WWE ring.

The two men exchange punches and kicks, John not seeming to miss a step, all of his Indy dates and the work he'd put into the OOYM fitness DVD sets seeming to be enough to keep his ring rust at bay. Miz half-smiles as John levels Seth with a enzuigiri before going to the top rope, landing a diving crossbody on him, burying him deep into the mat. Dean gets twitchy at the cover that follows, but Seth kicks out at 2, Mike shifting on the apron as he wonders how long those two can go at it, aware that John and Rollins had fought just as long on the outside as he and Ambrose.

John takes the opportunity while Seth's still down and, using the top rope for leverage, hits a springboard elbow drop, Seth choking and massaging his midsection as Morrison, tired of waiting, pulls him up-right and tries for a European uppercut, just for Seth to catch him and, surprising all of them, sends Morrison face first into the turnbuckles, dazing him. John staggers away, right into a forearm, which Seth follows up with a second, sandwiching John into the corner as Mike watches, unable to do anything without risking _John's_ pride on what technically is his return match to the WWE.

When Del Rio moves like he's about to do something, Mike hesitantly stops him with a hand on his arm. "Wait," he mutters. "This is John's fight."

Alberto glances over, well versed in the pride most athletes abide by. "Si."

After another forearm that rattles John all the way down to his gums, he staggers out of the corner and turns in time to eat a clothesline, landing painfully on the mat. Seth reaches down to grab him, force him up to his feet once more, when John kicks him in the skull, an obvious act of desperation. But it gives them enough space as Seth falls back and shakes his head, glaring ahead just before- John hooks his arm around Seth and then moonsaults backwards, slamming the other into the mat roughly

Mike thinks people in the nosebleeds can probably see that Seth's looking disoriented after that, John untangling himself before climbing to the ropes in front of Mike. So many memories flash through his tag partner's head as John steadies himself up there, leaping back for the Starship Pain that lands securely across Seth's heaving chest, the pin that follows all but a formality as Dean slams his fists against the turnbuckle, now the only member of The Shield left. _Pride before the fall,_ Mike thinks with a sneer as Seth is rolled out of the ring.

John seems willing to continue, even as the more fresh Dean enters the ring, but Mike calls out to him. "Hey! John!" When his tag partner turns around, Miz holds his hand out. Dean is the only one left and, somehow, it seems fitting to Mike that the leaders of the two teams go head to head. Not to mention, between Del Rio and Morrison both competing relatively recently, Mike is the freshest man currently out there. And this must register with John because he nods and accepts the tag, switching places with his best friend.

Mike stares across at Dean, his jaw tight as he tries to figure out where to begin. As Ambrose sneers across at him, he walks back and forth a bit, working his nerve up. Glancing over his shoulder for a moment at Del Rio and Morrison, he nods, squaring his shoulders. _Let's do this thing._ It might be stupid in hindsight but he does it, grabbing Dean in an impromptu lock up and, sure enough, regretting it immediately as the man elbows him roughly in the skull, dazing him.

He stumbles backwards and rubs at his temple, shaking his head to try to stop the ringing in his ears. That moment of hesitation is enough as Dean rushes forward and snaps a dropkick, sending him back against the ropes. He blinks a time or two, staring on as Morrison and Del Rio's voices call across to him, trying to get him back into it. No one's been able to really defeat The Shield, only Undertaker able to boast a victory against Ambrose, but even then, he'd been beaten down and taken out of action immediately afterwards. _What am I going to do?_

Glancing over again, Mike locks eyes with John, who nods at him, lips twitching up into a confident smile. Bolstered by even that small show of faith from his best friend, he knows he can't just give up. Not now, not this far into the match. When Dean lunges at him again, he ducks aside and kicks him in the legs, the back, anything he can think of as he tangles up in the ropes, trying to wait out Miz's melee. And he thinks it's working at holding the somewhat insane superstar at bay until Dean regains himself and grabs Mike by the neck, whiplashing his face against the top rope and sending him back hard against the mat.

As he writhes around, the referee checking on him, he wonders again what he could do to keep Dean down, how he's going to get back to his feet, he glances over to his corner and finds John and Alberto both still cheering him on or working at getting the crowd behind him.

Mike slowly makes it to his feet and stares at Ambrose's back, still not sure what to do to keep the off-balanced man down. _The commentators love going on about how The Shield puts the team before the individual,_ he thinks, staring at Del Rio and Morrison through tired eyes. _Maybe..._

Working more on instinct than anything, Mike takes a breath and runs forward, clotheslining Ambrose clear out of the ring. He moves to join him, try to chain together some sort of offense, ignoring the referee's warnings, when Ambrose surprises him by getting to his feet in the blink of an eye. Before Miz can even think of anything else to do, he's snagged and dropped roughly to the floor below, his face and body throbbing at the impact of the move that had eliminated Alex earlier. He's groggy and disoriented, sure that it's over now, but Dean doesn't follow up.

Forcing his eyes open, Mike struggles to sit up, look around, feeling the mat he's sprawled across shifting. Brows furrowing, he finally regains some strength and looks up, uncoordinated and weary. He finds Del Rio standing at attention in front of him on the apron, Morrison running towards Ambrose and striking him in the side of the skull with a high knee, staggering him. They're not done, however, as Alberto follows it up with an enzuigiri that sends Ambrose into the table, the commentators quickly scattering.

John quickly turns to him and helps him to his feet, the referee's sharp commands echoing over their heads, but Morrison ignores him. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he mumbles, still barely able to see as his vision wavers. John pats him on the back a time or two before joining Del Rio back on the apron, not wanting to raise the referee's ire any further. Staggering a bit, Miz finally grabs ahold of Dean and pulls him towards the ring but The Shield member swings out, striking a harsh blow to Mike's face, causing his vision to black out even more. He groans and winces, shaking his head in an attempt to regain control of himself. _This has to end,_ he thinks.

They're still by the table, Miz barely able to see where he's at, much less anything else, when he responds with punches of his own, trying to continue what Del Rio and Morrison had begun. He senses more than sees as Ambrose finally staggers, fumbling around until he has ahold of his arm, moving him into position. When he hits his Skull Crushing Finale, he lands heavily next to him and twitches, unable to move, his reserves finally just tapped between Dean's finisher and the impact of his own on the floor.

He can hear John's voice faintly over the referee's count, but it's not enough. He can't move, he can barely blink. Either way, when the referee finally makes it to ten, both men counted out, Miz's team is deemed the victor anyway because Morrison and Del Rio hadn't been eliminated. Mike's fingers tighten against the blue mat he's once more sprawled across, somewhat relieved that at least they had beat The Shield in the end.

John joins him, hand warm on his shoulders, and he laughs, leaning closer so he can be heard. "Hey, Mike, we won," he says, tugging his tag partner into a sitting position and helping to support him. "Are you ok?"

"I think so," he murmurs, gripping John's shoulder as he tries to stand, oversee the aftermath of the match. Del Rio is walking towards the back already, probably anxious to check on his best friend, and Ambrose is long gone, leaving John and Mike alone to regroup as the crowd buzzes about the match. "Count out, huh?"

"Yeah. Sorry, man."

But Mike shakes his head, just glad that it's over, and their team had won in the end. "No, it's fine. Eliminated Ambrose at least, huh?" He groans, scrubbing at his face. "Skull Crushing Finale has never hurt _me_ that much before..." John smiles a little and squeezes his neck, watching closely as he takes a step and another, heading for the ramp to reconnect with the other members of the team. "I'm ok."

"I know." But John continues to watch, staying close just in case. Thankfully Mike makes it all the way to the back on his own and they walk side by side to the trainer's office, unsurprised to find Del Rio there already, sitting next to Ricardo on a cot. Likewise, Zack and Alex share a couch, the trainer looking a little frazzled at them all converging on his room at once. Thankfully there's a second trainer's room across the building, where 3MB and The Shield- if they had gone there- are probably getting looked over, to keep from further fights breaking out between the two teams.

Mike settles in between Zack and Alex, barely blinking as the trainer begins checking him for a concussion. "You guys alright?" he asks the room in general, lips twitching as a chorus of confirmations come from all corners. "Good, good."

John remains on his feet, there not really being any room for him, and he smirks. "So how are we going to celebrate this?"

Mike wants to suggest _sleep,_ certain that he's not the only one who feels like that amongst his teammates, but finally snarks, "By you telling us how you were allowed to compete here?"

John merely blinks, clearly expecting questions like that to come eventually. "Would you believe me if I told you it was AJ?"

The room goes quiet, still. Mike swallows. "What?" He looks around the room, taking in how all of them look surprised...except for Zack. He narrows his eyes at him. "You knew? _That's_ why you've been acting weird the past few days?"

Zack shrugs. "I overheard some stuff, bro. I didn't think a lot of it, but yeah, that's why I stayed with Del Rio and Ricardo last night. I wasn't sure when he was going to show up."

Mike sighs, shaking his head. The situation was more than a little ridiculous, and could've gone badly a number of ways, but when he glances over at John, visibly waiting for him to blow up or overreact in some way, he feels all unhappiness fade from him. No matter how it'd happened, or why, John's here, they'd had a match together on the same side, and had _won._ He absolutely does not feel like worrying about whatever it is AJ is doing, especially now that he knows it's temporary and before long John will be gone back to California again.

Once the trainer finishes with them all, the room still subdued after John's explanation of the one-night only contract that AJ had provided him with, Mike sighs and stands. "C'mon, guys, let's go find some way to celebrate." None of them are up to much, he's sure, so it'll probably just be some lowkey diner for a quick meal and maybe a couple of drinks before they all go back to the hotel and pass out, but with Morrison by his side, even that sounds pretty awesome, considering.

He's just walked out into the hallway when he spots the girl who'd somehow taken it upon herself to set this all up. Mike breaks away from the group and approaches her, warily eying Ziggler and Big E as they lurk nearby, watching him suspiciously. "AJ."

She tilts her head, smirking up at him. "What do you want, Mike?"

"You convinced the board to allow John back? Just for this match?" He's not sure what to think about it. How to feel. He's sure many were making fun of him, coming just short of getting the needed six men for his team, and here the one he'd expected to laugh at his expense the hardest had actually done something to help.

She smirks at him, some unreadable emotion lingering in her dark eyes. "Don't thank me. I didn't do it for you. I did it to prove that I could, for myself. See, the fact that you were using me to rehire him wasn't the only thing that bothers me about that time- the fact I _couldn't_ get him his job back also ate at me. And now, even if it was just temporary, I succeeded at getting him back in WWE." She callously turns her back on him, skipping back towards Ziggler and E. "It was never about you, Mike."

He swallows, watching her go, before shrugging and turning back to his uncomfortable, sympathetic looking friends. "Hey, come on, guys. Let's get out of here. I'm hungry." He's not, not after all of that, but it distracts them from what had just been said and that's good enough for him.

After some driving around, they find an out of the way place that serves decent enough burgers and most kinds of drinks with spacious, wrap around booths that all six of them fit in. Mike finds himself sandwiched between Morrison and Alex, Del Rio, Ricardo and Zack rounding out the other side of the table, and smiles, finding that, even if it's just for one night, things finally feel _right_ again _._


	159. chapter 159

The Miz stares at the email he'd received in the early morning hours after Raw, his blue eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Even though he'd heard that Main Event's marquee match- him and Del Rio vs Big E and Wade Barrett- had been announced on Raw, somehow plans had changed, as confirmed by the missive in his inbox. _"Mr. Mizanin, As you may have heard, WWE is currently on the look out for a fresh commentary team. It has been decided we'd like to test this new team out on Main Event. Considering you have settled in as commentator the last few months, we would like you to choose who to commentate along with you,"_ he reads off, mumbling through the rest of the email apologizing for the short notice. "Huh."

Putting his phone down, he takes a deep breath, and another. Although he'd been looking forward to the tag match, he also looks forward to this- taking it to mean that, despite his various issues getting anywhere with the Intercontinental title, especially after Wrestlemania, someone in WWE has some faith in him _somewhere_ \- so he stands at the hotel window, not wanting to ruin this opportunity. "My choice," he mumbles, glancing over his shoulder at Alex, who's slept through yet another of Mike's inopportune email alerts, desensitized to them by now. Although the kid could be amusing on the mic, he doesn't think it's a good fit for him, especially since he's still determined to find his way back onto television regularly as a competitor. "So, who then..."

Unable to make his mind up, he sits down at the desk and pulls some paper over, falling back on something he rarely has the need to do: lists. First, he writes up all of the commentators in WWE from Scott Stanford to JBL, then draws a line down the sheet and creates another list. This one comprised of the few people in the WWE he trusts, he shakes his head as he draws more and more of a blank. He'd already eliminated Alex from the proceedings, and Morrison is an unfortunate no-go since he's still fired. Zack Ryder could be entertaining, but he falls under the same category as Alex, a young guy desperate to make his own place in the business. Which really only leaves one guy that Miz would ever consider for something like this.

He scoops his phone up and goes out into the hallway, looking over his shoulder to ensure that Alex is still asleep as he places a call. "Hey, Ricardo?"

Ricardo meets Mike at the arena for Main Event, picking nervously at his tux sleeves. "Hola, Miz," he says softly, glancing around before forcing a smile at the Most Must See Superstar. "Are we the first two here?"

Mike half-nods, half-shrugs. "Looks like it." He examines the anxious younger man and smiles faintly, shaking his head. "Don't be nervous, man. You're gonna do fine." Neither Del Rio or Alex are here, the Mexican aristocrat having responsibilities to handle back in Florida before returning for Smackdown, though he'd offered to hang around for Ricardo, witness his first week on the desk firsthand. The ring announcer had encouraged him to go home, do what he needed to do, that he'd be fine on his own, but Mike wonders if that was a good idea in the end. "If you need anything, just remember Josh and I both are here to help you. We remember how it is, starting off at the desk." His decision half-made, he had spent a good deal longer pouring over the known commentators in the WWE, wanting someone he thought would gel well with him and Ricardo, ultimately settling on Josh Mathews- mostly because Cole nor Jerry were what he was looking for, and JBL... well, after some of the things he'd said recently about Ricardo especially, he didn't think it'd be a great idea to make them share a commentary desk. Not to mention that Mike wouldn't necessarily want to be there either, after their own questionable past, despite JBL apparently softening some towards him in the last year.

Ricardo nods, his smile growing a little more sincere. "Gracias, Mike. I'll keep that in mind."

Mike grins as he squeezes his friend's shoulder, hoping that this will give Ricardo a boost in self-confidence, make him more secure in himself. Although Del Rio finally treating him as a true friend had visibly helped, the man is still obviously uncertain, desperate to do things right all of the time and crashing hard whenever something bad happens. After some pre-show discussion, he, Josh and Ricardo settle at the table and Miz takes it upon himself to introduce his friend when the cameras begin to roll, grinning over at him as the first match begins.

Considering how Josh keeps putting both of them on the spot, Mike thinks Ricardo does alright for his first week, stepping in when Josh gets on Ricardo's case a bit for his tendency to ramble on in Spanish when excited, pointing out that he himself took Spanish all four years in high school when Mathews says something about neither of them learning Ricardo's language, trying to put the ring announcer at ease. To his credit, the younger man doesn't let Josh get him down, continuing to chime in at times. When the show ends, the three men slip out from behind the table and Ricardo stands by awkwardly as Josh and Mike exchange farewells, the younger man surprised when Josh turns to him. "See you next time, Ricardo," he says simply, half-smiling at him before leaving the ringside area.

"Uh, si, see you," Ricardo calls after him once he regains control of himself, turning to look at Mike. "Did I completely blow that?" he asks, sighing glumly.

Mike shakes his head, quickly wrapping an arm around him and pulling him towards the ramp. "Hardly, man. We all have to start somewhere, right? You'll get more comfortable in time, don't worry about it."

"I don't think Josh liked me much," he mumbles after a bit, following Mike through the halls towards the locker room to change into street clothes before leaving the building.

"He's just hard to read," the former Intercontinental champion tells him, waving it off. "Don't worry about it. This is just an adjustment period for all of us, everything'll be fine. You'll see." Ricardo purses his lips, staring at him as he sits down on a bench, bowtie held in one fist. "What?"

"I just, I wish... I was as confident as you and El Patron sometimes. Everything comes so easily to you both, while I just... I barely feel comfortable announcing El Patron to the ring. Anything else, and I... freeze. Stammer. Make a fool of myself." He sighs, staring at his feet, barely reacting when Mike sits down next to him.

"Ricardo, do you think Del Rio and I've had it perfect in this business, with our egos? Honestly?" He shakes his head with a dark smirk and scrubs a hand over his face, through his hair. "Me, personally, I wasn't allowed in the locker room for the longest time. Morrison paid for it too, just because we were tag partners. I bet you can remember a number of times Alberto had similar issues just because of his attitude." Mike leans back and nudges Ricardo with his knee. "See, people find it easier to like you because you _aren't_ like us. You don't annoy everyone in a ten mile radius the instant you open your mouth. You keep your head down and you do your job, no more, no less. Not saying when you see an opportunity, you let it pass you by... but you handle things your own way, and it works for you. Like Del Rio's way and mine has eventually grown to work for us."

Ricardo swallows as Mike reaches over and ruffles his hair, sniffing slightly.

"Self-confidence is great. And that's part of why I chose you to be on the desk alongside me and Josh. I want to try to help you with this. But don't try to change too drastically, ok? Alberto and I both like _this_ Ricardo Rodriguez just the way he is." Mike smiles as Ricardo stares at him, nodding faintly. "Good. Come on, man. I personally have to get some sleep, because I'm going to Germany for some media fun this weekend and it's a long-ass flight."

With both Del Rio and Alex back in Florida, it'd been an easy choice for the two men to room together, Mike unsurprised when Ricardo allows him first crack at the shower, sketching quietly while he waits his turn. Ricardo looks up as soon as he comes out, slipping right into his bed across the room. "You can keep drawing, the light won't bug me," Mike tells him. "I know you have issues with insomnia sometimes. Morrison would write poetry at all hours. I'm a heavy sleeper, so don't worry."

"Oh." The ring announcer blinks, then nods. "Gracias, Mike. Um, for everything," he says quietly, before ducking into the bathroom himself.

Mike smiles and rolls over, burying himself in his sheets as water begins to run in the next room. He knows it won't be an instant fix, convincing Ricardo that he's deserving of this chance, and everything else, but he'll keep trying for as long as it takes.

When he lands in Germany and reads results for Smackdown, he feels bad for the ring announcer, remembering with no lack of discomfort how he'd responded to the last time Alberto had lost to Big E. in a similar fashion, and hopes that the younger man is alright. Especially considering he nor Alex are there, leaving Ricardo to deal with the physical and emotional fall out from this all on his own. He sighs, shaking his head, and prepares to leave for his first media responsibility. "Not that I can do anything for them from here," he mumbles.

Despite his not knowing the language, each media stop goes well enough, considering, but even so he's relieved to head home for Raw, looking forward to Payback. He meets up with Alex early on, their arrivals at the arena almost interlapping, and begins sharing tales from the past weekend as they make their way through the locker room, Mike only able to sneer a little as Alex laughs at his issues with the German language, listening to Rammstein not helping him in the slightest.

"Yeah, laugh it up, kid. You go to Germany, see how well you do," he snarks, slapping the former NXT rookie on the back of the neck, perhaps a little rougher than necessary. Alex winces, rubbing the smarting area, as they enter the main locker room, Mike grinning when he huffs.

Mike starts to worry that the show itself is going to be as frustrating as his trip overseas was thanks to the language barrier, but it's really not that bad, although even he has to wonder about his first NXT rookie's instability when Daniel Bryan gets angry at both Kane and Orton and sets himself up in a second match against, of all people, Ryback. He'd had a hand in getting Team Hell No to get along- at least for awhile- so it's weird watching them self-combust _now,_ though he's aware how the loss of tag titles could lead to any team breaking up _._ After all, it'd been the cementing factor of his leaving Morrison in the dust back in 2009.

He watches for a bit while Fandango competes against Khali, fully expecting him to pull something during the match. He smirks at Alex and stands, deciding to be nearby just in case. "I'll be back in a few minutes." Making his way to the gorilla position, he watches through the curtain as, sure enough, the dancer bails on the match and grabs Summer Rae, walking towards the ramp. Rolling his eyes, Mike pushes through the curtain and sneers at him as he stops short half-way up the ramp. He's still standing there, daring Fandango to come closer, when something harsh impacts with the side of his face, sending him to the ground harshly. He shakes his head and looks up to find Wade Barrett towering over him, adjusting his elbow pad with rough movements. He drops back against the ramp and groans, unsure why he left himself open like that. "Dammit," he grunts, unable to do anything but watch as Fandango leaves.

The referee assigned to his and Barrett's match kneels down near him, clapping a hand to his shoulder. "Can you compete, Mike? Barrett wants to start your match now."

Miz blinks again before nodding, forcing himself to his feet with some assistance by the official. "Yes, fine," he grunts. "Let's do this." The match goes back and forth, Mike still shaking off the aftereffects of Barrett's elbow, until Fandango interrupts, dancing on top of the ramp with Summer Rae and distracting Wade from wrapping things up, giving Mike the opportunity to tangle him up in the Figure Four until he taps desperately and rolls out of the ring immediately afterwards, grinning as he stares down at Barrett from the ropes.

He's just made it to the backstage area when he finds AJ Lee standing nearby, her back to him as she watches Kaitlyn and the Funkadactyls getting ready for the upcoming six-diva tag match. He sneers, sneaking up behind her. "AJ." She twitches slightly, turning to stare at him as he smirks down at her. "I hear Dolph will be returning soon. I guess then you will stop being as bored and hopefully leave me and my friends alone, huh?"

Her dark eyes narrowing, she tilts her head. "If you haven't noticed, Mike, I wasn't the one who approached you tonight... but now that you mention it, I've proven in the past I'm quite capable at juggling more than one... interest..." She flips her hair behind her as she skips a bit closer to him. "See, Dolph is my boyfriend, yes, and I love him. But with you... it's a different sort of thing, and Ziggly understands that. He knows I'd never even look at anyone else, when I already have perfection by my side." She presses a finger to her lips and grins coyly. "But I think you have a problem of your own here... See, I've been watching your interactions with Fandango, and compared them to Chris Jericho's. He seemed quite content with flirting and dancing with Summer Rae to get under his skin, but you... the most you have done involving her was humiliate him last week. You've never really touched her, or even looked at her."

He stares at her sharply and shrugs, not understanding. "So? What does that have to do with anything? I don't beat up women."

She giggles. "That's not quite what I mean, Mike. I remember how you'd look at me, like you couldn't take your eyes off of me. A bit like right now, actually. But you've never even tried to get under Fandango's skin like that, through her. One would think it'd be the easiest way, God knows he reacted pretty harshly whenever Jericho used her. But it's like something's stopping you when it comes to her. And I really, really wonder what exactly that could be..." She leans in and pokes a finger to his chest, smirking as he inhales sharply at her touch. "You might want to try to do something about that." Smiling, she turns and skips away from him, heading towards the Bellas.

He watches blankly, swallowing heavily before walking in the opposite direction, taking the long way around the building to get to the locker room without going past her, her harsh gaze already burnt into his skin like an itch he can't scratch. He slams his forehead against the door as soon as he arrives, breathing deeply as he tries to contain his emotions, leaning against it. "Damn her," he breathes, blinking when the door is opened, nearly sending him off-balance.

He looks up to find Ricardo Rodriguez watching him with a frown, reaching out for him before he succeeds at steadying himself. "Mike? Are you ok?"

Alex and Del Rio both are standing behind him, varying expressions of worry and suspicion on their faces, watching closely as he forces a smile at the ring announcer and claps him on the shoulder, entering the room. "Yeah, man. I'm fine. Don't worry about it." He purposely doesn't look at Alex, sitting down and unlacing his boots with jerky movements, knowing that to lock eyes with any of them means he'll lose it for real this time. _This is what I get for letting her get close..._ he thinks. _She knows me too well now. Why does she have to be right about_ this?


	160. chapter 160

AJ's words stick with Mike, haunt him. He had known that going to her was a mistake almost as soon as he'd started walking, but no man had ever proven wise when it came to the girl, her hold on him beginning way back last summer with a simple stare and building steadily since then. This leaves him in a funk the rest of Monday, all of Tuesday and well into Wednesday. So when it's time to sit at the commentary desk at Main Event with Josh and Ricardo, he's tired of being stuck in his own head, and beyond impatient, snapping at every little thing. Fumbling over the simplest wrestling term, his jaw clenches as Ricardo supplies it for him to Josh's unending amusement, urging the ring announcer to speak up more, get involved. Thrown off further by the sudden reversal in their positions compared to the week prior, Mike takes it out on the younger man. Taunts him when he slips into Spanish, and even prods at Josh for asking Ricardo questions when a former WWE champion is sitting next to him.

It's not until the show is over and Ricardo barely looks at either of them, mumbling a quick farewell before making his way up the ramp and backstage, that it registers with Miz. He'd begun this commentary thing to bolster Ricardo's confidence just to become one of the many who'd worked against him. He feels once more like the man who'd bullied him a couple of years ago first with the food, then as a distraction against R-Truth, and it disgusts him. "What's with him?" Josh asks from his side, watching Ricardo's retreating form with a frown of his own.

"I think I know," Mike mutters, clapping him on the arm briskly before going after the ring announcer, needing to try to make this right. Except that, when he makes it past the gorilla position, only Alex is waiting there, a confused look on his tanned face. "Hey, where did Ricardo go?" he asks, though he thinks he already knows.

Alex swallows and shakes his head. "Del Rio was waiting for him and led him out of the building as soon as he came back here, didn't even let him go change." He stares at his former pro for a long moment before sighing. "Mike-"

He holds a hand up. "I know, I know. I went really too far out there. I don't- I don't know, I just want to make it right. Come on, Alex." He claps a hand between the man's shoulderblades and leads him out to the car. "I think I know where they went."

He drives around, his former protege waiting patiently as they keep an eye out for a nearby sushi place that Ricardo had mentioned he'd convinced Del Rio to try out with him after the show. It's pretty obvious when they find it, Del Rio's priceless car blatant along all of the ordinary vehicles, and Mike breathes out in relief as he goes to park close to it, turning to look at the building to psych himself up for the crow he's going to have to eat- with Del Rio present, it'll be doubly mortifying, but considering how cold he'd been towards the ring announcer, he knows he deserves all of the discomfort that's to come. "Come on, kid," he tells Alex with a sigh, getting out of the car and smiling a little at the reassurance of his friend following him in.

The place is quiet, a little after 8 PM not a rush time for many restaurants, soft instrumental music underscoring the few conversations that are being held there, and it doesn't take long for Mike to find the two men sitting at a table in the far corner, away from prying eyes. Even from this distance, Miz can see the glum slump to Ricardo's shoulders, his back to the door, and he takes a deep breath, heading that way as Alex follows him. Del Rio notices them when they're still tables away and he shifts, moving to stand, when Ricardo looks around to see what has his employer's ire, spotting Mike as well. "Oh," he mumbles, turning to face the table once more. "What do you want, Mike?" he asks dully, fingers tense against his utensils like he expects a continuation of the slights from the commentary table.

Alberto looks like he's close to grabbing Miz and forcefully kicking him out of the establishment himself, when Ricardo holds a hand out to him, trying to quell his temper, not wanting him to make a scene that would anger WWE at two of their top superstars brawling in public, risk another suspension or worse. He freezes anyway when the first words out of Mike's mouth are, "I'm sorry, Ricardo." All eyes on him, Alberto and Ricardo's surprised, Alex's steadfast and patient, he swallows. "I... I'm an idiot, ok? I speak before I think, a lot of times, and I know that doesn't make what happened out there right, far from it. But I didn't mean to insult you, or hurt your feelings. I can't promise that I won't ever say stupid, thoughtless things again, but all I can really say is, I'll try to be better about it."

Ricardo looks uncertainly at his employer before facing Mike once more, taking a breath. "Alright," he says quietly, "I believe you. I remember what you said last week, and I know you didn't mean to..." He sighs, still a little glum. "If it happens again, I- I'll try to keep this, right now, in mind."

Alberto looks far from pleased at Ricardo's forgiving him so easily and Mike thinks he's still thisclose to attacking him, which Mike doesn't blame him: If someone had talked so rudely to Alex or John, he'd have some massive problems with that person too... "Ok, well. Again, Ricardo, I'm so sorry. We'll leave you two to your meal." He turns, snagging Alex's sleeve, about to retreat, when-

"Wait, Mike- a moment," Ricardo breathes, standing up. "If- if you'd like, you both could... stay..." He loses nerve halfway through it, glancing towards Alberto, but the Mexican aristocrat says nothing, sitting back down with his arms crossed over his shoulders as he stares broodingly at the Most Must See Superstar.

Mike hesitates, wanting to sit down, talk more with the younger man, but also not push him, make things worse between them. "I don't know..."

Ricardo blinks a couple of times, sighing. "Please?"

One more glance towards Del Rio and Miz sighs. "What do you think, Alex? Wanna hang around for a little bit?"

"Sure, I guess." It's awkward, Alberto merely staring at them as Mike and Alex order, then talk quietly amongst themselves and with Ricardo about everything _but_ what had happened on Main Event, all of them wanting to forget it, but no bloodshed or yelling happens and Mike thinks it's progress.

Alex leaves before the week's Smackdown to check out NXT again, Mike glad he's finding somewhat regular competition _somewhere_ , so he's hanging out alone at the arena, preparing for the edition of MizTV that will start off the show. To his relief, AJ nor Big E are around, keeping a low profile apparently while they wait for Dolph Ziggler to return. He'd had some time to think after Wednesday and, realizing that he was only taking himself further down a bad road with AJ, decides to ignore her from then on. Easier said than done, he knows, but what he'd done to Ricardo on commentary as a result can't happen again, the girl causing him to be off-balanced and just bitter and angry, even to his friends.

But it doesn't keep him from wanting to cause controversy on his own show, get people talking, so once he has Orton, Bryan and Kane in the ring, he does all he can to pick at them, expose their issues. Kane being the voice of reason, just to ultimately leave, is the last thing he expects, but it happens, Daniel and Orton left to argue with each other. Even weirder than that is when Teddy Long makes a tag team match with Orton and Daniel vs The Shield for later in the evening, Mike left to wonder along with many others how _that_ would go, when Daniel can barely get along with himself, much less anyone else, and Orton is, well... Orton.

He's scheduled for commentary later in the night, since Barrett had taken himself out of the equation to go to Japan, leaving Mike only with Fandango to focus on, so he wanders the building quietly, watching bits and pieces of the show as he goes. When Del Rio and Ricardo make their way to the ring for the Mexican aristocrat's match against, of all people, Heath Slater, he sits on a trunk in position of a nearby monitor to watch, smiling vaguely as he remembers that it'd been a MizTV with 3MB last December that had led to Del Rio defending Ricardo and a six man match that night and the next, beginning Miz's own friendship with the ring announcer. He sighs, shaking his head as he stares at his hands, still feeling badly for what he'd said on Wednesday.

Of course, 3MB takes advantage of the number game, Heath cornering Ricardo as Drew and Jinder attack his employer, and Mike leaps to his feet, considering going out to even things out some when Alberto fights them off, locking the armbar on Heath as Ricardo slips out of the ring, watching from the outside while Slater taps desperately, rolling to safety as soon as Alberto frees him. But Drew and Jinder return, cornering the older Mexican and Mike heads once more for the gorilla position when Ricardo rushes in and leaps onto Drew, distracting him as Alberto once more tosses Jinder away, turning in time to see his best friend get tossed off of Drew. Ducking, he sends McIntyre over the top rope and looks like he's about to take a running splash through the ropes to finish both men, when he and Mike both look up, confused at Ricardo climbing hesitantly onto the turnbuckle.

Alberto is visibly asking him what he's doing, but Ricardo remains steadfast on staying there, shifting his stance from one foot to the other before diving down onto both men on the outside, taking them out and winding himself. Del Rio is there immediately, collecting his best friend and, after checking on him, rolling him back into the ring, probably keeping track of both Slater still lurking around, and the other two men at their feet. Their moment, however, is short-lived when Dolph Ziggler interrupts, talking about how he'll return on Monday, and Miz breathes in as he hopes that that keeps AJ busy, distracted from him or his friends for awhile, though he doubts he'll be that lucky, considering how she'd claimed she could multitask. He sneers and turns to walk to the gorilla for real this time, wait around for his time on the commentary table.

Ricardo and Alberto have just made it through the curtain when he arrives, all three of them pausing as they stare at each other, Del Rio's joy quickly disappearing from his face as he stares warningly at Mike. "Hey, man," he greets the ring announcer. "That was pretty cool. You alright?"

He's still breathing a little heavily but nods, smiling slightly. "Si, Mike, I'm fine. Gracias."

Alberto is still glaring at him when he nudges his best friend. "Come, mi amigo. Let's go get out of here."

Mike watches them leave, the ring announcer nodding at whatever his employer is saying, sighing. _Guess I deserved that one..._

With Monday comes the news that, during his Smackdown match against Zack Ryder, Fandango had suffered a concussion. For a brief while, Mike thinks this means that he'll have a one-on-one match against Barrett, be able to redeem himself for the night following Wrestlemania, but this is proven wrong when Paul Heyman comes out after he's defeated Cody Rhodes, announcing that the as of yet undefeated Curtis Axel will be the third man. Wade looks about as thrilled about the announcement as Miz feels, and they glower at each other before Wade leaves ringside, Mike slowly limping up the ramp a couple of minutes later. He'd tweaked his knee during the match, and it had hurt him almost as much as it had Cody to apply the figure four, but he had withstood it and fought through it until the other man had tapped.

Mike is still in the trainer's office, Alex by his side while an ice pack melts on his knee, when Alberto and Ricardo run out during Jericho vs Big E, attacking Dolph and ensuring Jericho victory without any further outside interference from the current World Champion. When the Mexicans leave the ringside area, mocking Dolph the whole way, Mike sighs and closes his eyes, resting back against the cot. He hadn't seen Ricardo all night, he and Alex, upon arriving at the arena, having overheard a tech saying that Alberto had gone so far as to ensure that they were assigned the other locker room just to avoid Mike. Feeling Alex's eyes on him, he sighs. "I know, I messed up. Big time."

Alex pats his arm and smiles slightly. "It's ok, Mike. We're all used to it by now." When his former pro mock laughs at him, Alex settles in next to him, just barely fitting on the side of the cot, and shrugs. "Del Rio'll come around. It'll just take some time. Ricardo at least doesn't seem too mad anymore."

"Yeah, I guess." He stares at the ceiling. "I do understand where Del Rio's coming from. If it had been you or John and someone talked so... callously to you on national TV, after claiming to be your friend and only having your best interest in mind, well... I probably would've tried to convince you to distance yourself too." He laughs bitterly. "Hell, I told him I wanted to help him be more self-confident. Then barely a week later, I just became yet another person talking down to or about him. I'm an idiot."

Alex clearly has no idea what to say and they just lay there side by side silently until Vickie Guerrero and Brad Maddox come to collect them to act as lumberjacks during the Ryback and John Cena face to face. Kicking the slushy ice pack away, Mike makes it to his feet and holds a hand out to his former protege. "Come on, kid. Let's go out there."

Alex smiles halfheartedly, gripping his hand and rolling off of the cot, feeling stiff and a little achy from how he'd scrunched himself up just to fit and not completely fall off of the side of the padded surface. It goes about as they'd all expected, Mike trying to hold first Ryback, then Cena, back as the two men fight to get at each other, a number of them struggling alongside him to keep control of the situation until the show ends and Cena holds his hands up, finally agreeing to leave even as he glares up at Ryback, who is sneering down at him. Mike and the others quickly leave the ring, not wanting to be anywhere near the monster, and he shakes his head, wondering what else this week- the pay per view, all of it- could possibly bring to them. It already feels like it's been five years long.


	161. chapter 161

Main Event that week, Mike is all alone. Alex isn't there, yet again back in Florida for NXT responsibilities, and it takes him only a little bit of wandering the arena to realize that Ricardo isn't there, either. Or just hiding from him very, very well. He does, however, run into Josh, who he hadn't seen since last week's mess of a Main Event. "Hey."

"Oh. Hey." Josh glances up from his paperwork for a moment before returning to it. "Competing tonight, huh?"

"Yeah. Hey, have you seen Ricardo around tonight?" he asks, glancing down the hallway almost as if he thinks he'll magically appear.

Mathews blinks behind his glasses. "Oh, you haven't heard. He's not here tonight." Miz stares at him blankly and Josh explains further, "I'm... commentating with Wade Barrett?"

He can't keep track of all of the thoughts flooding his mind, worried and feeling almost... ill with anxiety. It's hard to fix things any further with a man who's not around. "He's... not? Do you know why? He sick or something?"

"No, it seemed like a mutual decision between him, Del Rio and WWE themselves for him to not continue on as commentator." Josh returns to his papers, barely blinking when Mike walks off without another word spoken, his eyes dark with discomfort.

_Mutual decision,_ he thinks, frowning. Ricardo had been his selection, he'd hoped it'd help with the younger man's self-esteem issues, but now... One week and he'd offended the younger man, hurt his feelings, and ... he suspects that Del Rio had interceded and convinced his best friend it wasn't worth it. Not that he blames him, Josh nor Mike had been all that kind in the end when it came down to it. He sighs and, unable to do anything about it all right now, turns his focus to his upcoming match.

Despite how short of a contest they'd just had on Monday, Cody Rhodes gives him a run for his money tonight, the match drawing on and on, Mike's focus split between his opponent and Wade Barrett on commentary, until finally he locks in the figure four and achieves another victory. After a brief staredown with Barrett, who wisely doesn't move from behind the table, Mike returns to the back and wanders around, grimacing at how quiet and dull things feel without Alex or Ricardo there. He feels almost lonelier than he had both times he'd been stuck in Canada, filming those movies.

Needing time to think, he's relieved to return to his hotel and flop down on the stiff mattress, staring blankly at the ceiling until sleep claims him painfully slowly.

On Friday, Mike shakes his head as he stares up at the building, leaning back against his rental car. "Hey, Alex," he greets his former protege after answering the ringing phone.

"Hey Mike. Just wanted to tell you, I'm gonna be hanging around Florida until Payback. I'll see you in Chicago, man."

Mike frowns, beginning to wonder about all of the time Alex is spending at home or NXT. "Everything ok, kid?"

"Oh, yeah. I promise. Just... have some errands and stuff here to do before I get ready for some lumberjackin' Sunday," he says, and Mike _swears_ he can hear the smile in the man's voice, hinting that things are ok. It's just _so_ out of character for him to not be at an event.

"Alright," he says, finally deciding to let it go, not wanting Alex to feel badly. "As long as you're there for when I walk away Intercontinental champion." He knows it's less than likely with two opponents, but he knows that giving up won't do him any good. He'll fight and fight until that white belt is back around his waist where it belongs.

"Of course, Mike! I wouldn't miss it."

He does smile at this. "Ok, Alex. See you in Chicago." He hangs up and ventures towards the building, almost wary of what he'll find waiting for him, especially with this being the first Smackdown that Dolph will be back at, AJ and E in tow. After checking the match board, which has nothing for him, he grunts and continues onto the locker room. His eyes fall immediately on Ricardo and Alberto in the corner, talking quietly to each other in fast Spanish, Ricardo nodding and interjecting now and again to whatever his employer is saying. It's only after Mike's dropped his bags near a bench and approaches them that they fall quiet, turning to look at him. Del Rio's expression turns dark and grim as he lays eyes on him, Ricardo seeming hesitant and almost wary of him, Mike not that surprised that things still aren't perfect. After how badly things had fallen apart, he doesn't blame them.

"Hey," he decides to try anyway, catching Ricardo's eye despite Alberto's attempt at shielding the younger man from him. "How's it going?"

"It, it's fine," Ricardo says, barely speaking above a whisper.

"We were talking," Alberto tells him coldly. "Some of us actually have matches tonight."

Mike blinks, then swallows, trying to keep his temper in check. After how he'd treated Ricardo, the things he'd said, well. He supposes he'd deserved that little dig. "I get that, man, I just wanted to say hi. I'll leave you two to finish getting ready." And he does, going back to his things and half-listening as they continue talking on in Spanish. His _four years of Spanish in high school_ honestly had failed him quickly, but he can catch a bit here and there, and what he garners from it only adds to his discomfort with the whole situation.

Even so, he watches the tag team match, Del Rio and Jericho coming out on top against Big E and Dolph, Ricardo announcing them both the victors. He doesn't see them for the rest of the night, which is ok as his attention turns quickly to his own drama, Axel and Barrett in the ring for their match when Wade begins to suggest that they not compete tonight, risk injuring either of them so soon to the match on Sunday. Before either of them could agree to wiggle out of this contest, Mike interrupts, not seeing the point of his having to wrestle twice in one week while both of them gets away with what little they'd done on Monday.

It ultimately works, the two men facing off as Miz stays close to make sure they see this thing through, somewhat unsettled as Axel beats Barrett. Not wanting either of his opponents to go into Sunday with too much momentum, he dives into the ring and Skullcrushing Finales the third generation superstar, leaving them both laying as he looks around at the crowd with a smirk.

Saturday night, there's a house show in Bloomington, Illinois leading to the event, and he stares up at the Cellular Coliseum with a small grimace before getting out of his car. There's a crowd of cheering people and he wanders over to them, signing autographs and taking pictures for as long as he can before security drags him back into the building, trying to keep things running on schedule. He smiles half-heartedly as he enters the building and almost runs directly into- AJ.

She tilts her head and blinks at him, Big E by her side as always. He can see Dolph from here, but the bleach blond seems unconcerned, his arms crossed over his chest as he waits. He'd overheard that Dolph had arrived while he was signing autographs and such, but hadn't paid it much attention until this moment. His best guess is that he'd mentioned it to AJ and she'd camped out here, to do... or say... whatever it is she thinks might be relevant to him.

But it's not, his cool blue eyes barely pausing for a moment on her before he walks past, shoulders tensing when Big E. tries to block his path. "Move," he snaps warningly, eye to eye with the enforcer. He considers using his suitcase to slam into him, ram his way past, but before anything else happens, Dolph clears his throat and E. does move aside then, the two men staring at each other as Mike walks past him, the disdain between them visible even from miles away. He's relieved to be out of their eyesight, ducking inside of the locker room and closing his eyes as he leans against the door, clicking it shut behind him.

When he opens his eyes, he finds Ricardo leaning over his bag, wrestling gear spread out before him. Curious, he ventures closer and looks over his shoulder. "Hey, Ricardo."

The younger man jerks and looks up, smiling vaguely. "Oh. Hola, Mike."

Not sure where Del Rio is, he sits down across from him and stares down at the various things scattered between them. "What's with all of this?"

Teeth flashing in a quick grin, Ricardo clears his throat. "Well, El Patron and I've been booked in a tag match tonight against Big E. and Ziggler. I'm trying to figure out to wear. Do you think this'll be alright?" He rests his hand on a t-shirt with a cartoon version of himself and Del Rio on it, and a pair of orange Zubaz.

Mike stares at it, smiling slightly. "Yeah, man. That'll be fine." He hears Del Rio's voice out in the hall as he talks with a tech, quickly standing so as not to gain more of Del Rio's ire. "Good luck tonight, though I doubt you'll need it."

"Gracias, Mike." After a moment, he looks up, eyes dark with some unreadable emotion. "Hey, Mike? You... you really were a good friend. I know things didn't work out the way either of us hoped but... I don't blame you."

Miz blinks, not sure why he's saying such things, but decides not to question it right now, when they both have matches to get ready for and Del Rio will interrupt at any moment. "I tried," he mumbles. "I know the commentary thing was kind of a bust, but we'll try to figure something else out, yeah? I'll see you later." He smiles and moves away just as Alberto enters the room, glancing suspiciously at him before joining his best friend and resting a hand on the back of his head, ruffling his hair.

He doesn't realize that night what exactly Ricardo's odd words entail, his own two out of three falls against Cesaro ending in his success, just for The Shield to make their way down and attack him until Team Hell No and Jericho run down to pull the save, his steps awkward and painful as he stumbles back to the locker room to catch his breath after the exhausting match and beatdown that had followed. He scrapes together the energy somehow and makes his way back to gorilla, watching through the curtain as Del Rio and Ricardo compete against Ziggler and Big E a little later, smiling when they walk away with the victory after Ricardo takes Big E out with a splash to the outside, opening Dolph up for the armbar.

He's only a few feet away when the two men make their way backstage, Ricardo going on about a _Zubaz Strong_ sign he'd seen in the crowd, glancing over his shoulder in time to spot the grins on their faces, Del Rio patting the younger man on the arm as they make their way back to the locker room. Underneath the happiness lays some strange emotion for both men and it only adds to Mike's worry but he's tired and he's sore so he leaves, wanting nothing more than to beat the storm that's pounding down on Bloomington and get some much needed sleep before Payback.

He grows to regret that decision the next day. He'd had the first non-pre-show match, thinking for sure that the title is his when Axel comes out of nowhere and pins Barrett while he's locked up in the Figure Four, becoming new Intercontinental champion just moments before Wade was going to tap, Miz is sure of it. His night only grows worse when, directly following that, he runs into AJ _again_ and she laughs right in his face, skipping out to compete for the Divas title. Alex is nearby, staring at him sympathetically, before leading him back to the locker room where they watch the off-balanced girl and Kaitlyn go at it, the match going back and forth until finally AJ gets the upperhand and wins... Kaitlyn tapping to her Black Widow submission, relinquishing claim to the butterfly belt, watching through tears as her former best friend skips away with what had once been hers.

But the horrible night is far from over. Ricardo's words return to Miz as he watches the World Heavyweight Title match, Del Rio attacking Ziggler again and again... and again... ignoring referee and doctor alike as he snaps the other man's head back repeatedly with kicks to the skull, all signs of the Del Rio that Mike had slowly gotten to know through Ricardo the past few months virtually gone, AJ watching on tearfully alone, since Big E had gotten ejected from ringside, as Del Rio pins Ziggler and regains the title that had been taken from him only a little over a month ago. Although he cares very little for Ziggler, some of Del Rio's initial offense making him glad, the brutality of the attack had made all of them a little uncomfortable, Mike biting his lip as he looks over at his former NXT rookie.

As Ricardo hugs Del Rio desperately, the title belt pressed to his back as Alberto struggles not to lose his balance and send the younger man down with him in their excitement and his breathlessness, and Del Rio's message to the crowd asking for their support afterwards, all Mike can think is, _Ricardo... knew this was the plan. He was saying goodbye last night._ It's the only thing that makes sense, it all hinting towards Alberto leaving everything he'd been doing for the past few months behind and returning to his less likeable self, taking Ricardo with him. He swallows and kneads his forehead, shaking his head at the thought. Alberto's attempts at being a better man had begun when he'd saved Ricardo during an edition of MizTV and... _What if my being so mean to Ricardo on commentary had led to this somehow? Or at least had a hand in it? How much of this is my fault?_ he wonders, grimacing.

All directly involved in end of the World Title match aren't seen for the rest of the night, Mike left in a haze of his own disturbed thoughts as he and Alex wait to go out and be lumberjacks during Cena and Ryback's match. It goes as well as can be expected, all of them knocked over when Cena splashes them in an attempt to get at his opponent, but ultimately Ryback wins the fall, and they return backstage, Mike ignoring Big E. whenever he gets too close to him. Not to mention Axel and Barrett, far from even wanting to think about that infuriating situation at this moment.

After a night of restless tossing and turning in his hotel bed, he and Alex make their way to Raw, the younger man only speaking now and again, visibly trying to give Mike time and space to work through his wayward thoughts, not wanting to annoy him further when he's running on little to no sleep. Del Rio and Ricardo start the show off and things seem normal, Ricardo with his bucket and the green and red bowtie, until they notice- Alberto has a black scarf on for the first time in weeks, and... he explains that they'd fought and fought for the crowd, who had turned on them chanting USA! USA! for a xenophobic man such as Swagger, and dammit all if it doesn't make some sort of sense, Mike staring at his hands as he reflects on how horrible it must've been to see the crowd's approval turn to the man who'd broken his best friend's ankle and attacked him brutally with a crutch. So Alberto had decided to fight for himself, and...

It's some kind of relief when Punk interrupts, until he ignores Del Rio's attempts at refusing a match between them, turning to Ricardo and taunting him. Mike watches closely as Alberto steps between the two, snapping at Punk in defense of his ring announcer, relieved to see that, perhaps _this_ version of Alberto at least won't treat Ricardo as poorly as he had before he'd made attempts at being a better person. Once the match is made and the ring is cleared for the next, Alex looks over at his friend. "Are you alright?"

Mike shrugs with a soft sigh. "I guess so. It's just... weird how quickly all of this happens." He picks at his fingernail. "Saturday, I was talking with Ricardo, thought everything was normal and then... 24 hours later, Del Rio was champion and..." Alex stares at him for a moment before wrapping an arm around him, squeezing his shoulders. "Nature of the business, I guess, huh?" he smiles wanly.

"Yep," Alex nods, the two of them deep in thought side by side until Mike has to leave.

Miz's only contribution to the show is commentary during Curtis Axel vs Sin Cara, trying to return his focus to the Intercontinental championship, unable to fight his belief that the belt truthfully belongs to him. When he returns to the back, Alex is still waiting for him and they watch the rest of the show, AJ claims that Dolph isn't there tonight quickly proven to be a lie when Ricardo assists Del Rio away from the match against Punk, his employer not seeming to mind as it goes by count-out until Dolph comes out of nowhere and dives onto the Mexican aristocrat, attacking him even as Ricardo and referees try to pry the two apart, Alberto finally stumbling away to safety.

Mike still isn't sure what to feel about everything going on, but nonetheless breathes a little easier when it all seems to end, the focus turning to Punk and Lesnar in the ring. Ricardo may not seem to consider the two of them friends any longer, but the last thing Miz wants to see is something happening to the ring announcer.

"You ready to leave?" Alex asks after a moment. Mike nods, looking forward to getting at least a few hours of sleep before returning to California in the morning. Hopefully.

After another long flight, he sits in his car outside of a familiar apartment complex around noon and digs around in his things, pulling out a keyring. Going upstairs, he stops in front of a particular door and knocks a time or two before unlocking it, venturing inside. Looking into the living room, he comes to a stop and lets his arms drop to his side. "Everything's going wrong, and it's all my fault," he mutters.

John Morrison stands from his couch and looks at his former tag partner, frowning. Moving closer to him, he drags him into the room and urges him to join him where he'd just been sitting. "What's going on?"

Mike takes a breath once he's settled, stares at him, and finally begins talking, each word feeling like a small weight off of his chest as he feels relief at having his best friend to unload on for the first time in a few weeks, things so busy after filming Christmas Bounty had concluded that they hadn't talked much. As soon as he finishes, he stares at the man and shakes his head. "What the hell do I do now?"


	162. chapter 162

Mike spends almost a full 24 hours in California before returning to the road for Main Event, John first listening patiently to the latest on the AJ situation, and the new issues with Ricardo and Del Rio, along with his doubts about Alex, and his inability to get anywhere to regain the Intercontinental title. He then turns to distraction by forcing Mike into another of his OOYM workouts, followed by some meditation on the beach, before dragging him out of his apartment for a walk to a nearby local burger place that Mike can never remember the name of because he's not home long enough for it to stick longterm with him for his standard comfort food of cheeseburgers and fries dipped in a milkshake. They're sitting across from each other, John watching people wandering outside of the building, Mike glancing up at him between swipes of his fries through the chocolatey mixture. "Thanks, JoMo," he mumbles after awhile, smiling wanly when his best friend turns his attention back to him.

John looks up and grins at him, eyes gleaming. "Don't mention it, man. I'm your at-home therapist, right? I know what to do to cure what ails you." Mike smiles a bit before turning back to the little of what remains of his food. "No matter how busy I get, you know I'll always be there for you, man. You just need to use those weird things called cell phones sometimes, you know?"

He laughs for real at this, nodding slowly. "Yeah, I know. It's just hard, between our schedules and... it's not like anything changes. It's always the same thing, I do something to screw up, either it being with AJ or Ricardo, and... I know you have your own issues, probably get tired of hearing about mine whenever you see my number on the screen..." Not to mention the doubts that that interview with Morrison from weeks ago had dredged up in him, leaving him wondering just how much bitterness remained due to how their careers had shaked out through the years.

"Well, you were there for me while I was struggling leading up to my release," Morrison says, almost as if reading Mike's mind. "So I'm sure you went through that at times, but you always had my back. I just want to return the favor."

There's no lack of sincerity in his eyes and Mike feels himself relax. "Thanks," he says quietly, turning his attention back to the mostly melted milkshake. "It means a lot to me."

After a few more hours spent sitting on the beach and just catching up, he sinks into the guest bed and finds himself asleep immediately, waking up in time for his flight for the weekly Main Event stuff. Cody Rhodes commentates with him and Josh, and although the third generation superstar does alright, it still leaves him with a nasty taste in the back of his throat that things had gone so south with Ricardo due to this very position. When Del Rio comes up in conversation in the duration of the show, he stays very quiet and only speaks when necessary, unable still to wrap his mind fully around the situation.

That Friday, he's stuck on commentary again, watching as Wade Barrett gets his rematch against Axel, who beats him in a few minutes to retain the Intercontinental title. Mike enters the ring, sneering over at the man, but, even as he works at getting out of his dress clothes, preparing for a fight, Heyman begs Axel off, urging him out of the ring. Aggravated, Miz returns to the back and finds Alex sitting in the locker room, both men watching Smackdown as Mike fixes his clothes up to look acceptable once more.

Del Rio competes against Jericho a little later and Mike reflects on how, a week ago, they'd been tag partners. "This business, huh, kid?" he asks, half-smirking as Alex nods, putting the pieces together himself. The match goes by DQ when Ziggler runs in and attacks Alberto, angering Jericho until he attacks Dolph and leaves him vulnerable for an opportunistic Del Rio and Ricardo to return and, ignoring referees, lay him out further with a harsh enzuigiri kick.

Houseshows that weekend are held in Florida, Alex in Tallahassee while Mike handles things in Daytona Beach. It's a bit of a pain but they both return to Alex's house anyway, needing a bit of time to recharge before they travel together to the Carolinas. Mike arrives first and sits on the steps, absorbing the soft, salty breeze, relieved just to relax for even this little amount of time. He's just dozed off, the warmth urging him on, when Alex pulls up, the car door slamming waking him up. "Hey, kid," he greets him, standing up after a moment.

"Hey," Alex grins. "Been out here long?"

"Nah, maybe an hour." He waits quietly as Alex unlocks the door and moves aside, letting his former pro enter first. "How was your match?"

"Eh, could've been worse. Yours?"

"Same." Mike drops his bag by the couch and slumps down onto it, relieved to sit on something that's not rough concrete. "These split cards are kind of weird, not used to them yet." WWE had recently done away with the brands, instead meshing them all together. Now none of them know until the week of which event they'll be booked on, it proving a challenge for quite a few of them to grow accustomed to.

"Was Heath on your card?" Alex asks, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and ducking into the living room to toss it to Mike before returning to the kitchen to collect some delivery menus, hungry after the long drive.

"Yeah, but the other two goofs weren't anywhere to be seen."

Alex smirks as he returns, dropping the pile of menus into Mike's lap. "Yeah, because they were at mine."

"As I said," Mike mutters, searching for something that looks appetizing. "Weird."

They mock and tease each other's decisions while choosing something simple and easy to eat, Alex quickly placing the order before joining Mike on the couch, his head flopping against the back of the couch like he's too tired to even hold his neck up any longer. "Hopefully one of us will be able to stay awake long enough to pay the delivery guy," he grins. "S'good to be home, I'm wiped out."

Mike nods, feeling the same. Alex's place always had this comforting kind of ambiance that made sleep really easy, even John had said so when he was here last. Despite all of the sneakers waiting to rain down upon you if you opened the wrong door too hastily. "Yeah..."

Somehow they manage to stay conscious, Alex paying the guy who'd brought the food while Mike sorts it out, handing Alex his chicken sandwich and onion rings, clinging to his own cheeseburger and fries, sans the milkshake this time, as they return to the living room. Both fall asleep after eating most of the food, curled up on opposite ends of the couch, undisturbed by the light left on overhead.

Mike grunts and stretches out, kicking something hard as he swipes in front of his face, trying to stop a light from shining right in his eyes. Sitting up when it doesn't go away, he groggily looks around, confused, and then remembers that he's at Alex's place, the younger man still fast asleep despite his inadvertently knocking his feet off of the couch just a moment ago. Wondering what woke him up, he looks around at the sun shining in the window and... his phone beeps. He groans and, question now answered, reaches out for it.

_From WWE,_ he realizes. _This always ends well._ Unable to forget what happened the _last_ time they emailed him, he reluctantly opens it and reads it. "Well. That's great." He glances at Alex before groaning and, shutting his phone off, slumps back into the cushions and buries his face in the back of the couch, giving back into his exhaustion which had somehow only grown upon reading that email.

The next few days pass slowly, Mike and Alex spending most of it at his place. Brad Maddox had been the one who'd taken it upon himself to email Mike, alerting him that he was't needed at Raw because the card was already filled up. "We'll have a match for you on this week's Superstars, and will send you the details in a day or two, blahblahblah," he reads it off mockingly as he and Alex settle in on the living room floor to watch the week's Raw. "Jackass."

Alex says little, opening a bag of popcorn and tipping it in Mike's direction, grinning as his mentor's face lights up at the snack. "Go nuts," A-Ri tells him, knowing that popcorn plus Miz always equals kernels all over the floor because of his tendency to throw it during things he doesn't like.

"Oh I will," he sneers, already digging his hands around in the bag for the perfectly sized missiles to send at the TV.

Alex waits until he has let some of his aggression out, gleefully throwing three handfuls at the screen at first sight of Brad Maddox, before clearing his throat during an ad for the app, muting the TV. "Um, Mike, can we talk for a little bit before the show comes back?"

"Sure, kid. What's up?" Mike asks, glancing over at him as he stuffs some popcorn into his mouth.

"Well," he hedges. "I received an email about Superstars as well. As you know, they released Matt Striker last week..." Mike nods, his mouth full, and Alex sucks in a deep, worried breath. "Well... I, um, I'm going to be his replacement on Superstars. It might just be temporary, or not, it's just a try out, but... I just wanted you to know."

Mike stares at him, jaw sagging open with another handful of popcorn halfway to his mouth frozen in midair. "What?" he asks, some of the snack scattering along his lap and the floor between them as he forgets everything else around them. "You... you. What?" He stands and paces away, all interest on Raw itself lost. "You're going to do commentary," he laughs in disgusted horror, spinning back towards him with an unbelievable amount of pain in his icy blue eyes. "Do you know... do you know, I came thisclose to considering you to commentate alongside me at Main Event when I was given the choice but I ultimately went with Ricardo because I thought you wouldn't _want_ to be stuck doing commentary, since I know how badly you want to _compete._ If I had known- if I had just gone ahead and chose you from the beginning, then- then... maybe none of this would've happened?" His chest heaving, he kicks the couch viciously and glares impotently at the floor, mumbling curses under his breath.

"I didn't know," the former NXT rookie whispers, knowing that it does nothing to fix the situation, unfortunately aware that all of this will only ultimately add to Mike's frustration and guilt. "I'm so sorry, Mike. I didn't know." As Mike continues to pace around, the TV flashing against his skin when he gets too close, all Alex can do is watch him and hope that... eventually... everything works out, gets easier for them all. Hope that Mike can eventually forgive him... and himself, too.


	163. chapter 163

After commentating Main Event that week, Mike turns his attention to Friday. Not only does he have the promised match against Wade Barrett on Superstars, he almost has a MizTV segment with Paul Heyman for Smackdown. Not to mention Alex on commentary for Superstars, which still rankles at him... but he can't deny the younger man the opportunity, knowing that it's ultimately not his fault that everything with Ricardo had gone so south. And he vows to say so the next time he sees him, the two of them having seen very little of each other since leaving Florida for the events upcoming the next few nights, either too busy preparing for their various obligations, or just trying to sleep as much as they can while they can.

So on Friday, when they travel to the arena together, Mike stops in the parking lot and looks over at him, speaking up before he can get out of the car. "Hey, kid."

"Yeah?" Alex looks over at him, frowning slightly. "What is it, Mike?" He sounds tired, almost leery of what Mike's going to say, and the former WWE champion has to say he doesn't blame him, after the past couple of days.

"I'm sorry. I know it's not your fault, what happened between me and Ricardo... It was just a bad domino affect and... I shouldn't have blamed it even a little on you. I also shouldn't have assumed, maybe if I asked you first, things would've been different. None of it falls on you, it's all... on me."

Alex sighs, staring at his hands. "You know, Mike, I get it. I do. Losing friends, no matter the circumstances, always sucks. You have to realize by now I'm used to your temper. I was just waiting for you to say something, when you were ready. I knew you didn't _really_ blame me. But like you said, it was just a domino affect. You had no idea how badly things would go, or how quickly. So... we're ok, alright?" When he looks back up, Mike is staring at him with relief and guilt mixed up into a little package that has been simply _him_ for the past few weeks, if not months, and Alex's face softens. "It's gonna be ok, Mike. You just have to do what I did and give it time."

"That's not my best event," he admits with a small smile. "You probably guessed that too though."

Alex chuckles. "A bit, yeah." They sit in silence before he turns to look at him. "Ready to go inside then? See how hit or miss my commentary is?"

"Sure, why not. You are going to talk up how awesome I am, right?"

"Why, you don't do that enough yourself?"

It's after the match, he's watching the editing process in the back, and finds himself alternating between wanting to laugh or wanting to smack Alex for going on about how undersized he is in comparison to Wade, but really, the kid is good behind the desk. Not as good as Mike himself, of course, but he seems comfortable back there, keeping up with Tony Dawson impressively well considering it's his first time.

He smirks as Alex joins him, all grins and excitement after thanking Dawson and leaving the desk to see what his mentor had thought. "Well, you weren't half bad, kid."

Alex's eyes gleam. "That all you have to say?" he teases. "You didn't think I was as good as you? If not better?"

"Hey, don't get ahead of yourself." Mike slaps him on the arm. "You have a lot of learning to do. But let's just say, with time, you _could_ be the next Miz. How's that?"

"Eh, I guess it'll do." He smirks as they stand shoulder to shoulder, watching the rest of the event as it's edited, taking weird camera angles out and cleaning it up for television and online viewing. Once that's done, they head back to the locker room as it begins to fill up, the Smackdown group arriving to prepare for the evening matches and segments. "You ready for Heyman?"

"Of course. I have all that I want to say to him up in here," Mike nods, pausing while changing quickly into his suit to tap his forehead. "And if Axel wants to get involved, all the better." He looks forward to facing off with the Intercontinental champion, get another opportunity to get his title back. Finally...

Except that his show doesn't go that well and he's left laying by Curtis Axel, who had interrupted his trying to grill Paul Heyman, reminding him of the week prior when he'd bullied Renee Young about _her_ personal life. As he stares blurrily down the ramp, glaring at his rival, he _swears_ he can hear AJ Lee laughing in the back of his head, closing his eyes in aggravation before slapping his fist against the mat.

"Are you ok?" Alex asks as he makes his way backstage, gripping the back of his head.

"Yeah, just... ugh!" He stops in at the trainer's office only long enough to get some ice, before ducking back out and returning to the locker room, Alex following him quietly. They sit and watch the rest of the show, Mike grimacing at Kaitlyn's attempt of pretending to be AJ, going through all of the men she'd supposedly been with.

"Well, that was... awkward," Alex mutters.

"No kidding." When Fiesta Del Rio begins a bit later, Mike adjusts the now slushy bag of ice against his neck and watches as Del Rio cuts a promo in Spanish, Ricardo next to him eating a chip from the table behind them. He has to laugh when the Mexican aristocrat takes a stick to the pinata overhead that they'd put Ziggler's face on, sending candy all over the floor of the ring. But all fun dies away when Ziggler interrupts and attacks both men, first sending Ricardo out of the ring where he lands roughly on his feet before faceplanting into the mat. Mike cringes, remembering his ankle issues, before Ziggler continues to attack Alberto.

Ricardo returns, however, looking like he wants to splash Dolph from the top rope, but Ziggler spots him and slings him over, sending him straight through the table with all of the food and decorations on it. Ziggler turns his attention back to Alberto but the World champion escapes through the crowd, unfortunately leaving Ricardo behind to scramble out of the shards of the table just to take a guitar to the upperbody and face. Mike pales as the harsh impact echoes through the locker room, everyone falling silent at the pure sound. "Dammit," he hisses, the bag of cold water slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor. "Come on, kid."

He and Alex move quickly through the hallway, arriving back at the gorilla position just as a referee and Del Rio help Ricardo to the back, his head bobbing limply against his chest with each step. Alberto glares at him but says nothing as they quietly follow them to the trainer's office, the man quickly working at examining him once he's settled on a cot. There's a visible welt already growing along Ricardo's jaw up to his cheek, and his arm where he'd tried to deflect the blow is bruising nicely, but he comes to with a minor bit of coaxing from Del Rio, groaning as the trainer begins tending to his arm.

"It's ok, amigo. It's ok." Alberto pats the uninjured side of his face and struggles to smile before realizing he's looking elsewhere, following his gaze- directly onto Mike. "Get out of here, perros," he hisses, not wanting the abrasive superstar to cause his friend more pain. "Now."

But ultimately, it's Ricardo who stops this. "El Patron," he breathes. "It's ok." Alberto stares at him uncertainly, shaking his head slowly, but Ricardo nods wearily at him. "Let them stay, por favor."

Mike blinks a time or two before venturing closer to the cot. "Ricardo... Hey, man."

"Hey." He licks his lips, closing his eyes as his head throbs anew. "Ow."

Alberto's face twists in sympathy and he strokes a hand through the younger man's hair, purposely ignoring Mike. "Relax, mi amigo. Everything's ok."

His eyes flutter open again, dull and dark with pain, before he looks from side to side. "I'm glad you're both here," he mumbles, dozing off almost immediately afterwards and missing the awkward glance Del Rio and Mike shoot each other.

As they sit and wait for the trainer to finish looking him over, determining that his injuries are relatively minor, none of them are aware that this is only the beginning...

Mike sits backstage with Alex, his head tilted curiously as he stares at the TV, Raw cycling through another clip of former champions. "Mike, man, seriously, if you sit like that much longer," Alex grouses after awhile. "You're making _my_ neck hurt."

"It's just... I dunno," he says. "They said Ricardo's injured but nothing beyond that. Trainer said on Friday that everything seemed ok... so what gives?" Alex shrugs but Mike still dwells on it, trying to figure out what might've happened between Friday and today, why the whole situation feels so bizarre to him. Finally he has to let it go, at least for now. He has a match against Ryback and considering what's happened the past times he's faced the beast, he's not looking forward to it.

He's had couches thrown at him, been shellshocked nearly through the mat, and many other things that makes him dread what's to come, especially this close to Money in the Bank. But he keeps his chin up and sees his match through anyway, only minisculely comforted that Jericho is on commentary, just in case he might need some backup later on. Despite Ryback dominating at first, Mike quickly finds an in and takes advantage of his knee injury from the Friday before, kicking it and loosening him up for a potential figure four. He's in the zone, just about to force him into the hold, when the man waves the match off. Forfeits. He gapes at him in disbelief, almost wanting to laugh as Ryback yells at him, just to turn into a Crossbreaker from a waiting Jericho.

In disbelief at winning in such a _weird_ fashion, he heads backstage and rejoins Alex, "Well, I have to say," he comments, slinging an arm over his best friend's shoulders. "I've won a match in a great many ways, but none quite like _that._ " Alex laughs too and they sit through the rest of the show, Mike's focus now turning back to Ricardo and what that situation is exactly.

Unfortunately, when Del Rio comes out alone, Mike fears the worst, especially when the announcers only reiterate that Ricardo is injured, reairing footage from Friday. After a long back and forth between he and Cena that only adds to Mike's impatience, Del Rio loses when Ziggler gets involved, slowly making his way back to the backstage as Mark Henry and Cena face off to end the show. "Come on," Mike orders Alex tensely, leaving the locker room to find Del Rio, needing answers.

When they finally find him, he's pacing around outside, wind blowing over his bare skin and cooling him down after his match as he walks back and forth in front of the door. "Amigo, it's ok. Everything will be fine..."

Mike slips outside and swallows, looking over at Alex as they continue to listen to Alberto, who slips back into Spanish as he talks to who could only be Ricardo on the other end. As soon as he hangs up a few minutes later, he turns towards them and sneers, eyes flashing dangerously. "You two spying on me?" he snaps. "How did your four years of Spanish do for you then, Miz?"

He's almost inside, slamming past them, when Mike finds his voice. "What's going on? That was Ricardo, right? Is he ok?"

Alberto skids to a stop and looks like he wants to twist around swinging, but he holds himself still, the very definition of tense control as he turns to glower at them. "No, he is not ok." Mike stares up at him, shaking his head in worry, and Del Rio hisses through his teeth. "He failed wellness. He was suspended."

Mike feels like gravity is failing him, unable to believe what he's hearing. "Wha- what?" Many things race through his mind, going through the various things that could cause a fail in one of the wellness tests they were all regularly put through. Small things, big things... He wonders if perhaps, all of the injuries he'd suffered had finally caught up to him, and he had- but no, that doesn't exactly fit with Ricardo either. "What happened?"

"Although I don't find it to be any of your business, for whatever reason, he seems to still consider you something of a friend, despite how I've told him that you've shown your true colors during the commentary nonsense," Del Rio tells him coldly. "And I suppose it's better than speculation and rumors or whatever else giving you the wrong idea about him when it's officially announced in the morning." Mike looks like he wants to say something at this, but ultimately stays quiet as Alberto approaches him, the arena door clicking shut loudly behind him once more. "He was busted for taking fat burners. That's all. Fat burners." He laughs bitterly.

Mike stares into his cold, emotionless eyes, and reflects on why exactly he's so angry, had been from the minute he'd come out for his match solo. Guys like Swagger could get away with DUIs and all sorts of things, but something like using a fat burner and... He swallows, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together into a depressing pattern in his mind. "Dammit," he breathes. Alberto grimaces at him once more before turning and returning to the arena, to get ready to leave, done talking to either of them. "Dammit," is all Mike can find in himself to repeat, slumping down to the warm concrete and leaning against the building.

Alex sits down next to him and takes a breath, unsure what to say. "What can I do, Mike?" he finally whispers, wanting to help his former pro somehow, the sadness and pain washing off of him in waves.

Mike stares into the darkness for long, agonizing moments, before looking over at him. "Japan's soon," he says blankly. "When I'm there... when you can... will you check in on him? Just... make sure he's ok?" He knows that Del Rio will also still be state-side, not being on the Japanese tour with them, but considering that it was understandably like pulling teeth just to get the information out of him about the suspension, he thinks it'd help to at least have one friendly person in contact with the ring announcer, especially one who lived in the same state.

"Sure man," Alex agrees, smiling. "Hey, he'll be ok, Mike. He's strong. Look at all he's been through, and he's still standing."

Miz smiles faintly, eyes solemn. "Yeah, I know. It just... it sucks." He rests the back of his head against the building, sighing. "This damn business makes no sense sometimes..."

"Can't argue with that one," Alex mumbles.

Miz has already left for Japan, Alex returning to Florida when he decides to uphold his promise to Mike from jump. Only taking the time for a quick shower and bite to eat after his flight, he then finds the address that Mike had entered into his phone, tapping a finger against the screen thoughtfully. "Well, here we go," he mutters. Del Rio's home is in one of the fancier, very rich parts of Tampa, and Alex has never really been there before.

After getting turned around a bit, he finally finds the place and drives up to the gate, suddenly feeling very out of his element. There's an intercom on the gate and he winces at it, pressing it. When it's finally answered, a female voice greeting him, he swallows and stares at the camera that's aimed right at him, a red light now flashing. "Uh, hello. I'm Alex Riley, I- I work in the WWE, I'm here to see Ricardo?"

There's a lengthy pause until finally she says, "One moment." He sits and waits, certain that she'll come back with demands for him to get off of the property, or Del Rio himself come out to escort him personally, especially after what he'd said to Mike the night before, but instead, there's a rough buzzing sound and the gate swings open. "Follow the driveway to the front door," the woman's voice says.

Upon doing that, following the circular drive to where a woman with dark hair wrapped up in a bun and a watchful, maternal look in her deep brown eyes is standing, waiting for him, he parks his car and gets out slowly, blinking at the impressive house sprawled out before him, its grounds equally as ridiculous. "Damn," he mutters. As he hesitantly approaches, he smiles. "Um, hi. Thanks for letting me inside."

"Hello. I am Sofia, I am Senor Del Rio's housekeeper." She tilts her head at him, watching him closely as he nears her. "I watch WWE for Senor Del Rio and Rodriguez, I have seen you a time or two and Senor Rodriguez has talked about you. You are friends with Mike Mizanin, si?"

Alex grins. "Yeah, you could say that." She smiles at him a bit. He grows a little more solemn, however, as she motions him into the house. "How is Ricardo doing?"

She sighs, glancing at him as she shuts the front door behind them. "He is hanging in there. It'll probably cheer him up to see a colleague, however. He has been forced to remain home in the past, when injured, but now... when he's healthy, well..." Her voice trails off and it's obvious she's worried for the younger man. But she shakes her head and smiles, wandering off towards the hallway. "I'll go get him for you."

"Thanks." Alex watches her go, then looks around at what he can see of the massive house from here, not wanting to seem like he's snooping in Del Rio's house while alone. A few moments later, he hears shuffling footsteps and looks up to find Ricardo approaching, looking warily at him. He seems pale and a little glum, but more put together than Alex thinks he would be if something like that had happened to him so suddenly. "Hey, man."

"Hola." He stares at Alex for a long moment before walking the rest of the way into the foyer. "Is there something you needed, Alex?"

Alex chuckles and runs a hand through his hair, shrugging. One thing he hadn't been able to work out was how to broach this subject without coming right out and saying that Mike wanted him to check on Ricardo, not sure how the younger man would react to that, after everything. "Not really, but I just figured since we're both in Florida, and a lot of the roster is in Japan, I have a couple of days to myself before I have to go do commentary for Superstars..." Ricardo nods, eyes dropping to the ground at this, and Alex almost wants to bash his head into the nearest wall for stupidly mentioning anything about the WWE _now_ , but ultimately powers through it, moves past the awkward moment. "Well, I noticed someone was tweeting about charity work and I was thinking... you up for some company with that?"

Ricardo blinks, looking back up at him. "Really? You... want to come with me to help people in need?"

Alex grins, relieved that he'd totally rescued that earlier fumble, distracting the ring announcer from it. "Sure, man. I like doing things like this, when I have some free time, but I'm never sure where to begin, what places to go to, especially since I'm traveling so much. You probably understand." At Ricardo's nod, he takes a breath and rests a hand on his shoulder. "So what do you say, wanna go do this thing?"

Ricardo smiles for, Alex suspects, the first time since his suspension. "Si, Alex. I'd like that."


	164. chapter 164

After a successful mini tour of Japan and Taiwan, Miz is relieved to see the States again, breathing in heavily as he prepares for his flight to Raw. He groans and scrubs at his face, looking around at the others in the same position he's in, wondering if he has the time for a quick phone call. Deciding to risk it, he dials speed dial #3 and waits as it rings in.

"Hello?"

"Hey, kid," he says, eyes closing as he releases the breath he'd been holding. "How's it going?"

"Going alright," Alex says, Mike grinning as he hears the telltale squeak of a hotel bed while he shifts around on it. "You back in the States then?"

"Yeah, finally," he sighs. "Long ass flight, man." He hesitates, wanting to ask about Ricardo but not wanting Alex to think he'd only called for information on the ring announcer.

"I bet. Saw Jericho's tweets about it, it sounded pretty brutal." Alex shifts again and then swallows. "Hung out with Ricardo some this week, he seems to be doing ok. Considering." Mike relaxes into the chair, relieved at how well his former NXT protege knows him. "I'll check in on him again when I'm back in Florida... but he's handling it better than I would, I think."

Mike nods, remembering how aggravating it'd been for the other man when he had been injured. "Thanks, man." He stares out of the airport windows, considering going to Florida himself at some point during the month period, but he's not sure Ricardo would even want to see him after everything... Alex seems like a less stressful option, considering.

"You should _see_ that house of Del Rio's, man. And the grounds... damn!" As Alex continues to tell him about everything he'd seen, Mike sits back with a grin, picturing it all as best as he can. "...And he has a housekeeper, she seemed nice. Very protective of those two. It's weird, seeing Del Rio's real life and trying to match it with the man in the ring, y'know? I mean, I guess considering what we've seen of him the past few months, how he's treating Ricardo now, it shouldn't surprise me, but yeah... there's a real human being in there somewhere."

Mike laughs. "Come on, man. We all have different sides to ourselves. Most would be surprised to see me outside of a wrestling ring, right? I'm not half as obnoxious in real life..."

"Usually," they say together, Alex laughing as Miz huffs at him. "Yeah, you have a point. It was just... unexpected to actually _see_ it, you know?"

"Yeah, I can only imagine," he says, wondering if he'll ever get the opportunity to see that side of Del Rio and Ricardo's life himself. "I'm just glad he's doing ok." He tilts his head, staring at the calendar hanging on the wall across from him, counting the days left in the suspension period as Alex tells him how his second week of commentary for Superstars went.

Raw has a weird vibe about it from the second that Mike enters the arena, people he walks past talking in near-whispers as they cast furtive glances around, everyone feeling the impact of the Wyatt family's looming debut, the videos they'd been airing for the past few weeks leaving superstars and staff alike tense and worried. No one seems interested in staying alone, Mike relieved to have Alex nearby as he walks through the halls to the locker room. Zack and Jericho join them at some point, the four of them keeping close as the show begins.

It's early in the show when AJ is shown, Mike half-listening as she and Big E discuss the whole situation with Kaitlyn. When Ziggler interrupts, he rolls his eyes and stops watching, turning his attention instead to picking lint off of his suit, which is a much more interesting endeavor than watching her simper all over him. "Ziggler does _not_ look impressed, bro," Zack chuckles with Jericho.

After a few moments of silence, Jericho shudders. "They have been told this is supposed to be a family friendly product, right?" Mike makes it a point not to look up, able to guess what's going on, until finally the footage fades away. "Hey, Miz, my match is up soon. Any message you want me to give Axel?"

Mike does look up at this, smirking at him. "No, that's fine. If I have a message for him, I'll deliver it myself. I'll be doing commentary for the duration."

Jericho hums. "Alright then. Just don't get too excited and cost me the match; I kept my distance last week during yours against Ryback, after all."

"Don't worry, I won't." And he doesn't, though he does respond when Axel starts to get in his face, standing up and taking his jacket off, undoing his tie just enough to distract the obnoxious Intercontinental champion, leaving it to Heyman to have to all but scream in his face that he's about to get counted out, Mike sneering as Axel rolls back into the ring and eats a codebreaker and the three count- his first ever since debuting under that name and Heyman's tutelage.

It helps a fair amount to know that he'll now be walking into Money in the Bank against a champion who's now got a loss fresh on his mind, nudging Jericho once he's backstage, his jacket and tie held over his shoulder. "Congrats, man. About time someone snapped his undefeated streak."

"Yeah, thanks. Now someone just has to take that title off of his shoulder," the Canadian agrees.

"And that's my cue," Mike grins. "I can't wait for Sunday."

Jericho and Zack leave to check out catering, Zack going on and on about something they have that Jericho should give a try, leaving Mike and Alex behind in the locker room to watch the rest of the show. It's pretty standard for a pre-Money in the Bank show, except for the sense of unease and fear that seems to be multiplying with each passing match, especially after footage of the Wyatt family compound is aired. "Do you think that guy was ever seen again?" Alex asks, wondering about the unseen reporter.

"Well... how did they get the footage if he wasn't...?" Mike asks, frowning.

Alex shrugs, but they both fall quiet when Del Rio comes out for his match against Sin Cara, the footage of Ricardo's attack at the hands of Ziggler replaying. As they take in the dark, angered look on Alberto's face, Alex sighs. "Well, here's a question for you. Commentators keep saying that Ricardo's injured at the hands of Ziggler, and yada. We know it's not true. Do you think... Del Rio...?"

Mike shrugs this time. "It's his best friend, man. Considering how much money he has to throw around, what's a little bribery here and there, right?" He smiles wanly, staring at his hands. He himself had gone pretty low just trying to get John his job in WWE back, so he doesn't blame Del Rio if he'd greased some palms to keep the true reason of Ricardo's disappearance from television. The Internet had been brutal enough over it all, access to all of the competitors made so easy by social media working badly against them in situations like this. They once more fall silent as the match draws on, Sin Cara actually holding his own surprisingly well against the World Champion, and Mike has to wonder if he's distracted by Ricardo's situation, his anger over it all causing him to become sloppy.

It gets even worse when Dolph Ziggler comes out and feigns a not-very sincere apology for what he'd done to Ricardo, only adding to Del Rio's anger, before mocking the champion's introduction. Miz rolls his eyes. "Hasn't he been giving AJ grief for making fun of Kaitlyn the past few weeks?" he asks randomly, watching as Alberto and Dolph begin fighting on the outside, Sin Cara getting involved after a minute. Finally the match is thrown out, the referee unable to get control of the situation again, and Mike takes a breath. "Well, that was dumb."

They don't move, watching through until Kane vs Christian ends, the Wyatt family choosing then to make their presence felt. Not that anyone in the back are safe from them, however, the lights in the whole arena going dark abruptly, not just those in the ringside area. Mike swallows and stares, turning towards Alex. "You alright, kid?"

"Yeah, fine," he whispers, watching the monitor whose faint glow is the only light in the whole room. "Mike..." All they can see on the screen is a bobbing light, hear the buzz of the crowd. Finally, Bray Wyatt blows out his lantern, all of the lights turning on in a rush that makes the two men feel disoriented and more than a little weirded out. "Damn," he breathes as the ring is shown, Kane surrounded by the other two members of the Wyatt family, Bray sitting calmly in his rocking chair and watching on blankly. Despite how hard Kane fights, he's quickly overwhelmed and sent into the steel steps, where he slumps lifelessly.

Mike gapes as the Devil's favorite demon is wedged between one half of the steps and the other, his head potentially crushed by the heavy weapons. He curses loudly, shaking his head. _If they can do that to_ Kane,he thinks, dread welling up within him. "Dammit..." It takes a long time for either of them to move, find their way out of the room, and when they do, Daniel Bryan is standing in the parking lot outside, staring blankly off into the night. "Daniel," Mike greets his other NXT rookie tensely, waiting for him to turn around. "Is Kane...?"

He stares at Mike and shakes his head, eyes dull and blank. "They say..." He licks his lips anxiously, glancing around. "They say he might have...brain damage or, or... neck damage. They... he... was talking in the ambulance. I don't know."

Alex and Mike exchange a glance, the former WWE champion feeling bad for the shorter man before him. He remembers quite well how it'd felt when Morrison had been sent off for his surgery due to a pinched nerve, and everything had been so uncertain. He reaches out and squeezes Daniel's shoulder, surprising all of them. "He'll be alright. He's... _Kane._ Right? He's strong."

Daniel nods so violently that his beard shakes. "Right, of course. He'll... he's going to be fine. And I'll... I'll be able to... make it up to him... somehow..." He takes a breath and stares at the building, absently wandering away from the two men. "I have... to go..."

As he enters the arena, Mike blinks a time or two before turning to Alex. "Kid, let's get out of here. I have a phone call to make."

Ten minutes later, they're in their hotel room and Miz is sitting on the windowsill, staring out over the city as he holds his phone to his ear, listening to it ring. He wonders if maybe his call won't be answered, but finally it clicks in, and he smiles.

"Hola?"

"Hey, Ricardo," he says, relieved to hear the ring announcer's voice, considering how he'd looked that Friday after the attack from Ziggler when he'd last seen him. Even with Alex's reports, he'd worried. "Hope I didn't wake you or anything."

"No, I was only sitting here, drawing. I actually just finished talking to El Patron, so you picked a good time to call."

Mike grins, sprawling out in a more comfortable position. "Good, I'm glad, man." He takes a breath, remembering the look in Daniel's eyes, his tone of voice when he'd talked about Kane. How his regrets had seemed so similar to Mike's own when it came to the man on the other end of the phone. "So how are you doing?"

When Alex comes out of the bathroom, he stops short at Mike's laughter, a sound he'd heard sadly little of lately, his eyes softening when he realizes that he's talking to Ricardo. Lips twitching into a grin of his own, he pads over to his bed quietly and settles in with the remote, careful to keep the volume down so as not to disrupt the conversation.


	165. chapter 165

"They seriously didn't call you back to do commentary this week?" Mike asks, cringing as he talks to Alex on the phone, the younger man opting to stay in Florida this week for the Performance Center opening. "That sucks, man. I'm sorry."

Alex breathes in. "Yeah, I mean... I was enjoying it, but I guess R-Truth has that honor this week." He laughs mirthlessly. "Ricardo and I both only lasted two weeks. Guess even if you had chosen me, it would've still ended the same way."

Mike sighs, feeling horribly for him but not knowing what to say. "Kid..."

"It's alright," he shrugs. "Maybe they'll give me another try down the road. We'll see, right?"

"Yeah. Never say never and all of that fun stuff," Mike says, glaring over at Josh Mathews as he motions at him, wanting to go over notes for the night's show. "Hey, kid, I have to go. I'll call you later, ok?"

"Sure, Mike. Talk to you then."

After he hangs up with a grimace, he and Josh have a quick discussion about the show, which starts shortly afterwards. It's the first time he's seen first hand Dolph Ziggler come out without AJ or Big E and it takes everything in him to not sneer or laugh audibly into his headset.

His attempts at being professional throughout the match goes to the wayside, briefly, when the conversation turns to AJ and that whole situation, how Ziggler and her had appeared to forgiven each other. "Is that a good thing, though?" he asks without thinking, relieved when Josh doesn't respond. He halfheartedly tries to explain away what he said, but he doubts it works, hoping that she's not paying attention to his words wherever she might be at. Thankfully from that point on, he's able to keep his focus on anything _but_ the girl who seemed to take great pleasure in these games she always played with various men in the business, until it backfired on her, and the rest of the show goes by quickly enough.

He gets off of the desk and walks back to the locker room to change to leave, passing by Dolph on his way. They stare at each other for a moment, Mike expressionless and unimpressed as Ziggler smirks at him, making no move to say or do anything towards him. He wonders what the bleach blond superstar would do or say if he ever found out about how close he and AJ had come, until Mike himself had destroyed everything between them. He walks past quickly, not wanting to dwell on that thought. After all, for all he knew, Dolph was already aware and it hadn't mattered to him...

"Mike, look," Alex demands, distracting his former protege from getting ready for his upcoming match against Ryback.

"What?" he asks, looking up in time to see Axel completely losing it at ringside, trashing the commentary desk and whatever else he can get his hands on, Heyman succeeding very little at controlling his client. He laughs. "Whoa, sore loser much?" His Money in the Bank opponent had just lost by count out to Jericho, his second loss in a week to the man. He has to wonder how well that'll help him out come Sunday, but for now he has to focus on his own match against Ryback... his strategy very close to what it had been last week. "Target the leg," he mumbles aloud, pressing down on the wrist tape as he stands and slaps Alex on the back. "See you later, kid."

"Yep, good luck."

Mike nods absently before heading out for the ring, now cleared of Axel and all of that mess. If he had had more time, he would've come out and mocked Axel, but he needs to keep his head on straight anyway. And he's glad he made that decision, the much larger man still showing some weakness in his leg, but it a fight just for Miz to keep his head above water. No matter how he struggles, no matter how Ryback complains about pain in his knee, or claims that he _felt something pop_ , he ultimately gains the victory against Miz.

Mike lays there and stares up at the lights, uncertain how it'd happened all so quickly. He suspects he'd walked in with too much confidence, as he's known to do, but... but... He thought he'd had it, had tried to do everything right. Groaning faintly to himself, he rolls out of the ring and begins the long, painful trip back up the ramp. Alex meets him there and helps him back to the locker room, patting him on the back in silent sympathy. A thoroughly demoralizing loss like this, against an injured opponent, so close to a pay per view championship match... No matter how Axel may be losing it right now, it's not the greatest circumstance to be in. He swallows harshly and closes his eyes, shaking his head against A-Ri's shoulder. "Dammit," he mumbles wearily.

After he sleeps off some of the soreness, he spends the rest of the weekend pondering. With Heyman out there, he's already at a distinct disadvantage, the man somehow able to talk his clients into victories, not to mention distracting to opponents and referees alike. "How to get rid of him," he mumbles thoughtfully. He taps the eraser of his pencil against the sheet of paper he'd been idly scribbling over while lost in thought, eyes narrowing as a smirk crosses his lips. "Got it..."

His plan works, on a base level. The referee believes that Heyman attacked him, sending him backstage, leaving Axel alone to deal with Mike, but no matter how hard the former WWE champion fights, Axel continues to find ways to keep the advantage, finally defeating Miz and taking away his hopes at regaining the Intercontinental Championship... again. He drops an arm over his eyes and breathes heavily, wincing. Two losses in forty eight hours... "No," he mutters, slamming his fist against the mat yet again before starting another walk of shame up the ramp, as a loser.

But he doesn't have the worst night of them all, somehow. He's watching blankly, eyes dark and bland, as Del Rio and Ziggler go back and forth for the World Title, his disgust growing as it seems time and again that the Show Off will walk away with the win- until... AJ's music randomly hits and, fresh off of retaining her title against Kaitlyn, she skips around the ring, distracting Dolph. He looks far from pleased until trying to turn his attention back to Del Rio, though AJ keeps succeeding at taking his focus away from his opponent with her antics around the ring. It's not until Del Rio has succeeded at kicking him in the skull in a manner reminicent to Payback, Ziggler only just dodging one to set up the ZigZag, that AJ enters the ring for whatever reason and clocks Alberto in the skull with her diva's title, dropping him immediately as the ref calls for the bell.

Mike blinks as Alex tilts his head next to him, both of them uncertain what they just saw. "Did she just...?"

Del Rio is still motionless for a moment, dazed, but Dolph reacts instantly, yelling at her and going frantic as he pleads with the referee, so close to hitting his finisher and seeing the match to a conclusion before it'd all been taken away by AJ's actions. The referee has no choice, however, handing over the title to the stirring Mexican Aristocrat, who only questions for a moment what happened before exiting the ring quickly, title held protectively in his arms as he dashes up the ramp, laughing at his opponent as Dolph once more rounds on AJ, screaming at her. Finally Dolph leaves and Mike watches while AJ stands alone, eyes filling with tears as her face crumbles.

"Holy crap," Alex mumbles.

"Yeah," Mike agrees lowly, wondering what will happen next. As the camera pulls in close to her devastated face, he swallows and looks away. The expression on her face is too similar to the look she'd had when he had confessed about using her to get Morrison his position in the company back...

Mike and Alex stand side by side, staring at the match board. Alex doesn't look surprised at the lack of his own name, but Mike swallows, shaking his head. Yes, he had lost the night before for the millionth time that he'd tried for the Intercontinental title, but... to keep him completely off of the card... He turns to look at his former NXT rookie. "Hey, you wanna come with me? I have a bone to pick with _Maddox._ "

Alex winces before shaking his head. "No, that's ok. I think I'll be hearing enough from him this evening... Guess I'll go check catering with Zack. I'll see you later."

Mike watches as he walks off with a sigh, understanding his disinterest in even trying to talk to the GM any more. He himself had done it time and again in the past to little success, and Mike has no doubt that it'll be any different with Brad... but he has to try. Finding his way to the office, he knocks determinedly and enters when Brad calls him in.

"Oh, Miz," the new GM greets him, blinking. "What can I do for you?"

Mike stares at him, sneering a bit. Whereas AJ had at least tried to be a good GM before that whole Cena mess had come out, he doubts that Brad will be effective at all. Which, considering how Vince had talked about his own decision the week prior, he imagines that that was the point. "Why don't I have a match tonight?"

As Brad begins to stumble, explaining something about time running short that evening, and a whole number of other excuses, Mike listens half-heartedly, peering around at the various posters for movies and the magazine scattered around the office. "But, uh, but- yeah, I'll assign a match for you on, let's see, Superstars, how does that sound?" he asks, voice squeaking a little on the last word when cool blue eyes refocus on him. "And, uh, and... I'll talk to Teddy Long about- um, about MizTV on Smackdown. Good? Yeah?" He laughs awkwardly as Mike rolls his eyes and turns to leave, far from impressed but knowing if he stays much longer, he'd just punch Maddox in the face and that'd get none of them nowhere. No matter how frustrated he is, he'd rather not join Ricardo on the suspension list, though that might allow him to visit the ring announcer and see for himself how he's doing instead of hearing it second hand from Alex, or stuck to phone calls whenever he finds a minute.

He ultimately joins Alex and Zack in catering, grabbing a plate of marble cake that someone- probably 3MB- had brought along for Heath Slater. "How'd it go?" Alex asks as he sits down next to them. When he just grunts and stuffs a huge forkful of the cake into his mouth, it being the only thing keeping him from screaming, both men look on sympathetically. "That good, huh? Sorry, man."

Zack sighs and rests his jaw in his hand. "Welcome to the group, bro."

They fall silent then, a monitor in the corner showing what's happening with the show, and they all watch quietly as Dolph walks through the halls, heading to the ring for his rematch against Del Rio, when AJ intercepts him, pleading and begging once more for him to talk to her, and he does, telling her that he's past the night before. She takes it to mean he's forgiven her, but he doesn't return her hug and Mike pauses midbite, watching as she slowly pulls back, staring up at him. He reinforces that they're broken up, leaving her once more in tears. "That's not gonna end well," he mumbles around a mouthful of cake crumbs.

"You think, bro?" Zack asks, face twisting with some worry as he examines the easily deranged girl on the TV, pondering what it could mean for his sometimes friend-rival-enemy all rolled up into one depending on the day.

Mike doesn't say it, but he _knows._ And sure enough, just when it looks like Ziggler might be once more nearing victory against Del Rio, the unexpected sound of the bell ringing echoes through the arena. The referee looks confused, waving it off that he hadn't called for it, Dolph rolling away from Alberto to look. It of course is AJ, standing at the timekeeper's area, ringing the bell, which allows Alberto to take advantage and kick Dolph solidly in the skull before rolling him up to retain the title. Once more dashing out of the ring, belt held tightly in tow, he rushes up the ramp as AJ enters the ring and screams at Dolph that he'd broken her heart, solidly slapping him repeatedly.

He's just pushed her off, his back to the front of the ring, when Big E appears out of nowhere and lays him out, leaving him motionless on the mat as AJ drops to her knees, painfully stroking his hair back before kissing him a very short, bitter goodbye, allowing his head to slam against the mat before leaving, Big E right behind her. She's barely half up the ramp when her face crumbles again, tears filling her eyes as she sobs.

Catering is quiet and tense afterwards, Mike stabbing his fork moodily into what remains of his cake as Zack finds his way to his feet. "Be back later, bros," he mumbles, probably going off to check on Ziggler.

Disgusted, Mike pushes his plate away and stands too. "I need some air." Not waiting for Alex to offer to follow, he heads outside at a quick walk and leans against the door, breathing in deeply. It's a nice night, considering how bad things are inside, the breeze soft and cool against his flushed skin, but he can't properly enjoy it. Sinking down against the wall of the building, he stares out at cars driving by on the street, bright red lights casting a glow on the pavement as they go. He's still sitting there when the door slams open next to him and he jerks aside, the person storming out into the darkness unaware of him even being there. It's obvious who it is before his eyes even adjust to the darkness once more, the light pouring from the arena door dazing him all over again.

AJ stands a few feet away from him, hands held in tense fists at her sides. "WHY?!" she screams out into the night sky, folding in half at the energy draining cry. "WHY DOES IT ALWAYS HAPPEN?" Her words turn into broken sobs as she drops onto her knees, Mike wincing at the sound of impact against the pavement. "Why... why does no one love me?" Her words turn subdued, quiet, broken, and Mike feels his chest ache for her. "Daniel, Punk, Kane, Cena, Mike... now Ziggly," she wails. "He was supposed to be different, he was- he supposed to be the _one._ He was supposed to _never leave!"_

It sounds like she's approaching hyperventilation, slamming her fists against the dark concrete, and Mike is starting to worry for her, wondering where Big E is at. Unable to watch much more of this, he makes his way to his feet and walks over to her, not touching her or saying a word as he hovers there. She sniffs and finally freezes, looking up through tear-filled eyes, unable to see who exactly it is with her in the darkness. He sighs and leans down, scooping her up and adjusting his hold on her, marveling once more at just how little she is before making sure she's secure as he heads back to the building, relieved when she begins to respond, wrapping her arms around his neck, her cries muffled into his merch shirt.

He's not sure where to go with her once he's inside, sure that Big E will come and knock him out at any moment for even looking twice at her, but ultimately his feet take him to the trainer's office, aware that her knees and hands have to be killing her by now. He takes a deep breath and kicks the door open, ignoring the trainer as he follows him around, demanding what happened. He stares ahead blankly as he stops next to the cot, leaning over and carefully depositing the petite woman down on the padded surface. When he stands up straight and looks back down at her, he's floored and subdued to find she'd cried herself to sleep in his arms, his eyes heavy with sympathy and always present guilt as he stares at her. No matter what she'd done to him over the past few months since his admission, her pain is choking and horribly raw, and he can feel it even now, the tears still clinging to her eyelids as she frowns in her sleep.

He sighs and closes his eyes, gently stroking the hair out of her face. "You're gonna be ok." Turning to the trainer, he raises an eyebrow at him, daring him to say anything. "Check her knees and hands out thoroughly." He's just left the room when he looks up to find Alex outside waiting for him. "What?"

He swallows and claps a hand on Mike's shoulders. "She alright?" He hesitates and nods, Alex's lips twitching into a small smile. "Good, man. We're wanting out at the entrance ramp to hear Cena's big decision. C'mon."

"Yippee," he mumbles, following him out though he has no doubt that the decision won't be him, or anyone he necessarily cares about. Sure enough, it's Daniel Bryan and, although he's somewhat happy for the former member of Team Hell No, he has too much to think about, consider, worry over, to really care in the long run.


	166. chapter 166

****

Miz is still mulling over the past few weeks, far from pleased with anything, but ComiCon is looming so, after commentating for Main Event, he puts his game face on as he heads for San Diego. He's been selected to host the Mattel panel, getting to see the action figures coming up in the next few months. Unfortunately upon arrival, he's notified by a WWE tech on hand to oversee everything to do with WWE over the next four days that he won't be doing it solo- his guests will be Mick Foley and... Dolph Ziggler. He stares at the man for so long that eventually the tech swallows nervously and walks off, not liking the look on Mike's face.

Tapping his microphone against his wrist, the Most Must See Superstar stares blankly ahead as he watches a crowd form for the panel, the two Mattel guys whispering next to him. Mitchell and Bill are obviously unused to being before such a large group, and Mike feels somewhat sympathetic for them, especially since Bill is fresh off of back surgery. This along with everything else forces him to keep his misgivings to himself, especially when he's cued to introduce Ziggler. Thankfully annoying Mitchell, trying to get him to be more confident in front of all of these people, distracts him from constantly having to deal with Ziggler, though the two of them spend a lot of the panel taking little potshots at each other, Mike lost in a haze of everything that's been running through his mind the past few months.

He only realizes what he's doing when he finds himself saying, "-your girlfriend, er I mean, ex-girlfriend?" He's not even sure what they're bitching back and forth about, and he wonders if the bitterness that he's feeling had bled out into his words. No one blinks or even seems weirded out by any of it, however, Dolph barely responding to the barb, so he turns his attention back to the screen, or tries to, noticing as they announce an action figure for Ricardo. He smiles slightly, hoping that it bolsters the ring announcer's spirits a little as his suspension inches to a conclusion, finally getting a figure all to himself instead of the build-a-figure that had come in pieces with one of _Miz's_ own figures, and three others, the year before.

After he announces he'll be hosting Summerslam this year, the panel is coming to an end, fans lining up for a Q&A session and Mike allows himself to drift away once more as he wonders if he'll have time for a quick trip back to LA to drop in on Morrison before he has to leave for the next day's Superstars and Smackdown. He has both a match and MizTV scheduled, thanks to Brad Maddox's ridiculousness, so he doubts it but... He begins to pay attention as soon as someone asks a question to all present- if they could choose any tag partner, a new partner or one they've had prior, to face Macho Man Randy Savage and Hulk Hogan, who would it be?- and he doesn't even have to think. "Do you mean, like John Morrison?" he asks, yet again speaking automatically. He hadn't heard anything about Morrison and the WWE since that bizarre article weeks back, but he thinks, should the man get a good response here, well... perhaps someone would take notice and undo all that John Laurinaitis did years back... He runs with it, teasing a return of the tag team of Miz and Morrison. "Be jealous," he tells the cheering crowd, grinning smugly as he marvels in how _right_ it feels to say the old words.

He hadn't realized how much he had missed the Dirt Sheet days until this exact moment, when he and John had dominated the tag division for years. It's with a fond gleam to his eye that he shakes hands with the people from Mattel and even Foley and Ziggler, his nostalgic mood not fading away as he heads for the autograph signing that follows, bracing himself for whatever the long line of fans may have to say. All in all, it goes well and he leaves after wandering around the building, taking in all that the convention has to provide. By the time he gets away, it's nearly dark outside and he winces, realizing that trying to drive to LA now would be impractical, if he wanted to get any kind of sleep before his flight out to where Superstars and Smackdown are being held. "Damn." Vowing to spend as much time with John as he can Summerslam weekend, he begrudgingly returns to his hotel room.

The next day, he's surprised to find his Superstars opponent is Heath Slater. He's just wrapped his head around _that_ when there's a grating sound of throat clearing behind him. Thinking it's someone also trying to see the board, he steps aside to provide enough room for both of them to see it, but the noise is repeated and he turns sharply. "Whaaaa- ..." His voice dies away as he takes in Alex Riley, smirking mischievously at him. "What the-?! What are you doing here, kid?"

"Well, remember that whole 'never say never' thing?" He grins. "I received a text the other day, telling me to show up for commentary again this week."

Mike blinks. "The other day? Why the hell didn't you say anything?!" he demands, remembering just how low Alex had been when he'd been seemingly replaced with R-Truth the week prior.

"Well, I knew you had a match this week... _and_ you were so busy with preparing for ComiCon, I didn't want to disrupt your plans. So I decided to surprise you." He laughs as Mike shakes his head and swats him upside the back of the head. "They must've liked how I last commentated about you."

Miz glares at him. "I swear, if I hear _anything_ hinting towards me being undersized again..."

Alex holds his hands up in surrender. "Ok, ok. I won't go that far... Heath and you are close to the same height anyway." Miz still looks unimpressed and Alex thinks quickly. "How about this, I'll talk about how better your hair is than Heath's."

Mike rolls his eyes. "You are the weirdest commentator, I swear to God..." But he does look slightly appeased, clapping Alex harshly between his shoulderblades as they walk side by side down the hall. "I'm glad they asked you back, kid."

"So am I," he smiles, nudging his friend before they go their separate ways to prepare, Alex meeting up with Tony Dawson as Miz goes to change into ring gear. When he finally comes face to face with Heath Slater in the ring, he takes in the younger man's darting gaze, unsurprised to find some trepidation lingering there after that attack by the Wyatt family on Main Event only a couple days earlier. But when it comes down to it, Slater begins to focus on his opponent fully when the bell actually rings, the match going back and forth as Mike tries to weaken his leg, prepare him for the Figure 4.

Drew and Jinder try to distract him, leave him vulnerable to Heath, but it's a poor attempt and he quickly has Heath wrapped up in the submission hold, the ginger going wild as he taps to the hold, his leg visibly hurting after the earlier damage. As the three men stagger together up the ramp, Heath looking truly angry as he stares back at the ring, Mike leans against the top rope, catching his breath and laughing at them.

He's once more backstage, listening and watching the editing process, when he almost chokes on saliva- A-Ri had done as promised. Not a word about Mike's height or anything else, but dammit all, the kid _had_ said that Heath was trying to get into a L'Oreal commercial, just to wrap up the point by saying that Mike was growing his hair out, so his hair was better than Heath's in his opinion. He gains many odd glances from those scattered around as he almost falls off of a trunk laughing at Alex _actually_ saying it. Still wheezing a little when the show ends, he all but tackles Alex as he comes back stage, shaking his head in disbelief. "You actually said it! Damn near killed me when I heard it," he gasps, smirking at the other man. "I didn't think you'd _really_ do it."

Alex laughs at him, eyes shining. "I always keep my promises, Mike, you haven't learned that yet?"

But the hilarity fades all too quickly. After some alterations are made to the ring and the rest of the superstars begin arriving, Smackdown begins and Miz is preparing for MizTV with Heyman when Ziggler comes out and wrestles against Swagger. He half-watches, not too impressed with either man for very different reasons, when Dolph finally eaks out a victory. It's not until he takes to the mic, saying simply that he was sorry he broke up with AJ, sorry that he didn't do it a lot sooner, that Mike begins to pay attention. He can only imagine how AJ is reacting to this, especially after Monday, when his questions are answered.

Camera crews had found her in the back, standing with Big E, and as soon as Dolph's hurtful words click with her, she loses it so similarly to how he'd seen her on Monday, the girl screaming and pounding her fists against steel chairs, the floor, Big E, anything in her way, until finally she collapses into the enforcer, sobbing and shaking. Everything takes an odd turn, however, when he leans closer to her and looks like he's about to kiss her, her tears evaporating as she gapes up at him, seemingly incapable of moving. Finally leaning the rest of the way down to meet her, he presses a chaste kiss to her forehead before walking off and leaving her behind, visibly confused. Mike blinks when the screen goes black, realizing he's on his feet, fists clenched at his sides.

"Mike?" Alex whispers, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Are- are you ok?"

He swallows and shakes his head, trying to get his focus back. "I need to finish getting ready for MizTV," is all he can think to say as he heads into the showers, mostly just needing a minute away from eyes... away from questions... away from whatever replays they may show in the next hour and a half. _Big E,_ he thinks, staring at the glistening tiles. _After everything, now him?_ _She wouldn't... would she?_ He closes his eyes, pressing a fist against the wall. He has no doubt there's no future for them, after everything. He'd done too much, she'd proven even trying to talk to her was a mistake, but still...

He swallows and buries his face in the crook of his arm. For a little while before deciding to confess to her his own sins in this whole situation, he'd considered- once Cena had gone and Ziggler had ceased to matter, that maybe... perhaps... after she'd moved on and seemed better emotionally- trying to make all of the guys before a distant memory for her, show her what a real relationship could be like. It had hurt to give that dream up after his confession, and it hurts even more to realize that he'd never even had a chance, the girl unable to wait even long enough to take a breath before moving onto the next thing. Not that she had yet, but he has no doubt, if Big E's interest in her is real, that it's only a matter of time, the girl so starved for affection and attention. Mike's attempt at doing this the _right_ way after beginning it so _wrongly_ was always going to backfire on him, no matter how he'd have tried to accomplish it.

He feels disgusted- with himself for feeling this way still, with AJ for being so easily swayed, with Big E for taking advantage of her when she's so vulnerable, and it comes out as disgust towards Paul Heyman on MizTV that evening. He lays into the other man for his actions, vowing on his children that he hadn't been lying this time, before dropping his mic and leaving it all behind, unable to stomach anything further this evening. Alex greets him as soon as he's backstage, staring at him worriedly. "Let's get out of here," he mumbles, not giving the other man a minute to ask him about his well-being again. He thinks if he stays at the arena much longer, he may end up mimicking AJ's breakdown in the parking lot, on a much larger scale, and he'd rather not have his pay docked for destroying WWE owned equipment.

The weekend does little to ease his turmoil-filled thoughts, media events and houseshows only minor distractions. He can tell early that Raw isn't going to be much better, the only thing he's assigned for being a MizTV segment to promote Total Divas. He grits his teeth and walks off, not watching where he's going, until he almost runs right into someone. Grabbing the person and steadying them, he hisses and backs away as if burnt when he realizes it's AJ Lee, staring at him with dull, red-rimmed eyes. He swallows and walks past her, not sure what he'd say if he gave himself the opportunity and not wanting to hurt her any further than she's already been this month.

He's barely taken two steps, however, when she speaks up. "I bet you're looking forward to having all of those divas paying attention to you tonight. It's been awhile for you, hasn't it?" Even though he continues to walk off, steps widening to get away faster, she follows him, hair flipping side to side as she skips to keep up with him. "You know, someone helped me inside a week ago after- after Dolph did... what he did," she says slowly, her voice trembling slightly. "For awhile I thought maybe it was Big E, but... he tells me he wasn't anywhere near the parking lot at that time. So I was thinking about who it could possibly be, and it came to me." She skips ahead of him and cuts him off suddenly, remain nearby in front of him until he has no choice but to stop or risk running into her again, a dark little sneer on her pink lips as she stares up at him. "It was you, wasn't it?" she whispers, pressing a finger against his chest. "You try and you try to distract yourself with all of the MizTV guests you want, put all of the WWE divas on there that you wish, but we both know... at the end of it, you only want one diva on your little show." Her finger trails up towards his neck as he stares down at her, trying not to reveal how much her proximity can still affect him after all of this time. "Me."

He grasps her hand suddenly, not hard enough to hurt, but just to subdue her movements. He leans down until they're eye to eye, blue boring into brown, equally warring emotions visible in both of their gazes, and whispers, "Are you jealous, AJ?"

She laughs, a dark, painful little sound before she presses closer, their bodies only separated by their clasped hands. "Are _you_?" she responds, sounding almost wistful, before wrenching free from him, skipping back down the hall like nothing had just happened.

He swallows and stares at her, more and more of the fugue leaving him the further away she gets. He groans, scrubbing his fingers through his hair as he wonders how, after that, he's supposed to focus on the upcoming MizTV. Trying to get through the all but meaningless segment without completely blowing it, he calls up Jerry Lawler and sits on the top turnbuckle, watching as one of the new divas, Eva Marie, slaps The King. All the more relieved that A: he had managed to avoid _that_ , and B: the segment had thankfully been relatively short, he heads backstage to find Alex, not wanting to risk running into AJ again.

He wanders for awhile, catching glimpses of Daniel Bryan's gauntlet match, until the monitor shows Alex in Brad Maddox's office, watching the match with him. He frowns and heads in that direction, raising an eyebrow when the younger man comes out, grinning widely. "What were you doing in there, kid? Thought you couldn't stand him either."

Alex shrugs. "I can't, but he actually had some interesting news for me." Mike blinks up at him as his grin only seems to grow. "You know how Maddox does commentary for NXT sometimes?"

"Yeah...?"

"Well, now that he's GM, he won't have time for it, so he was looking for a replacement. He's just asked me to take over, see how well I do there alongside this guy named Tom Phillips... I'm not sure if they're going to let me do Superstars _and_ NXT, but hey... I'm going to be coached by JR and Cole!" He laughs, shaking his head. "Far cry from what I was thinking a couple of weeks ago, huh?"

Mike has to smile, pleased that Alex seems glad. "I'm happy for you, kid. I have no doubt it'll work out for you." He squeezes the other man's shoulder, heading for the locker room with him to watch the rest of Daniel's gauntlet matches with the other superstars. He wants to talk about AJ so bad, but now's not the time. Ruining Alex's happiness is the last thing he wants to do. Besides, there's not a lot he _can_ do about it either way. It's out of his hands, and has been for a very long time.


	167. All For One

Distant mumbles. Deranged, desperate. Scuffing shoes, the sound of steel scraping against the floor alongside it. "If I can't have one..." the mumbles grow louder, become determined statements. "... I'll _take_ the other." A crashing sound as chair meets wall, clanks to floor. "Ryback _rules..._ "

It seems like just another day, preparations for yet another Raw going on in full, when Mike and Alex hear Alberto Del Rio's voice loudly calling through the halls, both men frowning. "What's wrong with him?" Alex mutters to his former pro as they approach, his words only growing in volume with each step.

"Ricardo!" he all but screams, startling all of the people scattered around, most of them skirting past him worriedly as he glares at them all, paranoia and worry warring within him. "Have you seen mi amigo?!"

Miz pales, never quite seeing the Mexican aristocrat like this before, and he rushes forward, their lingering issues the past couple of months forgotten in the face of his distress. "Del Rio? What's going on?"

Alberto turns sharply, glaring down at Miz before releasing a shuddering breath. "Ricardo is gone," he tells him gruffly. "I... left our locker room for a few minutes and when I came back, he... He wasn't there, and the room looked... I don't know what to do. Where to begin," he admits, looking rarely vulnerable and lost. "What do I do? Where is he?"

Alex approaches as Mike rests a hand on his arm carefully, almost afraid that Del Rio will attack, but he only tenses a little, watching him closely. He can only imagine what the locker room must've looked like, to have Del Rio appear this shaken. "Ok," he says slowly. "We'll just- ask everyone if they'd seen anything, alright? There are so many people, and the building isn't that big. Someone might've seen something." He gingerly squeezes for a split second, moving away when the Mexican looks at him, suspicion and worry warring in his gaze. "Take it easy, alright? We'll find him but you need to calm down, scaring everyone in the immediate area won't help anything."

Alberto looks like he wants to snap at the former WWE champion for saying so to him, but must see the logic to it because he takes a deep breath, releases it, and repeats the action before allowing himself to speak. "Fine," he grits out. "Where do we begin?"

Surprised and glad all at once that he's allowing him to take the lead on this, Mike leads the way back to the main locker room. "Hey," he greets a few of the milling superstars hanging around. "Ricardo Rodriguez is missing. Any of you see or hear anything?"

Darren Young and Titus O'Neil exchange glances, Zack Ryder and Santino Marella shaking their heads. "No, bro, haven't seen him, but I just came from catering," Zack says, Santino nodding his head in agreement with his sometimes tag partner. "Sorry I can't be more help."

Mike sighs. "Don't worry about it." He turns his attention to Primetime Players, frowning at them. "You two are awfully quiet. Well? Seen anything?" Alberto shifts behind him, the heat of his gaze leaving even Mike unsettled although it's not aimed at him.

"We heard somethin'," Titus shrugs. "Sounded like a fight, but when we came back this way, we didn't see anything weird. Except for... well." Alberto looks like he's about to scream at them so Darren scrambles, pulling out something sadly familiar. Horribly dented and warped. Ricardo's bucket. Mike feels ill as the Mexican aristocrat takes it from them hesitantly, reverently, turning it around in his hands to examine the damage. The paint is chipped badly, but worse than that- a bright red, sloping _R_ is staining the emblem of their pride in their heritage, familiar to all in the room.

"Ryback," Mike whispers, dread swirling within him. It'd only been a few weeks ago that the monster had kidnapped Heath Slater and Zack Ryder both, throwing them into a ambulance and taking them out of the arena. Whatever had happened, neither had been willing to discuss once they'd returned. "Del Rio-"

Alberto looks around the room before lunging forward, gripping Zack by the collar and pulling him closer until they're nose to nose. "Talk. What did he do when he had you? Now!" he roars into the Long Island native's face, causing everyone in the room to freeze again.

Zack flinches and stares up into his dark eyes, teeth gritting as he breathes heavily, having spent the past few weeks doing everything he could to _not_ remember that night. "It was dark," he finally mutters. "The ambulance was cold and... and it rattled a lot, I kept smacking into the walls with each turn, and... all I could hear over the siren was Ryback breathing. He didn't say a word, but I could see him through the darkness. He kept pacing back and forth, like the constant movement didn't bother him at all." He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Finally it slowed, then stopped, and- and... Ryback slammed the doors open and threw me out, in front of a hospital. I blacked out when I hit the ground, and came to in the emergency room. Wednesday night, they were discussing releasing me the next day when Heath Slater arrived. That's all I remember, bro. I swear."

Alberto stares at him, breathing heavily as he considers what Ryback may be doing to his ring announcer, how scared the younger man probably is. Easing Zack back to his feet and releasing him, he slams out of the room, barely responding as Mike regains control of himself and chases after him. "What are you doing?!" he calls after the Mexican aristocrat, not liking the rigid hold of his shoulders. "Where are you-" When Alberto stops short, Mike almost slams right into him, skidding to a stop right in the nick of time.

He realizes it before Del Rio changes his direction, grabbing a nearby Heath Slater by the collar of his sleeveless leather vest and sneering at him, ignoring Drew and Jinder's squawks of protest at the rude handling of their bandleader, Miz separating the group and keeping a close eye on the other two so they can't do anything while Del Rio gets further details. He knows it probably won't help, or be much different from Zack's story, but that the other man needs to feel like he's doing _something._ "When Ryback kidnapped you, what did he do?"

Brown eyes going from left to right, Heath finally focuses on Del Rio's face, swallowing. "He, uh... he threw me into the ambulance and it was dark... kinda cold too. I tried to get up eventually, fight my way out somehow, but he grabbed me'n'... Shell shocked me onto the floor. I don't remember much after that till I woke up in the hospital, Curt Hawkins and Zack Ryder starin' at me." Voice growing hoarser the longer Del Rio bunches his vest around his throat, Heath scrabbles at his hands. "C'mon, man, lemme go, I swear-"

Mike turns and rests a hand on Alberto's upper arm, squeezing warningly. "Del Rio-" When the Mexican aristocrat blinks back to awareness and finally frees the bright haired man, Heath rejoins his band, who tsk and glare over at Alberto, Mike turns Alberto and marches him away from the three angry men, surprised and all the more worried when Alberto allows this, a dazed look in his dark eyes. "Hey, we'll find him. He'll be ok."

Del Rio turns and stares at him, breathing heavily. "What if we don't? What if he's not?" he asks, allowing another rare moment of vulnerability as Mike swallows, not sure how to answer him. They rejoin Alex and Mike shakes his head at the younger man's unspoken question. "Ricardo," Alberto whispers, clinging to his damaged bucket.

The three men sit in the locker room, silent and dazed, Mike keeping a close eye on the Mexican as he stares dully at the marred steel in his hands, Alex watching a monitor blankly as various recaps play to lead into Raw. Tired of sitting still, Miz pulls his phone out and accesses mobile web, finding his way to Google. He looks over at the other two men, waving his phone at them to get their attention. "This is what we're going to do," he tells them. "Search for hospitals on your phones, call them. Ask if any of them have seen Ricardo, suspicious ambulances. Anything. We'll make a list and mark off which we've called so we're not overlapping. Anybody have some paper?" Alberto stares at him for a moment before numbly standing, walking over to what has to be Ricardo's space, zubaz lined up on the hangers, a bag sitting abandoned underneath them. Mike watches, throat tightening with emotion, as he pulls out a familiar sketch pad and carefully thumbs through the young man's drawings before finding a blank page and handing it to Mike, hands trembling slightly. Mike swallows and nods, gingerly resting it on the bench where all three of them can see it easily. "Thanks, Del Rio," he murmurs.

As they place calls to hospitals in the area, they announce at random the names of the places that haven't seen or heard of anything suspicious that would lead them to Ricardo, Miz quickly scribbling each onto the paper. When their mobile searches start showing places more than two hours away, they all slow to a stop with the desperate phone calls, staring at each other helplessly. "Nothing," Alberto croaks. "No one's seen him... how is this possible? What has that perro done to him?"

They're still sitting there, frozen and disquieted by the lack of information, when a familiar entrance sounds on the monitor broadcasting Raw and all three look up, Alberto jerking to his feet. Ryback's heavy theme continues echoing through the arena until it abruptly cuts off, the audience buzzing when he doesn't appear. "Up here. No, stupid, _up here,_ " his rough voice barks, the camera shifting until it rests on the titantron screen, his face glaring out at them all. "Surprised to see me? Hey, Del Rio, I hope you're watching."

"Perro," he hisses, hands clenched at his sides. He paces in front of the monitor, Mike biting his lip as he tries not to snap at the man to sit down. When the screen shifts, Ryback lifting up a familiar form and shaking him at the camera, the microphone picking up his whimpers, all three men freeze in horror. "No, no... Ricardo!" The ring announcer is all but limp, his hands pressing uselessly against the monster's hold on his tux jacket, only a sliver of his eyes gleaming in the dim light filling wherever Ryback has him. A nasty bruise is spreading under his eye, his lip split, and they can only imagine that more injuries reside under his clothes.

Mike glares at the screen as well, feeling like he could tear it apart and throw it through the wall, his blood boiling. "That asshole," he mumbles, shaking his head as Ryback lets the man go unceremoniously, the thud he makes as he hits the ground causing all of them to wince. He glances over at Del Rio, who's standing as close to the screen as he can get, fists tight at his sides. Miz has no doubt, once Ryback is located, one way or another, if Alberto doesn't destroy him outright, Mike himself will.

"Got your attention now?" he asks, eyes intense as he glares at the screen. "You see, Del Rio, you have something I want. And we've already determined I have something _you_ want." He turns his attention away from the monitor before laying out a rough kick at the man sprawled by his feet, Ricardo's groan cutting through all of them like a knife. "I've realized the WWE title isn't worthy of my time. I want the World title now. But there's always something in my way... and this time it just happens to be you." He sneers at the camera. "So it's pretty simple right now. You forfeit your title to me and Ricardo here is returned to you, no harm done. Well, any more harm done, I should say. Simple enough, huh? It's all up to you- which means more to you, your best friend or your title? Of course, considering how there really _are_ no friends in this business, I guess I just get to play with him for awhile longer..." He lifts the ring announcer up by the hair once more and they stare into his barely conscious eyes, Ryback wrenching back on his neck harshly.

Despite the pain he's visibly in, Ricardo coughs and reaches out towards the unmanned camera that the brutal competitor had forced out of the arena earlier in the day just for this, straining out a breath. "El Patron," he beseeches weakly. "Don't... not worth it..." He's barely spat that out when Ryback roughly snaps his face against the base of the camera, his body sinking limply to the floor once more afterwards.

"PERRO!" Alberto screams at the monitor, his eyes wild and frenzied as he grips the sides of the monitor, staring desperately into it as if doing so would help him garner where his best friend is at.

Ryback grins, almost looking like he can _see_ Del Rio, Mike and Alex's responses to the brutality, his eyes aflame with ruthless pleasure. "You know what you gotta do, Del Rio. I'll be seein' you." The screen goes black and Alberto screams out an angry, senseless roar before grabbing the monitor and slamming it into the wall, chest heaving as Mike grabs Alex and, pressing down on his neck, tries to shield their faces from the scattered glass and small pieces of technology that fly all over from the force of the Mexican's destruction.

After a moment of strained silence, they hesitantly look up. "Are you ok?" Mike whispers, examining Alex as he nods. "Good. Come on." Standing, they approach the still desperately fuming Del Rio. "Alberto-" He tries to push past them, going to... do who-knows-what, when Mike grabs him by the arm, stopping him.

"Let go of me," he snarls, trying to wrench free but unable to as the stubborn man grips him harder, staring at him. "Miz," he hisses, spitting out strangled Spanish until he falls quiet, his eyes falling to the ground once more. "I need to find him, and I can't do that in this building. Let me go."

Instead, Mike holds onto him tighter and shakes his head. "No, I'm not. You're already throwing crap around, destroying TVs and risking all of our safety. You need to _think._ Acting impulsively won't help Ricardo at all." When Alberto stares at him warningly, he breathes. "We need to take it slowly, yeah? He's strong, he'll make it through this, but the more carefully we think through this situation, the sooner he'll be safe."

When Del Rio slumps, all fight leaving him abruptly, Miz is so startled that he almost loosens his hold on him completely, not expecting just how small the Mexican aristocrat seems all of a sudden. "He is mi mejor amigo," he breathes, staring down at his nearly forgotten title. "He has already... been through so much..."

Mike _really_ doesn't like the sound of that, Del Rio seeming uncharacteristically defeated. "Hey- hey-"

"I have to..." He struggles to free himself from Mike again, but the former WWE champion is tenacious, holding onto him. "Let me go!"

"No. What are you going to do?" Mike asks, dangerously quiet. "Tell me that and I'll decide if I'm going to let you leave this room or not."

Alberto huffs and hisses, glowering down at the other man until Alex thinks he might have to intercede before Mike gets himself hurt, but finally the Mexican aristocrat slumps and looks away. "Mi mejor amigo means more to me than this title, I have done a poor job of taking care of him in the past, but I refuse... I refuse to allow despicable people such as Ryback to harm him any further. I can always win the title back, but I would never forgive myself if Ricardo is seriously injured again because of me."

Mike swallows, floored by this admission, his grip starting to slip on Alberto's shoulders as he takes in the sincere pain in the older man's eyes. He shakes his head slowly. "Wait, wait-"

"You can't do that," Alex says, his voice startling both men. As they stare at him in varying degrees of shock, he smiles wanly. "You can't give up your title because of him, Alberto. Admittedly I've never been in a situation entirely similar to Ricardo's, but I think I understand how he would feel. He would never forgive himself if you sacrificed the title you've wanted so badly for his well-being." He's staring at Mike, the sacrifice Mike had made to try to get him onto Smackdown and how it had worked against the both of them replaying in both of their minds.

Alberto grimaces, his lips trembling. "What am I to do then?"

Alex grins, eyes flashing. "Leave that to us." Mike blinks, uncertain what he could possibly have thought up in that short amount of time, hoping that it's a decent plan to quail Del Rio's temper...

Mike sits at the commentary desk for Main Event, watching with baited breath. He knows that Alex Riley is nearby, watching from backstage. "I hope this works," he mumbles.

"Me too," Alex breathes into the headset he'd borrowed from gorilla that would allow him to talk to Mike during the show. The first match ending, he turns and motions to Del Rio, who merely glares back at him before his theme song is cued up, Alberto's walk tense and purposeful as he makes his way to the ring.

"Ryback," he barks into the mic that he's taken from the ringside tech, turning to stare at the titantron. "Ryback! Can you hear me?"

The screen flickers, then flashes with artificial light as the leering face of the monster appears, kneeling down awkwardly so that the camera has to be pointed downwards just to get his face. "What do you want, Del Rio? Have you figured out how you're going to forfeit your title to me? Hmm?" Before he can answer, Ryback pulls something upwards and Mike closes his eyes, swallowing painfully as Ricardo's face, tight with pain and covered in more bruises than before, appears, large fingers tangled in his short hair forcing him to look into the camera.

"El Patron," he winces, scrabbling against his unbreakable hold. "Do- don't..."

"What have I said to you?!" Ryback roars, slamming his jaw into the base of the camera yet again. "Shut up!"

Alberto growls warningly, eyes flashing hotly as he watches Ricardo take more damage. "Leave him alone, perro!" he cries, fingers so tight around the base of the microphone that everyone thinks it may crack. "I will give you what you want, in a wrestling match on Friday Night Smackdown!"

Mike watches closely, Josh tense next to him, as Ryback mulls this over, once more lifting the ring announcer so his glazed eyes can peer into the screen, the dull gleam in them burnt into all of their memories as they watch, unsettled. "You better uphold your end of the bargain," he warns quietly. "Or this... will seem like nothing, once I'm through with him."

Abruptly dropping the nearly unconscious young man once more, Ryback leans over and the screen goes dark as Mike releases a pained breath, watching Alberto pace back and forth in aggravation before looking his way once more, then leaving the ring. He can only imagine the discussion Alberto and Alex are having backstage, feeling bad for his protege before forcing his attention back on his job for the evening.

As soon as Main Event is over, he runs backstage and finds Alex cornered in a locker room by Del Rio, the Mexican aristocrat shaking his title in the younger man's face. "This better work or I will get you fired, do you understand me?!" he screams, clearly losing it.

Mike quickly cuts in between the two men, glaring at Del Rio. "Back off!" he yells at him, pushing Alex behind him protectively. "He's doing the best he can, as we all are! You screaming at him isn't doing any of us any good, much less Ricardo!"

This mention of his best friend sends Alberto stumbling backwards as if struck, his title slipping from now weak fingers, pouring along the floor at their feet. "No," he chokes out. "No, mi amigo... mi mejor amigo... Did you see his eyes? He- he's so... he's so..." Dark eyes glittering with tears, he sinks down next to his title, punching the floor. "Por que... always him..." He looks up at the two men. "They always target him. Why?"

Mike releases a pained breath of his own and kneels down next to him, suddenly feeling bad for the Mexican. "Because they know he'll do anything for you, and vice versa. In this business, friends can... can be our greatest strengths and... our worst weaknesses..." He sighs, shaking his head. "But it'd be pointless without them, right?"

Del Rio scrubs at his face, nodding slowly. "Si, of course. You're right. It would be." He smiles wanly. "Three years with Ricardo by my side... I can't imagine..."

"And you won't have to," Mike tells him, no lack of certainty in his voice. "After Friday, everything will be ok again. Alex and I will make sure of it. We just all have to do our parts. Right?" Alberto's nod is only a slight comfort to the two men, both aware of how easily their plans could go south.

Tension is beyond palpable on Friday, Alberto unable to sit down, much less talk to either of them. All he can do is pace left to right, backwards and forwards in the locker room granted to the World Heavyweight Champion, one that used to house both him and Ricardo, but has, for this week, held Del Rio, Mike and Alex as they conspired and weighed all of the options for tonight.

Mike and Alex stare at each other, whispering over the last bit of the plan, pondering over the few unanswered questions they still have. Mike had sweet talked once of the female techs, getting a floor plan of the arena from her, relieved to see the locker rooms and other rooms taken by trainers, merchandise, production, and everyone else marked off clearly. It still leaves a great many rooms empty and unaccounted for, not to mention _if_ Ricardo wasn't being held somewhere in the building, but Mike has a gut feeling that if Ryback wants to see this through, his interest in the ring announcer only lasting as long as it takes for him to get the title, he'd keep the man nearby so that Del Rio and he could complete this so-called 'exchange' and be done with it as fast as possible.

"What do you think?" Alex asks lowly, both glancing uncertainly towards the Mexican aristocrat who's still lost in his own world, eyes locked on the title held tightly in his arms. Depending on how the evening wraps up, he could very well be saying goodbye to the item, or risk losing his ring announcer forever.

"I think it's a start," Mike forces out through painfully dry lips, stopping long enough to take a sip of water. "The show's starting." It doesn't need said, the whole arena vibrating with Smackdown's opening theme, but he always feels better when he's talking, even- or especially, depending on the circumstances- if it makes everyone else feel worse.

Alberto stops abruptly, his eyes staring at the ceiling, before he leaves the room, walking towards the gorilla. Mike swallows as his theme hits again a few minutes later, sharing a startled glance with Alex. They've just arrived at the curtain as he spits into the microphone, "Ryback, get out here now, perro! I will not delay this any longer, I want mi mejor amigo back now! Show yourself, you _coward."_ His accent is almost painfully thick.

It's only Mike's quick thinking that keeps them from getting caught by the much larger superstar as he comes storming towards the ring, face held in tense anger, grabbing Alex by the collar of his blue shirt and dragging him behind the curtains. They wait patiently, breathing heavily, as his music kicks in and he walks out to the ramp, laughter grating and horrible. "Del Rio, impatient, are we? Well, maybe I'm not interested in putting you and that ring announcer of yours out of your misery this soon..."

"I don't care!" he yells, voice cracking slightly in his turmoil. "If you want this," he holds the title belt up, "then you will make your way down to this ring right _now_ and we will resolve this. Or I will go up there and _make_ you."

Ryback shakes his head. "You still can't admit you have no control over this situation, huh? Well, unfortunately your ring announcer will be the one paying the price for it-" He's just turned to leave, dropping the mic on the steel, when Alberto takes action.

"No!" He slips out of the ring and runs as quickly as he can up the ramp. "Stop right there, perro! If you really wanted this belt so badly, you'd take it at first opportunity. This is what I'm offering to you- right at the start of the show, you leave here champion after a match. I get my best friend back. What more could you possibly ask for?"

Ryback _does_ stop at this, turning to glare at Del Rio, considering his words. "He is an annoying little bastard, constantly rambling and crying in Spanish... The sooner I get rid of him, the better... Fine, you know what? You have a deal. But one more thing," he says, walking up to Alberto and staring him in the eye, sneering. "When I tell you to lay down... you _do it_ , no questions asked. Understand?"

Del Rio grinds his teeth before nodding painfully. "Whatever." He stands aside and waits for Ryback to walk to the ring, unwilling to turn his back on his opponent, swallowing as he looks back towards the curtains where Mike and Alex are waiting, just visible in the folds of the fabric. They nod at him reassuringly before disappearing, and he turns to walk towards the ring, hoping, praying that everything goes well with Alex's plan.

"We don't have long," Mike says tensely. "Here, let's see..." They spread the map of the arena out between them once more, Mike gnawing at his lip as he circles each unmarked room. "Go left," he finally says, fed up with the unhelpful floorplan. "I'll go right. We'll meet in the middle, and take it from there. If you find anything, call me or I'll call you if I find anything."

Alex nods and quickly walks off, Mike going in the opposite direction. He's looked into what feels like a dozen empty rooms, looking through them all as quickly as he can, when he hears an arena worker talking with one of the WWE techs.

"The skybox area is locked, yes. We don't know why, the lock does stick sometimes so we've called in a locksmith, it's just going to take some time. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, no one booked those rooms tonight... it's just that our catering staff wanted to use the freezer back there for their supplies, but we made do."

A chill rushes down Mike's spine and he eyes them for a moment before grabbing his phone, running back in the direction he'd come while struggling to hit the right speed dial. "Alex," he snaps as soon as the phone stops ringing, not even waiting for Alex to say anything. "Meet me back at the skybox entrances. I think I know where Ricardo's at."

Alberto wheezes as Ryback holds him in a tense bearhug, shaking him so hard that it feels like his very spine is rattling. Struggling not to give in or pass out, he leans back and slams his arms into his head repeatedly until Ryback releases him, dazed. They stagger away from each other before Del Rio lunges forward and kicks him roughly in the chest, glancing towards the crowd. He had paid twice the ticket price to one of the front row audience members, making his brother sit there instead. Memo Montenegro had flown in just to assist him, Del Rio overly relieved to have a brother who's willing to drop everything and help him however he can in this moment. But Memo shakes his head quietly at him and he grunts, turning his attention back to a struggling Ryback.

His attempt at kicking him in the skull is thwarted as Ryback clotheslines him almost out of his boots and he lays on the mat, groaning. _Ricardo... hang on... por favor, mi amigo. Alex and Mike will find you soon... I hope..._

Mike turns as Alex races up to him, almost running headlong into the doors in his haste. "He's in the skyboxes?!" he demands, panting. His confusion only grows when his former mentor shakes his head solemnly. "No? Then why are we here?"

Mike closes his eyes. "Not the skybox," he chokes out. "Somewhere much worse..." He looks at Alex. "I heard there's a freezer in the skybox area for the catering people. I think... knowing Ryback... he probably threw Ricardo in there. Who knows how long he's been in there, but we _have_ to get him out. Now."

Alex grimaces. "And the door is stuck?"

"Yeah." Miz rests a hand on it, almost imagining a chill coming from the room, although he knows it's impossible. "We have to do something..."

"And we will." Alex drags Mike back with him, staring at the door with a cold determination in his eyes. "On three, we ram it." Mike gapes at him, impressed and relieved that he's taking charge of this mess. "Alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, let's do it." They both take breaths, Alex counting to three, before taking a run at it, slamming their shoulders against the solid barrier. Mike grunts as he stumbles back, Alex looking as unsettled as he feels. "Ow," is all he allows himself to say, now more determined than ever to see Ricardo free. "Come on, let's do it again." This time, Mike counts and they take it at another run, feeling somewhat better when it curves under their combined weight, the hinges groaning.

Alex kicks at it a time or two, making it bend even more, when Mike shoulderchecks it a third time, sending it crashing mostly inwards. "Finally," he mutters, both of them uncomfortably aware of how quickly time is ticking through their fingers. Whenever Ryback gets tired of wrestling Del Rio and orders him to concede, the Mexican aristocrat may be tempted to do so, unaware of how close they probably are to finding Ricardo, and all that they've attempted here would be for naught. Together they kick the door the rest of the way down, Mike rushing into the hallway, Alex close behind him.

"Alright, let's see. This way," he says after another quick scan of the floorplan, speeding down the hall and skidding to a stop at the end, taking a sharp right. It's obvious when they're close, the air gaining a chill that now's not a trick of Mike's overworked imagination. But when they arrive at the freezer, the door's stuck too and Mike and Alex stare at each other in horror, Mike's blue eyes finding a lockpad off to the side, a red light lit up refusing them entrance. "No, no," he mumbles. "Ricardo! _**RICARDO!"**_

Forgetting Del Rio's title hanging in the balance, he bangs on the door as hard as he can, at least needing the ring announcer to know that they're trying to get to him. He's being so loud that neither of them notice as soft footsteps walk hesitantly up to them, someone watching on in shock for a few moments. "Excuse me, let me help," the arena worker Mike had seen earlier finally cuts in, wide eyed as she inches warily past Mike, pressing in a series of numbers that eventually causes the light to flash green, allowing entrance to the room. As soon as she opens the door, he pushes past her and enters the ice encrusted room, looking around wildly.

Ricardo's dark tux, even coated in ice, is easy to spot in the gleaming shards, and Mike releases a shuddering, tearful breath as he rushes over to the crumpled up young man, scooping his upper body off of the ground and holding him close, immediately overwhelmed by just how cold and still he is. "Ricardo, hey, hey," he pleads, wondering if in the end, he'd failed Del Rio after all. If _this_ was why Ryback at first was so against having the title match right at that moment, knowing that he shouldn't leave Ricardo in here for so long... How Alberto would feel if he learns that pushing for the match to happen right _then_ had possibly led to... "No," he groans, holding Ricardo's face against his neck to try to protect him from the gusts of cold air. "C'mon, man. C'mon."

Alex joins them, dropping a blanket that he'd gotten from... Mike's not sure where, across Ricardo's shoulders, bundling he and Mike together, which is fine. Mike continues to mutter Ricardo's name, trying to brush his hair out of his eyes. "The worker's getting the temperature back up," he tells Mike. "She doesn't want to raise it too quickly and risk throwing him into shock, but..." He swallows harshly, taking in the terror in Miz's eyes, how still the ring announcer is. He stops talking and rests his hand on the back of Ricardo's head, brushing some of the ice out of the dark strands of his hair.

They're still sitting there when there's a soft mutter, a faint shift between them. "El Patron," Ricardo struggles to say, his lips chapped and trembling with the cold. "El- El Patron..."

Miz stares ahead blankly, almost not believing what he'd heard. He pulls away slightly and looks down to see the ring announcer's dark eyes fluttering open against his collar, body shuddering with a silent sob as a surge of hope overwhelms him. "Ricardo," he whispers back.

"Miz," he breathes out, Mike suddenly feeling like he can breathe again as he buries his fingers in Ricardo's hair and shakes his head, laughing brokenly against his scalp.

Remembering with a sharp realization that he has to finish what they and Del Rio had agreed upon, he looks up at Alex. "Call Memo, Alex. It's time."

Alex nods and goes off to do this, hands trembling almost hard enough that he can't find the right name in his contact list.

Alberto knows that the end has to be near, his distraction has caused him to take a great amount of punishment from the larger man, but he hasn't been able to keep himself from checking his brother now and again, looking for a sign, any sort of hint that his ring announcer is safe. He wants to fight, the very thought of leaving without his title belt making him feel weak and disgusted, but Ricardo needs to be kept safe, needs rescued, and... titles are regainable. A loyalty and friendship like Ricardo's, however, is irreplaceable, the man staying by his side through thick and thin.

He swallows, once more thinking of the glassy look of pain in his eyes on those videos he had watched and relived almost nightly since Ricardo had been taken, trying to remind himself what exactly he's doing this for, when he looks up to find a dark look of accomplishment in Ryback's eyes as he struggles to his feet, barely able to stand after another meathook clothesline. "It's time," Ryback tells him with an evil sneer. "Forfeit. Now. I want to hear you say those words before I feel that title placed in my hands."

Del Rio's just opened his mouth to say those dreaded words when his tired eyes skitter to the left. Spots something- his brother holding up a sign- and he immediately stands up straighter, realizing. _**SAFE,**_ it says in bright, large green letters, telling him that his ring announcer is fine, Miz and Alex had come through and- it's his turn to sneer as he looks back at Ryback. "NEVER!" he spits before lunging forward and kicking him solidly in the skull, sending him down to his knee.

Ryback has no time to figure out what's going on as Alberto lays a deluge of kicks upon him that makes what he did to Ziggler look like child's play, barely taking a second to even breathe between each attack until he finally kicks him so viciously that his skull snaps to the side, the large man slumping bonelessly to the mat. Del Rio, not wanting to waste any more time on this man, drops immediately to his knees before curving him up into a pin, viciously grinning as he holds the title belt up afterwards, nodding thankfully towards his brother before his mind turns to other business. He quickly dives out of the ring and takes the ramp at a run as his title belt slaps against his side, needing to see his best friend for himself.

Mike still holds onto Ricardo, the freezer close to room temperature now, as he listens to him breathe against him, mumbling about Del Rio and the title belt, Ryback and everything in between. "It's ok," he soothes him. "Del Rio's gonna be fine. I promise, man. Just relax." He's shivering so hard that Miz isn't sure how any legible words are making their way from his lips, but somehow he accomplishes it, and it hurts to listen to his painful pleads for his El Patron to not sacrifice his title reign for _him._

Mike is barely aware of anything around them until dark, shiny boots appear by his side and he looks up to find Del Rio staring down at them, worry and anger warring on his face. "Move," he orders tensely, quickly taking his place by Ricardo and drawing the younger man closer to him, murmuring to him soothingly in Spanish, match-warm fingers brushing through his hair.

Ricardo blinks a time or two, shaking his head. "El Patron? You're here?" His face crumples when Del Rio nods, frowning. "Por favor, your title- please, you didn't sacrifice your title for-" He abruptly quiets when Alberto presses a gentle hand to his jaw, tilting his face until he's looking down at his lap, where the straps of the title is sprawled across, a broken sob immediately bursting out of his mouth. "You didn't lose it because of me..."

"Thanks to Miz and Riley, no, mi amigo. Nothing was lost today."

Ricardo shudders and relaxes against his employer, looking like he wants nothing more than to fall asleep. "I'm so cold," he mumbles when Del Rio nudges him carefully, trying to keep him awake.

Alberto adjusts the forgotten blanket around him more securely before holding him closer. "I know, I know. We'll get you warm, I promise, mi amigo."

Alex returns then, taking a breath as the still somewhat chilled air brushes over his skin. They had considered moving Ricardo but since his going into shock remained a worry, they had ultimately decided to leave him where he sat until the trainer could see him. "He's right behind me," he offers when Mike and Del Rio look up at him, both releasing a soft breath of relief. He kneels down by Ricardo and pats his arm. "We'll have you outta here soon, man."

Ricardo nods slowly, eyes fluttering. "Gr- gracias, Alex."

As soon as the trainer arrives, Mike stands and joins A-Ri to give the man some space to examine the poor ring announcer, considering Del Rio refuses to move from his best friend's side. "It's my turn to have an idea," he tells his former NXT rookie, lips twitching slightly as he glances sympathetically towards the two men on the floor. "Come with me, this might take some fast talking."

Alex frowns as he follows him out of the freezer, Miz shuddering in relief as warmer air brushes down his shoulders. "You have me worried now, Mike."

Ricardo sleeps hard that night when they get him to the hotel, barely stirring as they pile blankets on top of him, trying to knock out the chill that makes him shiver in his sleep hard enough to rattle the bed frame against the wall. It seems to help but not enough, his eyes fluttering when Alberto carefully wakes him up for their flight away from the horrible memories this town now contains for all of them. He groans and shudders as Del Rio tugs a soft sweater over his head, rubbing at his arms. "I'll be glad to see Flo- Florida," he mumbles tiredly. "Sitting in the sun for awhile..."

Alberto smiles down at him and pulls him closer. "Si," he says in an odd tone of voice. "The sun will be nice, mi amigo." Thankfully, the ring announcer is still so out of it, that he doesn't notice his best friend's response or anything else as they drive to the airport and prepare to board, falling asleep once more as soon as he's settled in the window seat that Del Rio had requested to keep him close to the beams of sun pouring in, bundled up in a thankfully soft blanket provided by one of the flight attendants.

He _does_ notice, however, when he's walking towards the car lot, Del Rio's hand secure on his shoulder, and familiar voices are murmuring around him. But when he realizes one is Alex, he figures they just happened to be on the same flight, deciding not to think any more about it. As he slumps down in the backseat, Alberto helping him sprawl out before wrapping another blanket around him, he looks up in confusion. "El Patron?"

"Si, amigo? Are you alright? We'll be at our destination soon, and you can lay down and sleep in peace." He smiles, hand warm on the other man's ankle, and Ricardo loathes the thought of being alone while Alberto drives them home.

"Why am I so tired?" he murmurs. "I keep sleeping, and it's just... not helping..."

Face softening, Del Rio shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, mi amigo. I imagine it wasn't easy, sleeping while Ryback held you... I am sorry I couldn't rescue you sooner. It's no wonder you're so exhausted. I've notified WWE, we're getting a few days off, so you have all the time you need to regroup and rest. Everything will be fine."

He blinks slowly up at his employer, lips parting in some surprise. "Oh... Alright," he finally murmurs. "Gracias, El Patron." As the older man pats his leg once more before heading for the driver's seat, he leans back and stares at the unfamiliar red interior of the car, wondering why Del Rio felt the need to rent a car just to drive home.

He doesn't remember leaving the car, or how he got into bed afterwards, or anything in between, and even worse he doesn't recognize the room he wakes up in much later, everything half-lit as the sun is now on the other side of the building. He raises his eyebrows and frowns, squirming around under the sheets and blankets. "Where am I?" he mutters, glancing around. There's a second bed across from him, untouched, and he grows more fearful, this not home nor like any hotel he'd ever been in.

He's about to completely lose it, thinking perhaps Ryback has him again- or the rescue had just been an elaborate dream-, when the door clicks open, Alberto entering the room. Their eyes lock and he gasps out a painful breath, sitting up in a hurry as the sheets fall around his waist. "El Patron," he mutters, rubbing at his face. "Where are we? I don't... recognize anything? I thought we were going home."

Alberto grins, moving quickly to sit next to him, shifting the sheets so they're not quite as smothering. "Si, amigo, in a way, we did." He doesn't specify any further than that, Ricardo grimacing in displeasure before his employer nudges him. "I believe someone mentioned wanting to sit in the sun to get warm. What do you say we give it a try?"

"Alright," he says hesitantly, still unsure what the other man is keeping from him. He wants to ask but before he can figure out how best to word it, Del Rio's up and digging through his bag. "El Patron..."

"I'll find you something comfortable to wear on the beach, mi amigo," he says with the same kind of overly helpful, guilt-based energy he'd had after Ricardo's ankle had been broken by Swagger. "The next room over is the bathroom if you want to wash your face before we go."

His questions remain unanswered, the amount of which only grow when he takes a minute to snoop around just to realize they're in a disappointingly empty apartment. He doesn't have time to look for any other clues why they're here, or what's going on, worried that Alberto will find him and either be offended or annoyed that he's trying to ruin... whatever Del Rio is doing, finally ducking into the bathroom before his own guilt and paranoia that he'll be caught could get the best of him.

When they leave a few minutes later, he's dressed in a soft white shirt and shorts, flipflops protecting his feet from the sun-toasted ground, frowning as they walk down a hallway quietly, Alberto leading him to a flight of stairs. He blinks at them, glancing over at his employer. _El Patron in a place without an elevator, will wonders ever cease,_ he can't help but think as they walk side by side down to the main floor, Alberto holding the door for him. He blinks, dazed, when the sun greets him, warm and comforting in the bright blue sky. His suspicions grow as he glances around, something about this place resonating with him in a way that Florida hasn't in the years he's lived there, but Alberto says nothing, only smiling in that calculating way of his as they walk away from the apartment and head for the beach just visible from the front door.

It hits him as soon as he steps onto the beach, his mouth slacking open as he takes in the distinctly familiar beach, shaking his head. "This... this isn't Tampa," he says needlessly, having deduced that nearly ten minutes earlier. "It's... it's Los Angeles."

"Si!" Del Rio says with a grin, wrapping a warm arm around his best friend's shoulders. "This was Miz's idea," he admits lowly, drawing him up the beach. "We worked it out as you slept, and here we are. Are you happy?"

Ricardo's eyes gleam as he takes in one of the beaches he used to frequent before moving to Florida to work with Del Rio in WWE, so many nice memories he'd had here replaying in his mind. "Si," he nods. "Very." It takes him a few minutes to grow curious again, glancing back towards the apartment building they'd left behind. "So whose apartment is that?"

"John Morrison's." Alberto draws him further up the beach, pointing out a group of chairs waiting for them. "Those three are around here somewhere, I suppose."

Ricardo tilts his head. "Miz and Alex are here too then?"

"Hey, look who woke up," Mike's voice cuts into their conversation, he and Alex joining them, wet and grinning as they claim two of the chairs. "Yeah, we're here and John... I think John got lost in the surf, but he should be by soon. So welcome to what Morrison likes to claim as _his_ beach."

"I do not claim it as any such thing," the huffy voice of John Morrison cuts into their conversation as he joins them, hair held back in a tight ponytail. "Hey, Ricardo. Del Rio."

"Hola," Ricardo greets him with a faint smile, Alberto nodding vaguely next to him.

"We were going to all hole up at my house, but with John's apartment so close to the beach, we thought that might be easier for you, considering everything," Mike tells him with a faint smile. "And, hey, look, sun, sand, surf, whatever you want, barely a two minute walk from the front door. Nice, huh?"

"Which I'm sure is the key reason why he always finds a reason to come stop at my place instead of going to his own the rare time he's actually _in_ California."

As they continue bickering, Alex grins and shakes his head, looking over at Ricardo. "Bet you're really glad you ended up here now, huh? Don't worry, they'll grow bored of bitching eventually."

The ring announcer only grins, enjoying all of it- the days he'd spent held captive by Ryback had been so quiet, frightening, and uncomfortable, that he can't find anything to complain about, even Del Rio keeping his comments to himself as he lounges back in a chair and rests sunglasses on his face, intending to relax no matter what the other three men are doing. He's just happy to be surrounded by his closest friends, in Los Angeles no less, with a couple of days to show Alberto around his first home before they return to the WWE. Ricardo sighs and smiles. "Gracias," he says to the group of men as a whole, teeth flashing when Morrison and Miz finally shut up, turning to look at him. "For everything you've all done for me the past week. I don't know how I'm going to repay you all."

Alberto leans over to squeeze his shoulder, the others murmuring you're welcomes and no problems. "Don't worry about such things, mi amigo. It was our pleasure," he tells him simply. "Now what do you say we all stop arguing like schoolchildren and enjoy this lovely weather?"

"Yeah, John, take the hint," Mike teases his former tag team partner, laughing when John rolls his eyes at him.

"That was all on you, Mike," he volleys back, but the two men do fall silent then, content to lay back and soak in the rays alongside their friends, relaxed and beyond thankful to be safe, secure and warm under the steady gleam of the California sun finally.


	168. chapter 168

After commentating Main Event, Mike travels to Australia for the beginning of the overseas tour, relieved to leave the whole AJ drama behind him. He spends the weekend wrestling at the live events, and sightseeing when he has a few minutes. Outside of Skype sessions with A-Ri, he's the most cut off he's been in quite awhile and it's actually kind of nice.

Even so, when Monday in the States rolls around, he makes it a point to watch for tweets from WWE so he knows when the show will begin so he can at least track results, since it's not shown live where he's currently at. The only thing that keeps it from being completely dull is when Alex requests a Skype session with him, and Mike accepts just to find the webcam aimed at the monitor so he can watch the show. He chuckles, beyond relieved for his friend's foresight. "Alex?"

"Hey, Mike." Alex peeks around the corner of the screen, waving at him. "Thought you'd be floundering without a way to watch the show, so here ya go."

"Thanks!" he exclaims, settling in to watch. "What's been goin' on, man?"

Alex grins at the computer and shrugs. "Not much, man. The locker room's damn dreary with so many of you in Australia right now though." He sighs. "I heard they might need me for something on Smackdown, but I have no clue yet." They fall silent for a minute, considering what all _that_ could be before Alex turns his attention back to the show. "Can you see the screen alright?"

"Yep, it's perfect." They watch for awhile in silence until AJ appears, yelling at Big E about how he just watches, allowing her to constantly get speared by Kaitlyn. But something seems to register with her after a moment and she immediately turns sweet, pressing a finger to his chest and teasing him about secretly liking her, to which the larger man merely rolls his eyes and doesn't respond, AJ oblivious to it all.

"Well, he has a weird way of showing he's interested, doesn't he?" Alex says after an awkward moment, turning towards the screen to catch Mike's face. "Sorry, man," he mumbles quietly, looking away. "Why did she change on a dime like that? I mean, outside of the obvious... that was extreme, even for _her..._ "

Mike has his suspicions but he doesn't like it much, keeping his thoughts to himself as AJ vs Kaitlyn starts and Mike rolls his eyes, cupping his jaw in his hands. "Yay," he intones dully while the two women go back and forth, Big E watching from the outside when Kaitlyn once more spears AJ to a victory. E's just rolled in to perhaps pull her out of the ringside area when Dolph comes out, mocking them before challenging E to a match right now.

E has the advantage for quite awhile, brutalizing Dolph and screaming at him that it's _his_ time, but AJ, her anger boiling over everything more and more the longer the match goes on, rolls into the ring when Dolph actually has a moment of offense against the much larger superstar, kicking and punching him, tearing his hair out of his head even. The match goes to Dolph by DQ and Big E turns his anger to the diva, demanding to know what she'd been doing, when Dolph sneaks back in and hits the ZigZag on Big E, AJ unable to do anything but watch as the enforcer falls in front of her, tears filling her eyes as she once more screams at the failure of another evening.

The show goes on and on, Alex and Mike's interest quickly fading away and they end up talking through the second half, Mike grinning despite how all over the place his thoughts are since the latest AJ drama. "I have an idea," he tells Alex. "Since we still haven't done our annual fireworks thing, why don't we have a beach party in LA during Summerslam? You, me, Morrison... heck, Ricardo will be off of suspension by then, we can invite him, and Del Rio too, I guess-"

His sentence is cut off when the laptop is suddenly pulled away, Mike blinking in confusion as the muffled sounds of Alex snapping at someone barely reaches the microphone, the screen shaking and showing a blur of colors until finally it resettles on the tear streaked, flushed face of AJ Lee. "Would Big E and I be welcomed to this little party, too, Mike?" she demands. "Or maybe we should just crash it?" In a fashion similar to earlier, she tilts her head and grins sweetly, all but confirming his suspicion that it's all an act to make him burn with jealousy. "Did you watch us tonight, Mike? Did you see how interested he is in me? I'm so lucky to have him by my side-"

Mike watches her with a grimace. "You must've seen something the rest of us weren't privy to, sweetheart. He didn't have the appearance of someone interested in you."

"What do you know?!" she suddenly screams, the volume of her voice making Mike's laptop rattle with reverb as he cringes away from it. "You never cared either!" Fresh tears pour down her face as she all but throws the device back to Alex, who just barely grabs it in time before it crashes to the floor, the girl releasing another broken cry before slamming her way back out of the locker room, the younger man turning horrified eyes back to his former NXT mentor.

"Good God, Mike, she's scarier than a horde of squirrels," he mutters. "Speaking of, did you hear about the bubonic plague-"

Miz definitely has little to no patience for that, after everything he'd already been through in the past twenty minutes, though he doesn't want to think about AJ either, so this distraction is as good as any other could possibly be. "Alex. Alex!" he snaps, interrupting his diatribe about not wanting to contact the plague from the creatures who'd seemed to have so doggedly stalked him in the past. "You'll be fine, alright? John and I, we'll protect you from the nasty, evil squirrels." He takes a breath and tries to relax, voice losing some of its edge as he tries to coax his former rookie. "C'mon, Alex. This'll be good for us, especially since this month hasn't been the greatest for any of us, really. You need to come to LA anyway, for Summerslam Axxess. A beach party should be nothing compared to that, and besides... I know how much you like fireworks. We'll bring plenty of food and just... let loose, huh? What do you say?"

Alex sighs, closing his eyes. "Fine, Mike." He forces a smile. "You had me at fireworks and food. I'll be looking forward to it. Have you suggested it to John yet?"

"Nope," he shakes his head. "Figured we could Skype him together and suggest it to him once I'm back in the States. How's that sound?"

"Great." Alex grins. "Can't wait."

Mike grins back, finding that he can't either. He'd missed hanging out with John without the root cause being needing an ear for his latest woes... and it'd be great to do something that would help all of them just to relax, hopefully, before the biggest event of the summer. He thinks he's perhaps looking more forward to the party than to actually hosting the event...


	169. chapter 169

The overseas tour is wrapping up, finally, most of the Superstars beginning preparations to return to America for the week's Raw, when Mike receives a text late Saturday morning. He yawns blurrily, staring over at his beeping phone, and sits up, trying to disentangle himself from the sheets. "Eh," he groans, wiping at his eyes while squinting at the bright glow, flashing Alex's name at him. "Now what?"

_Hey, Mike, turn on your laptop. I wanna Skype so you can watch Smackdown now._

Miz grimaces and glances at the clock, shaking his head slowly. "10 AM, where does the time go?" he mumbles, fumbling for said laptop. As soon as it's booted on, he turns Skype on and finds an invite from A-Ri waiting for him. Accepting it, he wanders into the bathroom to splash water on his face, try to wake up a little more. He pauses when he hears voices and cheering coming from the device, however, turning to look over his shoulder. "Couldn't even say hi, Alex?" he calls out as he walks back to the laptop... just to find no one there, the only thing visible being the monitor showing Smackdown. "Well, then," he mumbles.

He's just barely sat down, however, getting comfortable, when the commentary table is shown and he abruptly understands. "Holy crap," he mutters. Alex himself is sitting at the table, grinning as he talks about how humble he is to be there this week, with JBL off climbing mountains. "Well, what do you know." Suddenly a lot more interested in the show, he pays attention, shaking his head at his friend's ability to keep this secret. "Damn, kid... So much for thinking they weren't interested in you as commentator..."

The show starts off with Del Rio 'selecting' his opponent for Summerslam, Mike's eyebrows furrowing when he selects Ricardo Rodriguez, unease tickling down his spine. "Hmm..." The ring announcer _would_ be off of suspension by then, but-

Either way it doesn't matter as Vickie Guerrero interrupts, feeling offended by the selection. She forces a triple threat match to decide Del Rio's true opponent and Mike breathes a little easier at this, though Alberto looks truly angered when she calls him immature. He listens to A-Ri talk, smirking to himself when he says something about wishing he'd thought to throw Mike's briefcase into the Gulf of Mexico too... He continues to be amused with it all until Big E has a match against Sin Cara, which he wins- but it's A-Ri's commentary that gives Mike pause, as he first calls AJ cute, then says he feels for Big E. He sputters a bit before slapping a hand to his face, noting to have a little discussion with the guy afterwards.

He nearly forgets that, however, when AJ wrestles Kaitlyn again, Layla at ringside for the blonde... just to cost the former champion the match, skipping away from ringside with AJ. He blinks, tilting his head as Kaitlyn looks on, seeming as confused as he feels. "What the...?"

Finally the show ends and he's stuck watching a blank screen for awhile, the sound of people wandering back and forth as they prepare to leave the arena the only proof that the connection hadn't been lost. Finally the laptop moves and he thinks perhaps Alex is back but no, it's AJ's face that greets him, smirking as Layla hovers behind her. "Hey, Layla, say hi, Mikey is watching us. Aren't you?"

"Hi Miz!" his former Extreme Expose cohort greets him, smirking as she waves cheerfully at the webcam.

"Did you hear your little friend on commentary? He called me cute. Isn't that nice? He does remind me a little of you, but he's a little less annoying. Who knows, maybe while you're overseas, I should get to know him a little better..." She trails a finger teasingly across her lips, appearing deep in thought.

"Leave Alex out of this," he tells her lowly. "I mean, damn, AJ, you have to figure out which path you're taking- do you want to try to use Big E against me, or not? People are going to get bored of trying to understand you if you keep that up. You've just gotten one new friend, you don't want to scare her away this early, do you?"

"That's not possible," AJ snaps at him, eyes flashing dangerously as Layla rubs her shoulders comfortingly.

"We'll see, sweetheart," he tells her with a smirk. "Now give my friend his laptop back and leave us alone." The look on AJ's face when she looks up and over to find Alex standing behind them, his eyes narrowed unhappily, is golden, her movements careful and slow as she stands and stares at the other man. Thankfully she doesn't throw the device this time, handing it over with a bitter sneer before gripping Layla's hand and skipping out of the room with her.

Alex sighs, huffing as he sits down with the laptop held against his legs. "Sorry about that, Mike. I was trying to think of a better way to let you watch, hear me on commentary, but..."

"Don't worry about it. I _am_ however curious about a few things you'd said on commentary..." He settles in with a smirk of his own as he begins to mock Alex about the things he'd said, letting go of whatever uncertainty he'd felt about the comments after seeing how Alex had reacted to AJ having his laptop, his anger undeniable.

Monday, Alex meets him at the Green Bay airport with a hug, pulling him out to the rental car without giving him even a second to look around. "What's got you so anxious to arrive at the arena already?" Miz asks, barely shutting his door before Alex peels out of the parking lot, a wide grin on his face.

"You'll see," he says, eyes on the road while he drives as quickly as he dares through the city streets, finally pulling to a stop at the building that'll be housing all of them for the next few hours. Mike is unimpressed at more secrets being kept but quietly gets his bags and follows Alex in, fumbling with the straps.

He comes to a sudden stop when he runs into his former rookie's back, almost dropping the bag entirely, but all anger drains from him when he looks up to snap at Alex, jaw dropping as he gets a clear look down the hallway at who's standing there, staring at them. "Ricardo?" he asks, releasing the bag on his own this time and barely noticing as it hits the ground with a thud. The ring announcer smiles at him, opening his mouth to speak, but he doesn't get the chance as Mike walks towards him, forgetting everything else until they're face to face. "Are you ok?"

Grinning now, Ricardo nods. "Si, I'm- I'm ok, Mike." He laughs when the Awesome One impulsively hugs him, snaking his arms around the other man's midsection tightly in response, patting his back. "I've missed you too."

Finally pulling away, Mike glances around, spotting Del Rio nearby with a strangely unreadable look on his face. He blinks, but ultimately turns his attention back to Ricardo, looking him over. "Well, you look no worse for wear. Glad to be back?" He wants to ask so much more but he's not sure that Ricardo knows that he knows it was suspension, and not an injury, that had kept him shelved for the last month, so he keeps that to himself, and hopes that Alex knows to do the same.

"Very," Ricardo says, smiling over at his employer, who nods with a smile of his own, Mike noting once more how strained he looks before Ricardo begins to talk again, distracting him. "And in time for Summerslam too, it'll be good to return to California for a week."

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. Hey, about that," Mike says, wrapping an arm around him and collecting his bag with the other as he leads him down the hall, Alex and Del Rio following them quietly. "We're planning a beach party... I'd like you to come-"

But such things stop mattering barely an hour later as Miz is sitting at commentary, mostly to talk up Summerslam, though he keeps a close eye on the match. He's still noticing some odd behavior from the world champion- like when he stops to glare out at Mike for no good reason in the middle of the contest- when Ricardo tries to set up the bucket to assist Del Rio in beating RVD. Unfortunately, it backfires, through no fault of the ring announcer's, when RVD reverses and sends Alberto into the bucket, allowing him to manage a victory against the World Heavyweight Champion. Mike grimaces, knowing that that probably won't help the Mexican aristocrat's bad mood that he'd observed since finding them in the backstage, when Ricardo enters the ring, trying to help his employer up. But Alberto is angry, something different this time than any other time Mike had seen him like this, cold and dangerous, and he merely stares at the ring announcer who is down on his knees now, pleading with his employer not to be angry, to-

But nothing works, Mike forgetting Summerslam, the beach party, how happy he'd been even ten minutes earlier, when Del Rio snaps off with a kick that floors Ricardo, the ring announcer trying to curl up on himself as Alberto hits him with the bucket, punches him, throws him out of the ring. Miz is frozen, unable to see what exactly he's doing from this position, not thinking to look at the monitors surrounding the table, when Del Rio takes a running start from the ramp and there's a dull, horrible thud that sounds like he'd just kicked the- the... Mike shakes his head, eyes wide as he realizes, numbly slipping the headset off and standing, unable to see anything over the ring _still._ By the time he regains control of himself, Del Rio is gone and referees and trainers are surrounding Ricardo, who is still not moving.

Once more rushing to the ring announcer's side, he pushes trainers aside to make room, skidding down next to the younger man. "Ricardo! Hey, hey," he whispers, gingerly touching his face. "Ricardo?" Still nothing and he looks up at the men surrounding them. "Wha- what..." He swallows, eyes wet as Alex joins them, both of them sharing horrified gazes before they stare back down at the unresponsive man. He curses desperately, resting his forehead against Ricardo's shoulder, muttering to him. "It's ok, we're here. You're- you're going to be ok."

A stretcher comes, finally, and Mike and Alex help where they can to move him, Miz unable to stop staring at his slack face. Although the circumstances are sharply different, all he can think is, _Was this how it felt for Morrison the night of the draft? When I... I attacked him? But that... I didn't want to hurt him, I only set out to prove a point. I did the bare minimum and left him, this was... this was_ vicious. _I don't understand. And if I feel this bad, Ricardo's going to be... he's going to be..._ Shaking his head, Mike rests a trembling hand on Ricardo's chest, unable to verbalize his thoughts any further, even in his own mind.

They follow the stretcher backstage, to the trainer's office, and Alex releases a deep breath as they settle the ring announcer on the cot, Mike unmoving from his side as the trainer continues to try to awaken him. "Mike," he says softly. "Mike. We need- need to figure out how to get his things. Del Rio-"

Miz stares up at him, realizing sharply that he's right. "Yeah. Of course. Dammit." He abruptly punches the wall, tears filling his eyes as all the more washes over his shoulders, weighs him down. No matter how scary it is, he's almost glad Ricardo is still unconscious and doesn't have to deal with the immediate fall out of what Del Rio has done. He leans down and stares at Ricardo's blank features. "I'll be back soon. Don't be scared, everything'll be... just fine..."

His hand still stinging, he slams out of the room, Alex behind him. His teeth grit as he storms through the halls towards the private locker room set aside for the World Champion, thinking he might kick it in, bash Del Rio's face in, whatever he has to do to get Ricardo's things out of there, so the ring announcer doesn't have to deal with any more crap right now. There's a lot more to think about, like Ricardo's things back in Florida, or at the hotel, but this is a start. This is something Mike can take care of right this moment...

Except that arriving to find the locker room empty, the door unlocked, is a bit of a let down as he stares inside, lips twisting in emotional disgust as he stares at Del Rio's various things laying around, Ricardo's care with his things obvious in every fold of his clothes, almost delicate position of everything else. "That fool, that damn idiot," he rants, tears blurring his vision as he finds Alberto's bag and gives it a vicious kick, wanting to do so much more to every item of Alberto's in the room, but there's no time, Mike unwilling to leave the ring announcer alone longer than absolutely necessary. He unzips Ricardo's bag and collects what he sees around that are clearly the younger man's, Alex helping where he can in the midst of Mike's maelstrom.

Finally they're done and Mike nearly snaps the door in two anyway as he slams it shut, fighting to breathe as he rushes back down the hallway, not bothering to look at anyone as they pass, Alex struggling to keep up with him. "Wait! Mike!" he finally calls out, picking up speed and all but tackling his mentor into the wall. "Stop. Stop. Seeing you so upset won't do Ricardo any good. Take a breath," he demands, shaking him carefully as he pins him there, Ricardo's bag dropping from his fingers as he shudders. "Just breathe."

"I don't know what to do," Mike admits. "I was- was always on the other side of this. How do I help him? I don't know what this feels like, I don't- I can't help him. Who can help him?"

Alex stares at him, compassionate and careful as he nudges him. "You know the answer to that, Mike. Who always helps us when we need it?"

They stare at each other for a long, painful moment, before Mike licks his lips. "John. John will know- John can help him." When Alex nods, he releases a shuddering breath and nods too. "Alright... ok. I can work with that." He wiggles out of Alex's grip and leans down, collecting the bag before taking a hesitant step and another towards the trainer's office. "I hope he wakes up soon..."

"Me too," Alex breathes, following him into the room. Mike's just settled the bag down, turning back to look at Ricardo, when Alex mutters, "Mike? Where did this come from?"

"What?" he asks, not really caring until his former NXT rookie walks up to him and holds out the familiar bowtie, the two of them staring down at it. Ricardo had taken it off during the match, hadn't been wearing it when he'd been brought in, and Mike swallows as he looks at it. "Hey, has anyone been in here?" he asks the trainer when he wanders by, keeping a close eye on Ricardo.

"Haven't seen anyone," he says simply, once more running a penlight over Ricardo's eyes.

Mike takes the bowtie from Alex, staring at it, another odd sensation brushing up his spine as the soft fabric tickles his palm. "Huh..."

Raw is ending and Alex is sitting with Ricardo, who'd woke up a little less than an hour ago. He hasn't spoke a word since, which breaks Mike further as he wonders again how Morrison had been directly after his betrayal- he'd seen him, yes, not long after that, for the Dirt Sheet and had even watched ECW and Smackdown, wanting to see what John's response would be, but the brave face he'd put on for TV had been one thing. He wonders how the man had been in the hours immediately following that upon waking up alone, in a hotel, faced with the realization that his best friend, his tag partner had turned on him with little warning. Yes, they'd argued badly leading up to it, but they'd always had arguments, it hadn't been that different... Hadn't hinted towards Mike's split second decision upon getting drafted to Raw.

Unable to remain inside any longer, Mike walks outside and stares up at the sky, stars twinkling overhead almost seeming to mock the turmoil within him. It's only worsened a little bit later, however, when he hears the door open and giggling voices pass by him, coming to a sudden stop although he's desperately hoping they don't notice him. "Hey, Layla, hang on," AJ's teasing voice tells the woman. "I'll be back in a second."

"Alright," she says, sounding almost confused as AJ skips back to the building.

"Mike."

"Not tonight, AJ," he tells her, crossing his arms over his chest and turning to head back inside.

"I bet it's weird for you, being on _this_ side of betrayal... that's usually your thing, right? Leaving everyone around you laying in a broken heap... I bet if Del Rio hadn't done it first, you eventually would've caused the mockery you made of Rodriguez on the commentary table look like child's play..." She lets out an almost ugly little giggle, only cutting herself short when he turns back around and stares at her, his eyes flashing dangerously even in the shadows.

Lost in a haze of pain and anger, tired of her words, Del Rio's actions, his own thoughts, and everyone who seems determined to hurt everyone else, he grips her by the arms and pushes her against the wall, staring at her for a long moment before kissing her desperately as she stares up at him, thrown into speechlessness for once. When she begins to respond, giving as good as she's getting, he has to smirk, but it fades away quickly when he feels wetness on his face, uncertain if it's his or hers. When he pulls away, he's shocked and disturbed to realize it's a mix of both of theirs, the girl's breath hitching as he wipes at his own eyes. "I'm sorry," he mutters, turning away as she collects herself, sniffing quietly. "At least I've tried to fix things, instead of making it worse. But I think it's just too late, for all of us."

Layla ventures forward to check on her as he forces his way back into the building, not even bothering to wipe away the tears that continue to cascade down his face. How he regains control of himself before entering the trainer's office yet again, he's not sure, but Ricardo is now sitting up, watching as Alex paces back and forth, talking on the phone with Morrison. Mike walks forward and takes the phone from him, staring at the still silent ring announcer. "John. Hey. We need your help. That's right. Do you mind a houseguest for the next few days?"

As soon as he hangs up the phone, John agreeing to do so, Mike sits down next to the distraught man and wraps an arm around his shoulders, smiling soberly when he allows himself to rest back against Miz's chest, his nonstop trembling rattling through the older man. "Hey, let us take care of you for awhile, yeah? Until you feel like deciding on what you're going to do next. You can stay with John for a few days, until Alex and I are done with the rest of the week's wrestling stuff, and we'll be spending the next ten days in the California area, and we'll all just hole up in my house, and... and... we'll help you through this. How does that sound?"

Ricardo nods vacantly, his eyes dull and exhausted, and Mike buries his face in his hair, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him again. Thankfully Alex takes over, resting a hand on the ring announcer's arm. "Mike, I have an idea," he says, determination in his eyes as he looks down at the two men.

It takes some fast talking at the airport but the workers quickly transfer the tickets, Miz taking Ricardo's ticket to Florida with Alex while Ricardo heads off to California on his ticket, where Morrison will meet him at the airport and take him back to his apartment. Once they land and drop off their things at Alex's apartment, emptying their suitcases to make room for what's to come, Alex drives and Mike takes in the unfamiliar part of Tampa as they approach the richest part of the residential area. "Really?" he mutters in disbelief at the first look of Del Rio's large grounds and home.

Alex stops at the gate and presses the button. "It's Alex Riley," he says simply, barely blinking when the woman who'd answered lets them in with little said. As he parks at the door, she meets them, staring up at them with wet, pained eyes. "Hello again, Sofia," he greets her.

She releases a soft sniff. "Hola, Senor Riley. Senor Mizanin, I presume? Senor Rodriguez has talked highly of-" Her voice fails as she sobs faintly, looking away. "Lo siento, I just- I do not understand."

Mike feels for her, liking the housekeeper almost immediately. "None of us do, Sofia," he says softly, resting a hand on her shoulder. "It's nice to meet you, though I wish it was under better circumstances." As she nods, wiping at her face, he decides to turn to business at hand, instead of drawing out the torture for all of them. "He's not here, is he?"

"No, he has media responsibilities for the next day or two. You will have all of the time you need, I'll make sure of it." She shudders through her tears. "Por favor... one thing..."

"What can we do for you?" Mike asks, smiling sadly down at her, wishing he could do anything to make this easier for her, for any of them.

"Just... take good care of him," she requests, breaking down entirely as Alex steps forward, awkwardly hugging her. "I know you will, but it was... it was always... I was always the one to make sure he and Senor Del Rio were alright, especially whenever they were injured, and..." Her words are muffled against Alex's shirt as she clings to him, Mike watching them with a broken look in his eyes.

"Go ahead, Mike. I'll make sure she's ok, and be with you in a minute," Alex tells him softly, patting the housekeeper's back.

Mike scrubs at his face, nodding sharply as he marches into the house and walks down the halls towards the bedrooms, peering in first Del Rio's, glowering around inside, before turning towards Ricardo's. He has to smile despite himself when he walks inside, Zubaz filling the closet and various action figures of wrestlers on his shelves, along with Indy wrestling DVDs, books and knickknacks that just scream Ricardo as soon as he walks into the room. "Well, time to get started," he breathes, dropping the empty suitcases on the floor and opening them. It's difficult to know what to bring and what to leave behind, though he thinks perhaps it'd be symbolic, cathartic, down the road should Ricardo want to destroy whatever of Del Rio's merch he might have hanging around, so the shirts and the action figures and whatever else are carefully pushed into the cases, Mike relieved when Alex finally joins him. "Is she ok?"

"Yeah, she's drinking some water in the kitchen." He begins to fill his suitcases as well, seeming as anxious as Mike to get this over with. "Do you think we'll be able to fit everything in these four cases, and the carry ons?"

Mike makes a face. "A life in six bags? I'm not sure, but we'll do our best. I really do not want Ricardo to have to come back here, or have any communication with Del Rio. Until he's ready, anyway." Considering he still hadn't said a word, Mike doubts that would be any time soon, and he thinks leaving Ricardo's things _here_ , where Del Rio could do whatever he wants with them, is far from a good idea.

It takes the better part of two hours, but finally- finally, they zip the last bag of Ricardo's clothes up and stare at each other, sitting side by side on top of it just to shut it. "Holy crap, we did it," Alex says, looking around at the room, empty of everything but furniture and shattered memories. "These bags will probably explode when we unzip them again, but yeah... I'd say we did a good job."

Mike nods, distracted when Sofia joins them, looking around the now lifeless room sadly. "Sofia, I'm sorry," he tells her. "It had to be done."

She releases a soft breath. "I know, Senor. I will miss him though. He was always so kind."

He smiles at her grimly. "We won't get you in trouble by doing this, will we? If Del Rio tries anything-"

She shakes her head. "No, Senor. Gracias, I'll be fine. Don't worry." She peers around the room, shuddering slightly. "The house already seems so much emptier..." Turning back to them, she smiles wanly, tears filling her eyes anew. "Is there anything I can get you before you go?"

Mike checks the clock on the bedside table, surprised to find it _is_ so late. "No, Sofia, thank you though. We have a flight back to California in a couple hours that we have to catch." He smiles at her. "He's in good hands, I promise. We'll make sure he lands on his feet ok after all of this."

"Gracias," she whispers, following them out to the front door. She hesitates and licks her lips, watching them as they hesitate at the car after stuffing it with the suitcases, sensing she has something else she wants to say. "If you don't mind- perhaps tell him, when he... if he wants to ever talk... to please call me?"

Alex smiles sadly as Mike nods. "Of course, Sofia. We'll let him know. He just needs some time." She nods, murmuring her understanding, and they slip into the car, exchanging glances. "Let's get this show on the road, kid." With solemn waves to the lonely looking housekeeper on the front stoop of the house, they leave, heading for the airport, to return Ricardo's things to him and maybe catch a little sleep at John's before they have to catch another flight for the week's Main Event and Superstars.

"Think this week'll ever end?" Alex asks, groaning when Miz shakes his head wearily, both of them tracing out the excruciatingly long path to Summerslam in their minds..


	170. chapter 170

"How's he doing?" Mike asks, leaning against the counter of the hotel bathroom, staring blankly at the beige wall across from him.

There's a pause as shuffling comes from the other end of the phone, a door clicking shut while Morrison wanders around his apartment. "Not great. He's mostly stayed in the guest room since you and Alex left. I've gotten him to come out once or twice, for food, but he doesn't really eat a lot." Mike opens his mouth, about to ask something else when John continues, reading his mind in the way that used to annoy him but now is more of a comfort. "He hasn't said much either. I think he's still in shock."

Mike shakes his head, rubbing a hand down his face and up through his hair. "I really hate that we had to leave so suddenly," he mutters. "Has he touched his things?"

"No, the bags are still in a pile in the corner of the room." John sighs, sounding about as worried as Mike is feeling. "Maybe if I put him on the phone with you when he wakes up, it'd help some."

Swallowing, Miz shakes his head. "I... don't know what to say. John, I don't understand what he's going through." He closes his eyes. "I brought him to you because I... I assumed you would..."

John falls silent and Mike winces, thinking he's overstepped, bringing back those memories from the draft... but when Morrison speaks again, he sounds calm, almost sympathetic. "Is that what you've been thinking about?" He sighs, shifting against the phone. "Mike, really. I do understand on some level but... what Del Rio did to Ricardo is so much worse. It's like... when you turned on me, it lasted a split second. It happened so quickly, I barely remember it. But Alberto's was... it was extensive, it was personal. I'm sure it'll be burnt into Ricardo's memory for a long time to come, and it's just... it's going to take awhile for him to even start to move past it."

Giving up on standing, Mike returns to the main room of the suite and slumps down in his bed, carding his fingers through his hair. "Unfortunately," he sighs. "I just wish I could do more for him."

"Just be there for him, and don't push. He was strong enough to deal with Del Rio for three years, through all of the highs and lows, he'll make it through this too. It'll just take time and patience."

Mike smiles, perhaps the first true smile he'd felt like expressing since Monday night. "Therapist John Morrison, at our service."

"Hmph. I should charge you all."

"But seriously," he says quietly, looking up as Alex enters with bags of food for them both, laying it down on the desk to wait for Mike to get off of the phone. "Thanks for all of this. Agreeing to let him stay, and everything else." He nods when Alex motions to the bag before ducking into the bathroom. "Anyway, um... I have to go. Alex just brought back something to eat. I'll see you in a few days, huh?"

"Good, there's a box of dreadfully illegal fireworks in my living room with your name on them and I would like to get rid of them at some point in the next two weeks."

Mike chuckles. "Yep, that's the plan. Bye." Upon hanging up, he goes over to dig through the bags, sort out what's his and what's Alex's. When the younger man comes out, their eyes lock and he shakes his head, some of the hope fading from Alex's face. "No change."

"Damn," he breathes, slumping down in his seat. Mike rests a hand on his shoulder, massaging the tense muscles there before sitting across from him to eat in silence as they ponder what's to come.

Although Main Event goes by quickly, Miz relieved that there are no recaps of what exactly happened on Raw, Smackdown is next on the horizon and he stares at the email alert about MizTV for probably the millionth time. He taps his knuckles against the screen, looking over at Alex with a disbelieving smirk. "You know, I hated when AJ gave me this show... It's kind of grew on me since, but it's always so damn weird when she's a guest on it."

"Are you going to be ok, Mike?"

He forces a nod. "Sure, kid. Kind of have to be, right?" He can't lose it. Though he'd come close the week prior, he's pulled himself together with strength he'd not been sure he had, taking charge over the whole Ricardo situation, helping to find a safe place for him and getting his things away from Del Rio's house, and he has to continue to be strong for the ring announcer, especially when his future is so uncertain. AJ's drama isn't the first thought in his mind anymore, the most of his focus now on Ricardo and supporting him through this as well as he can.

So although he feels detached from the whole proceedings, he still mocks her about her former boyfriends, some of what she says about people using her and then discarding her digging deep inside him in a place where he knows, once everything else quiets down, he'll dwell and obsess over, let the guilt wash over him like poison through his bloodstream all over again, but for now... for now... he has to focus on Ricardo, on hosting Summerslam, on the beach party. On trying to get through this hellacious month.

When he and Alex return to California for the week's worth of events leading up to Summerslam, they head to LA for a few hours to check on Ricardo and John before continuing on to Raw and it's a solemn Morrison who greets them, glancing over his shoulder. "Hey, bit of a head's up," he whispers as he lets them inside his apartment. "Ricardo wants to go with to Raw tomorrow."

Miz pales slightly, staring at him. "You can't be serious." He doesn't wait for an answer, entering the apartment to find Ricardo sitting awkwardly on John's couch, staring down at the bag between his feet. If not for the slump to his shoulders, circles around his eyes and the unhealthy tinge to his skin, one would almost be able to trick themselves into thinking that he's fine, but as soon as Mike sits next to him and looks deep into his face, he knows better. The younger man looks devastated, still, his eyes dull and blank. "Hey, Ricardo."

The ring announcer swallows and glances from Mike to Alex and back. "Hola," he whispers, staring down at his hands. He is still speaking very little, but progress is progress, and Miz thinks he should be happy for any movement in the right direction, but his heart hurts to hear how weak his voice sounds on even that small word.

"John tells me you want to come with us to Sacramento," Mike says after a moment, careful not to include Raw in the equation. "I'm not sure it's a good idea, man. You need your rest, and..."

"I need to- to... at least be nearby," he says pleadingly, his voice fading away as he swallows. "Please, Mike. I don't know what I want to do but- please..."

Miz releases a pained breath, staring at him uncertainly. "How about a compromise? Alex and I, we'll drive you to Sacramento... but you stay at the hotel. If you come to a decision on what exactly you want to do, you call us and we'll come get you. Other than that, you just relax and give yourself time. There's no hurry, you know? You don't need to decide right this moment what you want to do. We'll support you either way, I just don't want you to risk further injury when you're still not sure."

Ricardo sniffs, nods. "Si, alright, Mike. Gracias." His face falls as Mike leans forward and hugs him, gripping his shirt in response. "All of you. Thank you."

Mike pulls away with a small smile and wraps an arm around Ricardo's shoulders, squeezing gently. "Now, we need to decide what we're going to do about the beach party." He looks around at Morrison and Alex, smirking. "What do you think, boys? We can do it on Tuesday, or Thursday... or hold off until after Raw next week, I guess."

As the three men go back and forth on pros and cons for each option, the ring announcer watches on silently, observing their easy camaraderie with each other, trying not to cry.

Mike isn't all that surprised to find that all he has to do is another edition of MizTV that night for Raw, his match count very low since he'd been announced as host of Summerslam. If he'd had any energy to spare, he'd worry about it, but really, it gives him more time to focus on Ricardo and everything else going on around them, so it's fine. For now.

He and Alex have just walked into the building when he comes face to face with Alberto Del Rio, who sneers at him. He swallows and clenches his hand into a fist, eyes narrowed as they examine each other. Alex is hovering nearby, in case he needs some sort of backup, but the world champion just laughs in his face before pushing roughly past him, hand tense around his title belt as he walks back down the hallway. "Bastard," Mike grits out.

MizTV is fairly late in the show, so he and Alex wander the building for awhile, Mike trying to calm down after that unwanted run in. He's watching on one of the monitors near catering, lips twisted unpleasantly, while AJ and Big E come out for a tag match against Khali and Natalya, of all things.

The ending is confusing, AJ tapping after Natalya lets go of the sharpshooter, but eventually it gets locked in completely and the Divas' champion taps again, Big E coming in just to eat a chop from Khali. Miz winces at the ugly finish before looking over at Alex. "Well. That's some prelude to Summerslam, huh?"

"Yeah," Alex mutters. "Weird." Despite keeping a close eye on their phones, Ricardo hadn't called and they both sigh in relief when Del Rio's match against Kofi finally begins, the oddness of the evening continuing when the world champion comes thisclose to losing to the freshly returned superstar a few times before finally eaking out a victory. "Do you think, even if he'd never admit it, that the loss of Ricardo is starting to get to him? I mean... his win-loss record hasn't been stellar lately."

Mike smirks. "Wouldn't that be apropos? Maybe he'll lose the World title this Sunday." Outside of his own various championship feuds, he'd never cared excessively about other people's title reigns, but this one... especially now, he wouldn't mind seeing it end. Even if it's to Christian, or Sandow, both men he's had various issues with over the past couple of years.

"I wouldn't complain," Alex says.

Miz nods, clapping him on the shoulder as he stands. "Gotta go get ready for the ever important MizTV. I'll see you later, kid."

"Yep, bye."

He doesn't have to do a lot for MizTV this week, just saying enough to get Daniel and Cena tense, before standing back and letting them go at it, smirking at their ridiculous shirts as he stands there in his suit, thoughts still on everything else he has to do this week. When HHH comes out, he's relieved to leave the ring, allowing the three men to do whatever, not wanting any part of it. As soon as he makes it backstage, he smirks at Alex and stands alongside him, watching the fall out of his show. "Glad I'm not in that melee," he sighs. "C'mon, let's get out of here, check on Ricardo."

Alex nods, following him to collect their things. They drive in silence to the hotel, Mike tapping his fingers against the steering wheel at every red light, anxious to see how the younger man is doing. Upon arriving, they trade shushes as Miz unlocks the door, both men blinking against the darkness while they slip inside. They exchange glances, Alex finding his way to the bathroom and turning the light in there on so they can see somewhat without risking disrupting the ring announcer, Miz releasing a soft breath when they find Ricardo fast asleep in one of the beds, his phone held tightly in one fist. They'd seen his text earlier in the evening, during the replay of the week prior, and it had only made Mike want to find Del Rio all the more and kick his face in, but he'd refrained.

Now, he stands over the younger man and gently tugs the phone out of his hand, running fingers through his hair when he whimpers and rolls over in his sleep, visibly distressed. "It's ok, Ricardo. It's just us," he murmurs quietly. "You're alright. We'll be back in LA soon and we can begin to put all of this behind us, huh?" At least he wishes it to be so, tired of all of the bad, dwelling on all of the pain surrounding the past few months.

He hopes that Summerslam will be a badly needed fresh beginning for all of them.


	171. chapter 171

Main Event. Miz sighs, his eyes narrowing slightly as Alberto Del Rio vs Cody Rhodes begins. It takes everything in him to remain professional, only slipping once and mentioning Ricardo during the match, but to his relief, the World Champion keeps his focus on his opponent and doesn't look out at the commentary table once. He's pretty sure this is the only reason that he manages to keep his composure as well as he does, keeping a running dialogue going with Josh Mathews until finally the match ends with Del Rio slipping away the victor once more.

But his night isn't over; after 3MB wrestles and loses to the Usos, Big E's match against Justin Gabriel is next and Mike watches as AJ skips out in front of the large enforcer, keeping a close eye on the girl as she watches the action from ringside. She also doesn't look over at him, which isn't a surprise to him, the two of them keeping their distance since MizTV on Smackdown the week prior. But whereas he'd bit his tongue to the point of it bleeding during Del Rio's match, he finds himself going on and on about her- how he's not scared of a 5'2'' woman, that she can't hear him anyway, just to be called out two seconds later by Josh when he asks what Mike thinks is running through her mind and he responds that he doesn't want to say the wrong thing in case she'd sneak up behind him and try something.

He's still trying to work his way out of that little web of confusion, move past it before Josh could mock him further, when Big E finally succeeds against Justin Gabriel, the Divas champion skipping between the table and ring purposely just to smirk over at Mike as she joins the enforcer, circling him in happiness a bit. Thankfully the show ends quickly after that, and she only looks over at him for a moment longer before leaving the ring side area. Shaking his head, Mike waves half-heartedly at Josh before returning to his car. It's a long drive back to LA but he has to go now, get some sleep so he's up early enough to help John and Alex prepare for the beach party. The four of them in John's apartment's a bit of a tight fit and they'd considered moving over to Mike's house for the next few days, but ultimately hadn't, content enough with where they're already at. The beach within walking distance had helped with the decision as well.

He makes it at some point after midnight, staggering exhaustedly up the stairs, pulling out his keys on the second floor landing so he doesn't bother any of his friends by knocking. Finding the key to John's apartment, he unlocks it after a couple of tries and stumbles inside, sighing in relief to be surrounded by familiarity. He can see Alex from here, fast asleep on the couch, and smiles before heading down the hall towards the bedrooms. John's room is dark, quiet, so he continues on, stopping outside of the guest room that usually houses himself and Alex, but recently has become Ricardo's and his room. He'd offered to share the second bed with Alex, but his former rookie had insisted that the couch was fine, and wouldn't be budged.

Quietly opening the door, he peeks inside and smiles sadly, finding the ring announcer nearly covered head to toe in the sheets and blankets. He seems to be sleeping peacefully so Mike doesn't bother him, dropping right into bed with a weary sigh. He's out almost as soon as he kicks his shoes off, thankful just to be able to lay down and stretch out, but alas it's not to last as something wakes him up a few hours later, the room still shadowy and dark only adding to his confusion until he realizes. _Ricardo._ He's up immediately and looking over at the other bed, just to find the younger man struggling against the sheets, crying softly.

"No, no," he breathes. "El Patron, por favor- por- por que... _stop_... lo siento, why...?"

Before his muffled, heartbreaking begging can continue, Miz is up and hovering over him, hands warm and steady on his shoulders. "Ricardo," he whispers. "Ricardo, you're ok. It's ok. Wake up, come on." He knows that sometimes it can be worse to wake someone up from a nightmare like this, but it's killing him to listen. "Please, come on." Finally Ricardo jerks awake under his fingers, his arms shooting up defensively, until he realizes it's just Mike. As he sags back against the pillows, sniffing, Miz follows him, leaning down next to him so they're eye to eye. "You're ok," he repeats, wrapping an arm around him.

"No I'm not," he suddenly sobs out, startling Mike as it clicks with him- through it all, the last ten days, the younger man hadn't really cried... not in front of him, John or Alex, anyway, to the best of his knowledge. He'd been quiet, he'd been tired and in pain, he hadn't shown many emotions at all.

Swallowing, Miz once more shifts, this time moving closer to him, until his face is buried in the crook of his neck. "You _will_ be, though. I promise you." He brushes his fingers through Ricardo's dark hair, listening as the tears continue to come, sobbing pleads for answers from Alberto rattling through both of their bodies with a terrible amount of force. "John, Alex and I... we're here to make sure of that..." Finally Ricardo seems to sob himself out, hitching breaths against Mike's collar as he clings to the older man, still shaking. Mike holds onto him tighter, their breathing gradually syncing as Ricardo's slows, reaches a more normal rhythm. "Go back to sleep, man. Tomorrow's the beach party, right? I want you to have a good time at it."

He listens because when Miz looks down at him again, he's fast asleep, tears still drying against his flushed skin. Mike shakes his head and tries fruitlessly to wipe them away before wrapping his arm snuggly around him once more, only considering returning to his own bed for a split second. He wants to be nearby in case Ricardo has another nightmare or just simply needs someone close for comfort, reassurance.

But the rest of the night passes by peacefully; when Mike opens his eyes again, the sun's risen, filling the room with soft light and faint chirps from birds outside. He yawns and squirms a little before realizing that Ricardo's still snuggled up close to him, tear tracks visible on his cheeks. Mike sighs sadly and gets out of bed, somehow succeeding at not waking the younger man up. He makes his way quietly to the bathroom, hearing the TV buzzing from the living room, and smiles. Remembering how comforting it had been when John had done this for him when he'd broke down after his title loss months ago, he wets a wash cloth and fills a glass up with water and returns to Ricardo, resting both items on the bedside table before leaning over him. "Hey, Ricardo." The ring announcer wakes up slowly, his tear-and-sleep gritty eyes squinting as he tries to open them, and Mike smiles down at him. "You don't need to get up right this moment, John, Alex and I have some a few things to do before the beach party, but I brought a couple of things for you."

As Ricardo watches him in confusion, he picks up the wash cloth and quickly, carefully, runs it over Ricardo's face, cleaning away all traces of last night's breakdown, helping him to open his eyes the rest of the way. "There we go. That way when you _do_ feel like getting up, you won't feel like complete crap." He pats his shoulder. "And there's a glass of water, if you're thirsty. Feel free to join us whenever, but I think you could probably get away with a couple more hours of sleep. Whatever you feel like, man." Ricardo nods and ultimately burrows deeper into the sheets, Mike smiling slightly as he heads for the door. "See you later then."

By the time he gets to the living room, John and Alex both are awake, idly watching some paid programming on TV. Mike joins them, the three of them sitting in silence for awhile. Finally, bored of watching way too hyper people blending fruit into juice smoothies, he claps his hands and turns to the other two. "Alright, boys, if we're going to put the final touches on this beach party, we'd better get moving. Alex, you're in charge of drinks."

"Of course. What am I getting?"

"The usual family friendly fare," Mike says, smirking when John groans softly at this. "And add diet coke to the list." As Alex nods and gets up to leave, Miz moves towards the kitchen, Morrison following him. "Don't worry, I won't mess up your stuff too severely," he says with a smirk as he begins digging around the cupboards. "Did you buy everything on that list I emailed you?"

"Of course I did. What, would I really risk the wrath of Miz if I forgot the mayonnaise?" John shakes his head, sitting down at the table. "I can help if you want-"

"No, I told you. You're letting us all stay here, bought and kept those illegal fireworks, and that's more than enough. Alex and I can handle the rest," he says, fiddling with the stove as he prepares the burners for cooking. "I just hope Ricardo has a good time today." Once the food is cooking and he has nothing to do but wait, he joins John at the table and sighs.

"I'm sure he will. Sun, surf, good food and friends, what more could a guy ask for, right?" But John can read it in Mike's eyes- both thinking along the same lines, that Ricardo could definitely ask for quite a few things... He sighs and claps his hand on the other's knee. "It's gonna be ok. As long as you don't burn the food."

Mike lurches to his feet, suddenly paranoid that he had, and checks both burners before returning to the table and slapping John solidly across the back of the head.

"Ow."

"Jerk."

Shortly after Alex returns, Ricardo, drawn back to reality by the sound of voices, wakes up and stretches out in the bed, his eyes glum as he glances around the empty, shadowy room. Sitting up, he finds the glass of water still waiting for him on the table. Drinking half of it down at once, he places it back down gingerly before slipping out of bed. Mussing his hands through his hair, he pads towards the voices, blinking tiredly as he finds the three men who'd been so accommodating and helpful since that horrible night sitting around the kitchen table, laughing at Mike who looks like a bottle of mayonnaise has exploded all over him. Dark eyes flickering around, he finds his voice. "What happened?"

Miz looks up, sheepish and flushing as he scrubs viciously at his hair, trying to get bits of the condiment out of there too. "I think Morrison boobytrapped the mayonnaise bottle as payback for my making him hold onto the fireworks for so long."

"I did not," John drawls. "I told you squeezing it while it still had the protective seal on it was a bad idea. He opened it and it just went whoosh, all over the place," he explains to the ring announcer as he hesitantly joins them, sitting between Alex and John.

"Yes, there's the great poetic stand up comedian, my friends. _It went whoosh_ , _"_ Mike mocks him, tossing the mayonnaise stained towel at him. Unphased, the Shaman of Sexy snags it out of thin air and tosses it into the kitchen sink, smirking when Mike growls in anger. Still struggling to clean himself up, Miz looks at Ricardo. "Did you sleep well?" he asks, visibly trying to hold his temper in for Ricardo's sake.

"Fine," he says softly, staring down at the bowls scattered across the table. After a moment, he snags one and draws it closer, along with the abandoned mayonnaise, quietly stirring together the concoction after carefully mixing in what's left in the bottle. He notices Mike opening his mouth to protest until John and Alex stop him with sharp shakes of their heads, almost in concert, and he smiles slightly, relieved to have _something_ to do, even if it's as simple as mixing together food for the beach party.

Mike stands and crosses over to the sink to finish washing the mayonnaise out of his hair and from his face, glancing over to find that Ricardo does look a bit better now that he has something to actually _do._ Eyes softening, he returns to the table with the second bottle of mayonnaise and begins work on the other bowl, watching Ricardo once he's sure that he himself won't be making any further messes. "How's it look, Ricardo?"

The ring announcer does smile for real this time, glancing up at his friend. "It looks great, Mike."

Miz grins back.

Laden down with the cooler, chairs and Morrison's various surfboards stacked gingerly on top of the large box of fireworks, the four men trudge out to the beach less than an hour later, tracing along the coast until they find the cove that they'd had the very first of these belated 4th of July celebrations at. Mike drops his chair and the cooler into the sand with a sigh, the water already calling to him. He can still feel the sticky afteraffects of the mayonnaise and it's honestly driving him nuts, leaving him with nothing but the desperate need to dive into the ocean and try to wash it off. He'd have taken a shower inside but it'd seemed silly to wash up when he was just going to get wet in less than half an hour anyway.

As the other three set up their chairs and lay the various things down, Miz makes a break for the water, John laughing as he peels his shirt off and immediately disappears into the crystal blue water. "He'll be back in a minute," he tells a surprised looking Ricardo. "I imagine that's his way of getting rid of the mess... now if only he'd brought my table, cleaned it up too."

Ricardo chuckles a bit before settling into his chair, watching the waves as Mike slips out of them and joins the other men back in their chairs, now dripping wet but looking much happier. "Now I don't feel that damn mayonnaise residue!" he says, dropping down in the chair next to Ricardo's. "So the party can begin officially now."

"Why do I think this is how Summerslam is going to kick off too?" Alex asks idly, grinning when Miz glares over at him. They sit in silence for awhile after this, all of them content to absorb the sun and soft sounds of waves crashing against the sand, enjoying that so very few people wander this way, the cove usually all but isolated, which makes it perfect for their endeavors once the sun sets later in the evening.

"Ok," John says. "Who wants to go surfing? Mike? Alex?" He hesitates a second, glancing at the ring announcer. "Ricardo?"

"Hell no," Mike mutters, propping sunglasses on his face and leaning back to rest. This is disrupted, however, when both of the other men answer positively. He sits back up and looks at them, lips parting in shock. "What?! Why?"

"Because," Alex says. "It sounds like fun, and I want to do something a little different than just tanning this time around. No offense, Mike."

His eyes turning to the ring announcer, he watches as Ricardo squirms a bit. "I just think it's time to try different things," he offers, staring at his hands. "This is a good start, si?"

Face softening, Mike pulls the sunglasses from his face. "Fine. We'll all go. But John, I swear, you owe me for this," he grumbles, already eyeing the rocks along the coast. When his former tag team partner grins widely, Mike rolls his eyes. "I should've known when you dragged _four_ boards out..."

"The mayonnaise was a perfect diversion, what can I say?" John offers before taking off for the water, boards under his arms as Ricardo and Alex follow him, Miz freezing halfway up the beach to gape after him, speechless.

"I KNEW IT!" he yells after the long haired man, shaking his head as he rushes after him. "Dammit, John, get back here!"

All in all, though, they have fun. John of course seems half fish, riding almost every wave, big or small, to completion, and Ricardo catches on quickly under his patient tutelage. After about half an hour, he rides a wave through and promptly flops into the water, just to surface and cling to the board with the largest grin on his face, looking happier than he has since before the suspension. Mike grins too before attempting another wave just to immediately wipe out, crashing into the water for probably the millionth time since he agreed to this madness. Alex is somewhere between Mike and Ricardo, not able to ride a wave through really well, but also staying on his board at least half the time.

After a couple of hours of this, Mike, exhausted and unsure where his board ended up after that last crash and burn, swims tiredly over to John's board, clinging to it as his best friend lazily paddles, watching the other two try to survive another pair of waves. John laughs when he notices Mike, reaching out a hand to support him as he tries to hoists himself up higher onto the board to get his mouth out of the water. "You alright?"

"No," he grunts, eyes red from being underwater so often. "Can we do something else now?"

John smiles. "Hey, boys, time to go eat!" As soon as he says that, Alex looks back sharply just to tumble head over heels into the wake, Ricardo gaping as he just barely rides out the wave in time, the other surfboard spinning through the water until it comes to a stop harmlessly by the ring announcer, who grips it and waits until Alex surfaces, grabbing for it. John shakes his head and glances back down at Mike. "Alright, rookie, hang on then."

Miz sneers at him but listens as he paddles them back to shore, beyond relieved when his feet touch the bottom and he's able to bail, walk himself back slowly to the cove and their supplies. "Ow," he mumbles. "Remind me to never do that again."

"Until next time," John smirks, aware of how he refuses to do something over and over again... until he realizes it means being left out while everyone else does it. Mike rolls his eyes at him, plopping down in his chair with a pained pout. "Yeah, get comfortable, Miz. What do you want, then?"

Blue eyes meet brown. "What, you're going to be nice to me now?"

"Don't expect it every time. But what do you want?" John waits but Mike only raises his eyebrows at him and he rolls his eyes. "Fine, I don't need to ask, I know." He makes it over to the cooler and fishes out the supplies, stacking two sandwiches and a coconut water onto Mike's plate before repeating the actions for his own. "One chicken salad, one egg salad, and your drink," he says in a flourish, raising an eyebrow when Miz immediately looks happier.

After Ricardo and Alex get their own servings and sit down, they eat in silence for a minute before Alex speaks up. "You know what this doesn't help with?"

Mike looks over Morrison's head to see his former NXT rookie, shaking his head. "No, what?"

"Figuring out which came first, the chicken or the egg." He continues to eat, oblivious to the other three men staring at him in disbelief, until Mike tosses his empty coconut water bottle at the younger man, listening with barely restrained glee at the hollow sound of plastic bouncing off Alex's skull.

The next few hours are spent with them tracing the coast with Morrison, who still manages to equally worry and annoy Mike with how high he can go on the uneven rock formations that he seems to love, not seeming to mind how slick they are in the slightest. He stays on the sand, where it's safe, but Alex makes his way up a few of the rocks while Ricardo climbs up half of the pile, content to sit and watch the sun slowly set there, it turning blood red for awhile before pink and purple ease into the ocean, distracting them all as they remain where they're sitting or standing, only coming back to themselves as it eases towards pitch dark. "What do you say?" John asks, making his way down the rocks with the agility of a cat. "Let's shoot these damn fireworks off already!"

Mike waits at the bottom as his friends rejoin him, Ricardo hopping down just after Alex. "You having fun?" he asks the ring announcer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as they walk side by side up the sand to where they'd left the box at.

"Si, muchas gracias for inviting me," he says softly. "It's been the best day I've had in a... a very long time." There's a flash of uncertainty, almost _guilt_ crossing his face, and Miz thinks he can understand: No matter how angry or hurt he'd ever been with John, there had been many moments where he'd looked over at a tag partner of his that _wasn't_ John and just couldn't help but ache for what had been, wishing that it was Morrison alongside him this whole time. It had been part of the reason he'd been so determined to get AJ to rehire him...

"I'm glad, man." He squeezes his arm, leading him to the box. As they drop to their knees in the sand, digging through the various fireworks, Mike whistles. "Damn, John, you've outdone yourself this year." He hadn't been joking when he'd called them _dreadfully illegal,_ but Miz still can't wait, flicking a lighter as he finishes setting up one of the rockets in the sand between their chairs and the water, running for it as soon as he lights it. He turns just in time to watch it go off, the water reflecting red, white and blue sparks as it enters the night sky, the three others cheering at the start of their own little fireworks display.

They all take turns setting off the various colorful bombs, Mike watching Ricardo lost in the display of one of his, the lights flashing in his eyes as he grins hard, staring up at the sky joyfully. _I guess it's a good thing Del Rio's action figures and things are still in his bag, untouched. Why ruin tonight with thoughts of... that asshole?_ He once more wraps an arm around the ring announcer's shoulders and hugs him, grinning too when Ricardo glances over at him. _Even if it would be fun to blow them up... there's time for that later. When Ricardo's more emotionally stable, thinks of it himself..._

After a night of too little sleep, Mike and Alex head off to the arena where Superstars and Smackdown will be held, Miz freezing as he watches the match board for Superstars getting replaced with the board for Smackdown. "Um, Alex," he calls out to his friend, who's just finished commentating for Superstars, everyone waiting while the ring is altered for Smackdown so the next event can begin. "Am I seeing things?"

Alex wanders over, fiddling with the sleeves of his suit, ignoring the annoyed huff Mike provides him when he notices despite all of the times he'd lectured him over it. "Eh, let's see... Damien vs Christian, Shield vs..." he mumbles a few more matches off until... "Holy hell. You have a match!"

"Of course, I think I can party it up last night with you guys, and then they go and assign me a match for the first time in weeks," he sighs. Against Jack Swagger, no less. The guy who, not even six months ago, had broken Ricardo's ankle and left Del Rio so hobbled, he couldn't defend himself when Ziggler had cashed in. Not to mention causing Ziggler's concussion as well, which had ultimately led to _his_ losing the World Title also. "Fantastic."

But all in all, the match goes decently, he guesses. The main annoying part of the night is Zeb Colter's rambling blathering about how fake Mike and LA is, and that there should be a movie with Swagger in it, but he quickly tunes it out as he faces off with Swagger, Colter and Cesaro both doing all that they can to urge their "compatriot" to victory, which fails when the referee catches them at attempting to cheat, ejecting first Cesaro and then Colter, though neither go very far as Mike manages a victory against Swagger during the melee. He slips away as they complain loudly from the ring, a smug smirk on his face. Though he's glad to have embarrassed the other man, it's even better that he's walking into Summerslam with at least a recent victory under his belt.

Alex greets him with a grin before clapping him on the back. "C'mon, host. Let's go back to LA. Get some sleep before Axxess, yeah?"

He nods, brushing his fingers through his sweat soaked hair. "I'm in." He's not sure what exactly the next few days will bring, wondering when Ricardo will feel up to returning to the WWE, if ever, but time's slipping through their fingers. After Smackdown the following week, they'll all be leaving the California area and decisions will have to be made. However, there's still time to sit down and discuss with him what he's going to do, where he's going to go from here, so Mike decides to keep it to himself until, perhaps, after Raw, give the man a few more days to think, decide on a course of action.

It's really the least he can do for the ring announcer.

After spending a few hours at Axxess, Mike and Alex meet up with John at a bar not far from where the WWE superstars who don't live in the area are staying. "Did you invite Ricardo?" he asks, glancing around with a frown as he takes in the crowd.

"I was going to," John says, already nursing a light beer. "But he was fast asleep, so I just left him alone. Figured the rest would be good for him."

Mike's eyes have come to a stop on a nearby Alberto Del Rio, who seems captivated by the UFC fight on-going, and nods. "Just as well," he mumbles, Alex and John looking over at what he's glaring at as it dawns on them too. "Come on." They walk to the other side of the bar, relieved that it's a pretty big place, and gets lost in the crowd, searching out a booth to sit in. Finding them all taken, Mike groans. "Geez..."

"How about we play some pool while we wait for someone to leave?" Alex suggests, smiling as they all remember some of the dumb pool games they'd thought up over the years to pass time.

"Do you have quarters, kid?" Miz asks, digging around in his pockets. Between the three of them, they collect the amount needed to play, Mike turning to put them in the slot when he bumps into someone. "Hey, sorry-" he's starting to say, stopping sharply when he realizes just who had collided with him, his eyes narrowing. "Oh. Never mind, actually, I'm not," he scoffs, turning his back on Del Rio and focusing once more on putting the money in, trying not to let the man get to him.

John and Alex are tense across the table, watching as Del Rio glares at Mike, blinking a time or two. "Do you have a problem, Miz?" he sneers, taking an angry swig from his own beer before leaning forward. "Outside of having nothing better to do than playing some pointless _gringo_ game, that is?"

Miz turns back to him, lips thinning, just to find Del Rio's eyes wandering from John to Alex and then around, as if he's looking for something- _someone._ This only fuels his anger, suspecting what exactly he's searching for, and he steps up into Del Rio's face, eyes icy as he forces his attention back onto him. "Looking for someone? Maybe Ricardo? You think I'd put him within your reach ever again, so you can finish what you started two weeks ago?" He laughs, watching as Del Rio's eyes darken with something- _guilt? sadness?_ \- before he spits out, "You've done enough damage to that man. He was always too good of a friend for the likes of you."

"Because you're the perfect friend, right, Mike?" Alberto snarls back, eyes flashing angrily. "Yes, of course, who wouldn't think so when you've stabbed every one of them in the back one way or another." He stares at Morrison, then Alex, for a moment before turning his focus back onto the blue eyes boring into his own brown irises. "Be it in the ring, or at a commentary desk. You have no right to judge me."

"He forgave me for what I did because I _never_ EVER threw away everything he did for me by trying to kick his head off of his shoulders!" Miz snaps back, blood boiling as he glowers up at the Mexican aristocrat. People scattered around are starting to stare as their argument gets louder and louder, and Mike shakes his head, pushing his way past Del Rio to get away, needing some air.

Unfortunately he's followed, the door barely clicking behind him when Alberto slams his way out of the building too, pushing Miz. "You don't know what you're talking about, perro!" he snaps as Mike stumbles, struggling to regain his balance.

"Oh, yeah? Enlighten me then," he demands, turning back to watch as Alberto stares through him, breathing heavily. "I thought so," he mutters after a few minutes of strained silence, once more turning and walking away, barely taking two steps when Del Rio grabs his arm roughly, spinning him back. Beyond frustrated and thrumming with anger, Mike strikes out instinctively, punching Alberto so hard that he staggers and hits the brick wall, scraping down it front first and slumping there for a moment as he gingerly touches his face, gaping at Miz.

It's only then that they realize some patrons, including a few of their fellow competitors, had joined them outside of the bar, the members of 3MB quickly moving between Mike and Alberto, Drew's thick Scottish accent ordering them to break it up. John and Alex fight their way out of the group of people around the door finally, and grab Miz. "Come on," John orders tensely, squeezing his upper arm. "Let's get out of here. It's not worth it, Mike."

Miz's eyes are locked on Del Rio until Alex guides him around the building, John moving ahead of them to unlock the car. "Oh God, what'd I just do?" he mumbles, flexing his sore fist.

"What dozens of us have probably wanted to do for years," Alex says honestly, massaging the back of his neck as they join John. "Don't worry about it. Not the first time he's been hit, probably won't be the last."

But Mike doesn't really care about Del Rio in this situation. He glances from John to Alex, eyes worried even as the adrenaline continues to drain from his system, taking the anger with it and leaving him exhausted and a little shaky. "What will Ricardo say when he finds out?" He's the master of complicated friendships, or former ones, had spent a fair amount of time annoyed at those who'd hurt Morrison even after the draft, though he hadn't wanted to admit it to himself at the time, so he has no doubt that Ricardo won't exactly be thrilled that Mike had laid out his former best friend the night before a title defense, no less. "Dammit..."

When they arrive at John's apartment, it's dark and quiet, Ricardo still in the guest room, asleep. Mike tries to be as silent as he can in getting ready for bed but as he shrugs his shirt off, it grazes his still sensitive knuckles and he hisses faintly. Immediately, Ricardo's bed creaks and the younger man murmurs, "Miz? Are you ok?"

Tensing, Mike turns towards him in the darkness and smiles, forgoing changing his clothes as he walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out to brush some of the dark hair off of Ricardo's forehead. "Yeah, man. I'm good. Just a little sore."

"That match against Swagger yesterday?" he asks quietly. "That would do it, yeah."

Mike feels guilty at the assumption, nodding slowly after a moment. "Yeah it would," he whispers. "Why don't you go back to sleep, huh? You have autograph signings in the morning, right?"

"Si... and then I have to do something for Stars4Sandy," he murmurs through a yawn.

As he settles back into rest, Mike leans back and listens while he dozes off, feeling guilty for not telling him the truth right away. "Tomorrow, when things quiet down a bit, I will..."

"Are you sure this won't be frowned at?" John wonders, standing by Mike's car with his arms crossed over his chest, eyebrow lifted.

"I'm the host, I can do whatever I want," Mike says smugly, smirking at him. "Come on, man. This'll be fine, it's not like you're going to crash the party or anything. You're just going to visit with old friends, relax in my private locker room, and keep Alex and Ricardo company. What could go wrong?" He had been notified that if he wanted to invite friends, he could, as long as he takes responsibility for them, and his first thought had been Morrison. It is something of a comfort to him also to have someone else nearby to watch Ricardo, make sure that Del Rio doesn't try anything else with the younger man, it being the first event that he'll present for since that horrible Raw a couple of weeks ago.

"Alright," John finally sighs as Alex and Ricardo joins them, the ring announcer holding onto a bag of things he'll need for the Axxess events. "I just don't want to get you in trouble with anyone." Mike pauses, also thinking about the night before, but he ultimately shrugs and drops into the driver's seat, the other three taking their seats as well for the ride to the Staples Center.

As he drives, he glances at Ricardo through the rearview window, pondering how to explain to him about the altercation he'd had with his former employer the night before, try to smooth things over so that he's not too disturbed by Mike's actions, but in the end, it doesn't matter. When they arrive at the center, it's clear that everyone knows- but instead of the truth being told around backstage, the first whispers Mike catches is about how three guys in the bar had jumped Alberto, Drew interceding to help. His name isn't mentioned at all and he frowns, glancing over at John and Alex who look as confused as he feels. Ricardo, however, has frozen for a whole other reason, his hand tense against the straps of his bag as he stares at the gossiping group of superstars, eyes dark and distant.

"Hey," Miz whispers, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Ricardo-"

The ring announcer shakes his head, looking away with a shudder. "I-... I... do you think he's ok?" he asks faintly.

Mike's heart hurts about as much as his head as he yet again regrets his actions from the night before, hating himself for adding to Ricardo's stress. "Yeah, man. I'm sure he is. Come on, let's go find my locker room, get your stuff settled in there so you can get ready for your autograph signing." The four of them walk slowly down the hallways, looking for Mike's door, John stopping now and again to greet old friends he hadn't seen in awhile. When they do find the right room, however, all four of them stop and stare on in horror for a different reason. "Hell no," Mike grouses, glaring at the neighboring doors down this corridor. Next to his personal locker room is the door marked for the World Heavyweight Champion's, proving that, unless Christian should eak out a victory during the pay per view, his neighbor for the entire evening is no other than Alberto Del Rio himself.

"Are we sure someone in WWE doesn't hate you, Mike?" John asks, glancing over at a wide eyed Ricardo, who is backing away slowly.

"No, no," he mutters. "I can't- I..."

Mike snags his arm before he can get too far away, holding onto him. "It's ok. It's ok. I'm here, Alex is here, John's here. You're going to be fine. Look at me." Their eyes lock and he forces a smile. "He can't get to you, alright? We'll make sure of it, you're safe. I promise."

"I don't want to see him," he says miserably and Miz grimaces, pulling him into a hug. "Mike-"

"I know, I know you don't. But you still work for the same company and it sucks, a lot, but it's going to happen. And we'll all be here for you when it does, but I know you'll be ok. Because you're strong, right? And you've been through so much already, and always rebounded from it... You will from this too, I know it." John and Alex pats Ricardo on the back, confirming their belief in Mike's words quietly, and the younger man slowly pulls away from him. "Do you want to go inside now?"

"Si," he murmurs grimly, Mike leading him into the locker room. They all pause, glancing around at the generously sized area.

"Damn," Morrison says, whistling slightly. "This is actually decent." There's a couch, a monitor, even a table with some snacks and drinks on it, the arena and catering staff clearly going out of their way to please Mike and follow his requests to the last letter.

He smirks. "Well, boys, let's get this party started then."

Unfortunately hosting isn't what exactly Mike is expecting; he starts the show off with the Main Event announcements just for Fandango to interrupt, dancing around him with Summer Rae. Mike watches on in disbelief, demanding "Really? Really?!" every now and again, until finally giving up and welcoming people to Summerslam before clearing the stage so JoJo can sing after the opening video package.

He returns to his locker room, staring once more at Del Rio's sign with a grimace as he walks closer to it. John glances up with a smirk once he enters and Mike waves him off. "Don't say it. If the next words out of your mouth is anything about Fandangoing, well..." He cuts himself short when he flexes his fist, residual pain from the night before creeping up his knuckles. For the first time in perhaps ever, he's glad he doesn't have a match this evening, not sure what he'd do if the lingering anger from that moment would make itself known again.

He sits down and the four of them quietly watch through the show, Mike having nothing to do until he needs to interview Maria Menounos after the World Title match. Which is a relief to him, gives him a chance to stay with Ricardo as he watches his former employer compete, still visibly lost and uncertain over what he wants to do about the whole situation, his tweets only confirming this. Outside of a faint gasp when he sees the discoloration on the Mexican aristocrat's face for the first time, the younger man sits silently through the contest. When the match concludes and Del Rio is interviewed, Ricardo sits forward, the other three men falling perfectly silent as they watch him take in what his former friend is saying about this being a great night and his being the hero the Latino community has been looking for, his expression solemn.

After a moment, Mike leans forward. "Are you ok?" Ricardo nods, looking like he doesn't trust himself to speak. Miz sighs. "Sorry to run like this, but I have to interview Maria Menounos. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"He'll be ok," John promises as Mike hesitantly walks to the door. "See you later."

As soon as he's gone, Ricardo takes in a rough breath and stands. "I- I can't just... I have to get out of here," he mumbles, feeling like he can't breathe as he pushes his way out of the private locker room just to skid to a stop as he stares at the World Title plaque on the neighboring door, face falling. When Morrison follows him out into the hallway, he reaches up and traces the upraised letters with a trembling hand. "Does it ever get easier?"

John leans against the door, watching him as he continues to reverently graze the door with his fingers. "Yeah, with time, man. You just need to give yourself it. Things'll get better."

"I hope so," he mumbles, turning sharply. "Tell Mike if he comes back before I do, I just- I needed some air."

John nods and watches as he walks quickly down the hallway, the sound of the exit door slamming shut echoing through the halls a few moments later. He sighs.

Now staring up at the dark LA sky, Ricardo scrubs at his eyes and flinches, shaking his head. Del Rio's words, his deluded ramblings about being a hero, had made him want to _do_ something, but he can't sort out what exactly. Has no idea where to begin, well aware of how vicious and cruel his former employer could be, still suffering headaches now and again from his kicking the steel steps to his skull a couple of weeks ago. He finds an abandoned trunk and sits on it, cradling his head in his hands as he tries to figure out yet again what he wants to do.

The first week, things had been so bad, his emotional and physical pain so all-encompassing, that he'd barely registered that Mike and Alex had been at the house, had pulled out all of his things with help from Sofia. He hadn't felt much better the next week, though he had forced himself to go to San Francisco, even if he had done nothing but rest at the hotel and try yet again to think. The time at John's apartment, and the beach party, however, had helped distract him, even made him smile a little bit again. He had felt more himself by Axxess, yes, enough to smile at fans and sign autographs, get through it without too much trauma as person after person had wished him well, talked disparagingly towards Del Rio, and everything in between.

But his emotions had been stirred back up while he watched that match, remembering all of the time he'd spent watching, cheering, hoping for his employer's victory and happiness. Now he's not sure what to feel, every moment that he watches him now leaving him ill and disgusted as he recalls the look in the older man's eyes before he'd kicked him in the skull, brutalized him further. He's so wrapped up in these thoughts, he barely notices as the arena door opens, soft footsteps wandering his way. He figures it may be Mike, Alex or John, so he doesn't worry until-

"Hey, man."

Eyes wide, he looks up to find RVD of all people staring at him through the shadows, immediately raising his hands in defense. Slipping off of the trunk, he tries to shy away from the highflyer. "I don't want a problem, si? I'm just- I just wanted some air..." RVD is turning slowly as he inches around him, trying to get in direct range of the door, when he shakes his head, smiling faintly.

"I don't want problems either, you know? I just came out for a breather now that the trainer's finally done looking at me after my match, and I saw you out here, so I thought I'd just come see how you're doing." When Ricardo stares at him, looking plumbstruck, he grins goodnaturedly. "I never had a problem with you, just your... well, I guess he's your former employer now, isn't he?" Humming to himself, he hops up on the trunk that Ricardo had just vacated, thudding his wrestling boots against the side for a few moments. "It was pretty lame what he did to you after our match a few weeks back, seeing you were just trying to help him and all." He watches quietly as Ricardo, growing a little more comfortable in his presence and easy going speech, hesitantly returns to the trunk, listening in some shock. "Glad to see you're up and about, back at it. I was wondering how you were doin', but wasn't sure who to ask."

"Eh, gracias," he murmurs, sitting down next to him. They sit quietly for a few minutes, Ricardo glancing over at him now and again.

"Have you figured out what you're going to do from here?"

The younger man licks his lips and thinks. Harder than he'd been able to since Del Rio had glared at him, kicking him in the skull with the force that he only saved for those he's most disgusted by. He had half-considered various avenues the past couple of days, either staying in California with his old friends and family or returning to Florida and finding an apartment of his own, continuing to struggle to make his way in the WWE, perhaps even going to Vickie for ideas since she'd actually seemed sympathetic towards him after Alberto's betrayal, but... he thinks he now has the answer right in front of him. _Latino hero indeed,_ he thinks, the cobwebs finally clearing from his mind as he feels his old, calculating way of thinking hum back into being. "I believe I have, yes," he says, smirking a little.

Back inside, Mike just barely arrives at the interview set in time, smiling sheepishly at the waiting cameraman and Maria, greeting her in a rush. "Sorry, lots of fires to put out tonight. You ready?" When she nods, he motions to the cameraman and they begin, Mike asking her the standard opening questions when... Fandango's music begins again, two of the banes of Miz's life once more dancing into his segment. He watches them with a glower before holding a hand out to Maria, spinning her around a few times before leaving them in the dust as he dances off of the set with her. Once they're out of sight, he slows to a stop and laughs as she stares up at him, still a little floored. "Sorry about that, it was the only way I could think to shut them up _and_ get away all at once."

She flushes and laughs, still clinging to his arms. "No, don't worry about it, it's fine." He gently pulls away from her, smiling softly.

Neither of them notice the dark eyes watching from the shadows...

The whole locker room is quiet and overwhelmed during Punk vs Brock, Mike sitting in his locker room between John and Alex with his face held in his hands, Ricardo watching with subdued awe as the two men battle it out, leaving nothing out there as the deeply personal competition leaves them looking like they want to kill the other, Punk eventually losing when he turns his attention to Paul Heyman, leaving himself vulnerable to Brock attacking him with a chair, which he is then F5'd on. Thankfully they have the mixed tag match to recover during, giving Mike time to recollect himself before he has to wrap up his hosting duties by announcing Daniel vs Cena up next. He watches as Dolph and Kaitlyn eventually secure the victory against Big E and AJ, flinching when AJ is yet again speared on the outside by her former best friend before she can ruin the pin.

"Well, that's my cue, time to wrap this show up. Try not to have too much fun while I'm gone," he tells them, clapping John on the shoulder and smiling over at Alex and Ricardo before ducking out of the room for the final time. This whole thing hadn't been what he'd expected, but he supposes things will return to normal the following night... or at least he hopes so. Of course, he's in the process of announcing the final match when Fandango interrupts again. This time, however, he doesn't even bother restraining himself. Careful not to feed into the same level of anger he'd felt the night before with Del Rio, he does however land a punch on Fandango that at least stops the damn dancing, sneering down at him before leaving to rejoin his friends, watch the conclusion of the event.

If Punk vs Brock had left the whole locker room quiet and on the edges of their seats, Daniel and Cena leaves them anxious and a little jittery as the minutes pass agonizingly slow. Though Miz isn't overly fond of either man, he hopes that Daniel wins, tired of being tired of seeing Cena as champion. In the end, knees to the face gives Mike what he wants, but it's horribly short lived as Orton comes out with his briefcase, teasing a cash in, before ultimately heading back up the ramp. They all breathe a little easier as Daniel continues to celebrate, until...

Orton turns slowly as HHH pedigrees the new WWE champion, the former members of Evolution staring at each other darkly until Orton enters and hands over the briefcase, cashing in and simply pinning the younger man, not needing to do anymore than that after the impact of the COO's finisher. The four men in the locker room gape on in disbelief, shaking their heads in shock, as Daniel lays in disgrace, HHH lifting Orton's hand in success. "Son of a bitch," Mike mumbles. Being a former briefcase holder himself, he'd expected Orton to pick his spot and cash in soon- but definitely not like _that!_

They're still subdued and solemn as they return to John's apartment, Mike pondering over the evening as a whole while dropping his bag on the floor, Ricardo's settling next to his. He turns to stare at his friends, shaking his head slowly. Orton champion, Del Rio retaining, every segment of his getting ruined by Fandango... the whole show had been more frustrating than he'd want to admit, but at least it's over and he's somewhere he can relax again, but... he closes his eyes and takes a breath. "I need to burn some energy," he finally mutters. "I'll be back in a little bit."

His feet take him across the path to the beach, not minding that it's so dark he can barely see, the place deserted and calm as he breathes in the salty air, wandering under the pier for awhile, kicking his shoes off and letting them hang from his fingers so he can feel the cool sand between his toes for a few minutes. He's just about to slip them back on and venture back to John's apartment when he hears soft humming, freezing immediately as he fears briefly that the Wyatt family had set up base here, or something equally as ridiculous. They had kidnapped Kane earlier, which meant that it'd been an all around bad evening for the now defunct Team Hell No. It takes a moment before he realizes that the humming is decidedly female, walking closer to it.

When he realizes _who_ exactly it is, he almost feels like running back to the apartment and not even dealing with this now, on top of everything else, but he holds his own, curious why exactly she's sitting in the sand, all alone. "AJ?"

She freezes, her humming dying away slowly. "Mike," she says simply, still staring out at the ocean as it laps a few feet away from the edge of the pier. Standing, she turns to look at him and smiles bitterly. "Where's your little dance partner?"

He stares at her, shaking his head. "Maria? I don't know, probably at her hotel. I haven't seen her since that failed interview segment."

She makes a hmming noise before creeping closer to him, eyes gleaming even in the shadows. "You looked really comfortable, dancing with her pressed against you. Did you like it, Mike? Feeling her so close to you?" She leans against him for a moment, lips inches away from his before she pulls away and skips past him, pigtails flipping over her shoulders as she goes.

Collecting himself once more after that, he barks out an annoyed laugh. "And what about you? Did you like being in the ring again with Ziggler? Did you like having his attention, even for a short little while before Kaitlyn speared you once more?"

When she turns to glower at him, he stares back at her, hands stuffed in his pockets. "He's a weak little man," she says lowly. "Like most men seem to be... content to drop anyone without notice, as soon as they get bored of them... Kaitlyn's no better, they deserve each other." Tilting her head, she approaches him. "But you, I've never been anything to you, yet you keep coming back... finding ways to spend time with me... be it backstage, or during MizTV segments... It's like... you enjoy my constantly trashing you over and over again."

"I don't control who my guests are on MizTV most times," he says lowly, eyes locked on hers as she trails a finger down his dress shirt, teasing the buttons with her fingers. "But you're wrong about much more than that."

She smirks. "Oh? Such as?" Her fingers graze back up, curling around his neck, and he wonders if she's about to pull him down for a painful kiss, the darkness in her gaze promising bad things.

"You mean more to me than you'll probably ever realize," he confesses without thinking, watching as the fire fades from her expression, replaced by the vulnerability and an innate desperation that he's only really seen her show for other people, especially recently. Conflicted over whether he should leave or continue talking, he finally bridges the gap, leaning into her touch and pressing his lips to hers, trying to shut himself up. Beat away the thoughts rattling around in his skull, desperate to pour out of his lips. Her nails dig into his flesh and he groans against her, the growing heat in the kiss surprising them both as he pushes her gently until her back settles against a support pillar of the pier, the two of them lost in the sounds of the waves lapping to their right and the feel of each other so close for the first time in what feels like forever. Unlike two weeks before, when everything had been so painful and rushed, Mike needing to concentrate on Ricardo's ordeal, this is quiet and simple, all them. Nothing else matters...

At least, until AJ pulls away and slaps him, her breathing ragged as tears bead in her eyes once more. "What are you doing?" she all but shrieks at him, shaking as she forces her way past his frozen body, storming away before spinning back towards him, the tears now dripping down her flushed cheeks. "I have nothing for you! I don't have power anymore, I can't- I can't get your friend his job back, I can't do anything for you! Why do you keep doing this to me?!"

He stares at her, the words still there, still desperate to be freed. "I don't want anything from you," he whispers. "Not like that, anyway. Not anymore." He takes a half-step towards her and releases a soft breath, wanting so badly to touch her. "I know I don't deserve your trust, your belief... anything..."

She laughs bitterly. "Finally realizing that, huh, Mike?" Raising her arms, she motions at this whole situation she finds herself wrapped up in, tears splattering down her jaw and hitting the ground, staining the sand at their feet a few shades darker. "What is all of this then?"

He breathes in, shudders, and closes his eyes for a moment, a pained smile crossing his lips. When he opens his eyes once more, she's startled by the calm determination in them. "I love you. That's what this is."

She stares at him, shocked so thoroughly that the tears stop as quickly as they'd come, each and every breath out of her lips hitching. "No. You don't. No one ever loves me. They claim to, get what they want, and then leave. You don't-" Her voice dies as he walks up to her, brushing his fingers tenderly through her soft hair.

"Think about it, sweetheart," he whispers. "I've never said it to you before, even when I was trying to get you to get John his job back. I knew better than to cross that line, because it's not the kinda thing I would be comfortable lying about..." He leans closer to her. "As you noted, outside of being divas champion, you have about as much leverage as the next guy now, especially with the power game in the WWE so ridiculous at the moment. I've already screwed up by doing the using you for my agenda thing. And yet, here I am, standing before you, telling you anyway." Blue eyes boring into hers with a bizarre combination of pain and affection that had almost always underlined their relationship once it stopped being underlined by a lie, he stares down at her. "I am in love with you."

Her eyes widening more than they had when Big E had almost kissed her weeks ago, she stares at him mutedly, her chest heaving and she looks like she's about to head towards hyperventilating. He's just reached out for her, worried, when she shakes her head desperately and turns, racing away from him like he's poison.

He watches her go, finally slumping into the sand. He stares up at the underside of the pier until he begins to shake, his broken laughter shattering the silence of the beach a few moments later.

He's not sure what time it is exactly when he trudges back to John's apartment after sitting in the sand, thoughts tangled around in his head so thoroughly that he can't even grasp the majority of them, shuddering. He can't believe he'd confessed to her, the world skittering to a stop in the few seconds it'd taken to get those words out... just for her to run away from him into the night, as if... as if...

"As if this weekend wasn't bad enough," he groans softly, unlocking the door. Trying to be quiet once more, he tiptoes past the living room where Alex is sleeping just to come to a sudden stop: he's not alone in being awake at this ridiculous hour, Ricardo is leaning against the kitchen counter with a glass of water in his hand. They stare at each other for a minute before Mike joins him, getting a glass for himself. Ricardo silently leans over, tugging the container of unused egg salad mixture from the beach party out of the fridge and waving it at him. He nods, reaching in to collect the chicken salad, and the two of them both pull out spoons from Morrison's drawers, walking quietly over to the table to indulge in the leftovers.

Neither wanting to talk much and risk waking up John or Alex, they stare at each other. "To closure, huh?" Mike asks sarcastically, lips twitching as Ricardo nods, the two men clicking their spoons together before they begin to eat.

It feels weird to go to an event with only Alex and Ricardo, Mike finding that he's already used to having John at an arena after only one night. He grimaces and pulls his bags out as the other two follow suit, the three of them entering the building. Also they're all back to the regular locker room now, Ricardo seeming all the more intimidated as he glances around at the superstars surrounding him once more. He'd never been here without Alberto before, and even then, that had been rare, the two of them either using Del Rio's influence to get private locker rooms _or_ his being champion granting them the privilege automatically.

The first few hours are peaceful enough, the three of them staying in the locker room and watching the show, interjecting their comments here and there. When the divas tag match starts, Mike swallows harshly, spotting some of the darkness from the night before still in AJ's eyes, turning from the screen as he tries to breathe normally, focus on anything but the match. Alex and Ricardo notice but merely exchange glances before letting their thoughts go, knowing that, if Mike wants to tell them, he will.

A little later, Del Rio's music hits and Ricardo abruptly stands, staring at the monitor as his hands tighten at his sides. Mike and Alex stare up at him, surprised as he squares his shoulders and walks out of the locker room door without any sort of explanation, looking like a man on a mission. They exchange glances but before they can do anything, go after him, Sin Cara dives out of the ring and onto Del Rio, immediately flopping over after calling for the referee to come, visibly injured again. "Oh boy," Mike mutters, the whole locker room used to Sin Cara's tendency for injuries by now. Del Rio too seems angry and impatient over the situation, kicking his opponent when he's down and being examined, which appears to infuriate the referee, the two men getting into an argument in the middle of the ring.

Finally things calm down, Sin Cara leaving with the doctor, and Del Rio motions for a microphone. It's then that Mike gets a good look at his face- he'd suffered a broken nose during the match against Christian on top of everything else, and he looks even rougher than he had Saturday night, the eye on the side of his face that Mike had punched looking like a blood vessel had burst since the night before. If he still wasn't anxious about the truth somehow coming out- and he's still not sure _why_ there's so many fabricated tales going around, none of which include _him_ , or why Del Rio hadn't tried to get any kind of revenge yet- he'd almost be amused by the mere sight of the usually vain champion, finding it to be karma for what he had done to Ricardo, but he's still a bit on edge.

Either way, Del Rio continues on in the same vein he had the night before- that he's the hero for the Latino community and yada yada, when a familiar voice cuts in. Mike and Alex gape as Ricardo interrupts his former employer, looking solemn and thoughtful as he explains that Del Rio is no hero to him, or the Latino community. His disposition begins to brighten, however, a wide smile taking over his face as he explains that he's happy to not represent Alberto any longer, admitting that he has a new person to do so for, a person who will truly stand up for people. Mike's jaw drops when he reveals RVD, Mr. Monday Night coming out to stand alongside Ricardo. As Alberto waits inside the ring, eyes dark with anger, RVD approaches the ring just to receive knees and punches from the World Heavyweight Champion, keeping him helpless on the mat. But RVD recovers quickly and kicks him in the face, Del Rio scrambling to safety as Ricardo enters the ring and the two of them do the thumb motions side by side, Alberto unable to do anything but watch from the ramp, stewing.

When the two men return to the locker room, Ricardo still grinning, Mike and Alex greet him. "Where did _that_ come from?!"

The ring announcer smiles a little before glancing over at Rob. "Well, Rob and I talked for a bit last night, and the idea slowly dawned on me that... if Del Rio can so easily dismiss me, attack me so brutally, and think that he can still consider himself a hero to the Latino community, the least I could do is show him how wrong he is. If he feels he's outgrown my assistance and wants to be alone so badly, that's fine, but I don't feel that he deserves the World Heavyweight Title. With my knowledge of Alberto's ways, and RVD's in-ring ability, I believe we can accomplish this goal easily."

Mike blinks, surprised at how quickly _that_ plan had come together, considering just twenty four hours earlier, Ricardo had still seemed pretty unfocused and sad. "Well, damn, man. Sounds like you've given this some thought. I doubt you'll need it, but you know. Good luck."

"Gracias."

Mike's match against Wade Barrett is just before Orton's coronation, and he wrestles as well as he can, considering how distracted he is with what a mess the last few days had been, but in the end it doesn't matter. Fandango interrupts, causing the match to end in a disqualification, and leaves him laying in the middle of the ring. _The perfect ending to this Summerslam week,_ he thinks grimly as he slowly blinks back to awareness and rolls out of the ring, realizing that he needs to clear the ring before HHH gets pissy at him for risking stalling the beginning of the coronation. Annoyed, he heads back up the ramp, holding onto his midsection.

Alex pats him on the back and they all quietly collect their things, Ricardo only pausing long enough to say goodbye to RVD before they leave the arena, returning to Morrison's apartment to catch up on sleep and relax between Main Event and Smackdown, all of them needing it badly after the long, emotional past few days. None of them, except for Morrison, had really had much down time since the beach party on Thursday, and it shows.

Nonetheless, they all sit for awhile, watching TV together and trying to unwind, Morrison the first to head off to bed, having some OOYM fitness plans in the morning. Mike follows shortly thereafter, still annoyed at the Fandango nonsense, and Alex glances over at Ricardo, finding him staring at the TV with a thoughtful look on his face. "Hey," he says softly, turning the TV volume down so they can talk easier.

Ricardo turns to look at him, smiling half-heartedly. "Si?"

Alex clears his throat, tilting his head. "Well, um. As you know, our time in California is drawing to a close. There are houseshows this weekend, and you're with the group going to New Mexico before Raw, right?" At Ricardo's nod, he takes a breath, trying to sort out how best to bring up something he'd been weighing for a few days now. "Have you decided what you're going to do then? About where you're going? I know that RVD lives in LA, so it'd probably make some sense to stay here-"

But Ricardo shakes his head, smiling apologetically as he interrupts Alex. "No, I'm not staying in California. It'll always be home to me, si, but... so is Florida now, and I want to be close to the performance center. I'll be returning to Florida after this cycle of events ends." He stares at his hands, not thinking it through yet until this moment, so busy getting things with RVD squared away first. "I suppose I'll have to start apartment hunting..."

"What if I told you you didn't have to?" Alex says suddenly, staring at him. "I wasn't going to suggest anything until you had figured out what you wanted to do, because I didn't want to influence your decision. Especially if you just really wanted to get away from Florida and... everything that's there... but now that you've said this, well. I've been thinking for awhile about getting a roommate. I have a free bedroom, and um... you know, instead of going through Craigslist and having to interview who knows how many creeps on my days off, why not offer it to someone I actually know?" He grins. "Besides, I had fun helping you with the charity stuff last month, and I think we make a pretty good team."

Ricardo looks- and feels- about as shocked as he had the night before when RVD had approached him, but he quickly regains control of himself. "You- you mean it? You want me to live with you?"

"Sure, man!" He glances down the hallway leading to the bedrooms just visible from his position on the couch, taking a deep breath. "See, John and Mike- they spend as much time together as they can when they're in LA, and it's cool, I would never do or say anything to prevent that for them, after everything they've gone through just to be friends again, but sometimes I feel pretty isolated in Florida. And I know that probably sounds weird with so many guys from WWE who live there, and the various friends outside of the business I do have, but it's..."

"Just not quite the same," Ricardo offers after a moment, eyes distant and sad as he nods in understanding. "I know what you mean."

Alex nods back. "So, you move in with me, and hell, you'd probably be helping me more than I'd be helping you." He gives the younger man a few minutes to think about it, their eyes finally locking. "What do you say? Roomies?" he asks with a hopeful grin, holding his hand out towards him.

Ricardo's lips twitch. "Roomies," he agrees softly, meeting him halfway and solidly shaking his hand, both men laughing as they consider John and Mike's reaction to this news. _First a new business association, and now... a new roommate,_ the ring announcer thinks, grinning as he looks forward to what other changes the future will bring.


	172. chapter 172

Tuesday is spent alternating between lazily wandering the beach (Though Miz makes sure to avoid the pier this time) and lounging around in John's apartment, the group of them not feeling up to much after the past few days. As much as Miz likes being active, even he feels like the last few days had been just a little too much all at once, feeling tired and out of it. Between the bar fight, hosting Summerslam, and finally confessing to AJ his feelings, along with Ricardo's revelation of now working with RVD, he feels like he could sleep for a week, although there's no true chance of that happening.

And the news keeps on coming as Ricardo kicks idly at some wet sand before turning to look at Mike while they walk along the beach, the water lapping against their heels now and again. John is off doing some interview for OOYM, and Alex is still asleep inside, but neither of them had wanted to waste this weather completely. "I came to a decision on what I'm going to do about where to live now." He knows that Mike's been worried about his decision, especially as more time had passed without him discussing it in any fashion, so when his friend looks up at him curiously, he smiles. "Alex invited me to live with him in Florida... and I agreed."

Mike takes it in silently, nodding slightly after a few moments. "That... I mean, it sounds like a good idea." His brow furrows, however, as he remembers the relatively short distance from Alex's place to Del Rio's, hoping that at least the ring announcer won't have to run into his former employer _too_ often outside of the WWE... "As long as you're happy, man."

"Gracias." Dark eyes searching Miz's expression, he clears his throat awkwardly. "Has something... happened? I mean, you were- were stressed enough after Summerslam, but it's just... gotten worse since Raw. I don't think even Fandango at his most annoying is worth all of that."

Mike swallows and stares at his feet for a moment, unsurprised by how observant the ring announcer is after all this time, despite everything going on with him. "I told AJ I loved her on Sunday night. She was on the beach after Summerslam, I ran into her... and it just slipped out." He stares over at him for a minute, shaking his head mirthlessly. "I don't even know why I said it, I know her track record, and I don't want to be another in the long line of guys that she's turned on, or ruined opportunities in this business for, but... I'm so sick of leaving everything locked up inside. But that doesn't even matter, she just... she left. Like what I said didn't matter. And who knows, maybe it doesn't. I have put her through a lot."

Ricardo sighs, visibly sympathetic as he pats Mike on the back, unsure what to say. The two of them continue up the beach quietly until they return to Morrison's apartment to find Alex now half-awake and searching the kitchen for something to eat. The rest of the day passes simply enough as John returns and they watch TV, order in pizza, and allow themselves a few hours of laziness before Mike has to get some sleep since he has to leave for Main Event the next day.

Relieved that there are still a couple days to spend with John, Alex and Ricardo before they all have to leave California, he drives out to Bakersfield in the morning, trying to get into the proper mindset for commentary as he approaches the arena. It all comes crashing down, however, when he sees the match board, clearly listing _AJ Lee vs Naomi._ He swallows heavily and stares at it, shaking his head. He looks over his shoulder, almost expecting the girl- or her enforcer- to come out of the shadows and attack him for his actions on Sunday, but he sees no sign of either of them until the show starts, her match second on the card.

Big E still not allowed around divas matches, it's merely Layla accompanying the divas champion, and Mike breathes a little easier as he watches the match, saying very little. When he does speak up, he finds himself admitting that he has to respect how AJ will do anything to hold onto her belt... then confesses he'd be worried if he was Layla and was a friend of AJ's, considering what she's done to Dolph, Daniel, and John Cena, among others, just for Josh to remind him that those were relationships she was in. He tries to brush it off by saying if she could do that to men, he could only guess what she'd do to female friends. Tired of Josh owning him on the AJ subject two weeks in a row on Main Event commentary, he keeps his mouth shut for the most part after that, relieved when the match ends after AJ makes Naomi tap a couple minutes later.

He is _almost_ relieved when distraction from _that_ comes a little later, Fandango dancing out and mocking him from the stage, merely dancing around a bit before going backstage, it still being enough to leave him steaming from the commentary table. Once the show ends and the lights turn back on after Bray Wyatt defeats Justin Gabriel, Mike storms backstage and begins looking for Fandango, just to be told by one of the techs that he had left with Summer Rae not long after interrupting the show earlier. He groans and shakes his head, barely remembering to thank the guy before he continues on his way, lips twisted unhappily.

He comes to a sudden stop when he walks by the divas champion's locker room, staring over at it curiously. The memory of the look on AJ's face when he'd told her burnt into his brain, he sighs and slumps down into a nearby folding chair, staring at her door as he struggles to think. She hadn't been wrong the other night... although he knew better, had watched her burn through one relationship after another over the last year, barely giving herself time to breathe before leaping into the next- the period of time she's been unattached since the end of her relationship with Ziggler being the longest amount of time she's been single since being involved with Daniel Bryan- he still feels an unexplainable pull towards her.

Still not sure what he wants to do, if he should even bother attempting anything else, he scrubs at his face before solemnly standing up and, only pausing long enough to find his bag, leaving the arena to return to Morrison's until they all have to come back here for Smackdown on Friday, which would be the last hurrah in California for awhile for some of them.

Except that Mike receives an email from Vickie Guerrero early on Thursday morning explaining that the show is booked solid and he's not needed, his lips thinning as he stares at it. Growing too used to seeing this sort of email, he drops his phone back onto the bedside table heavily and grunts, rolling away in disgust as Ricardo blinks and stares over at him from his own bed. "Mike?"

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up, it's nothing," he forces out, glaring at the wall. He can feel the ring announcer's eyes on him, worried, and shakes his head, trying to bury his face in his pillows. "They have nothing for me tomorrow on Smackdown," he finally admits lowly. "I... shouldn't be allowing myself to get used to that kind of crap, but damn... How many general managers have jerked me around like that by now? It's like all they see me being good for is movies and media events anymore." Almost as soon as he finishes complaining, he feels ridiculously low- his role in the company may not be perfect, but at least he hadn't lost everything in one fell swoop like Ricardo had less than three weeks ago. He rolls back over, facing Ricardo, and takes a breath. "I'll come to the show anyway, man. I know RVD will watch out for you, but I'd feel more comfortable with someone who knows the situation better also having your back."

Ricardo smiles at the offer but shakes his head. "You don't have to, Mike. I know how aggravating it can be to just sit around an arena for hours with nothing to do, you don't need to go through that on my account."

"It's not a big deal, I want to be there for you," he says quietly. "Don't worry about it." The apartment is still quiet, Alex and John apparently also taking the opportunity to sleep in and Mike eventually dozes back off too, somehow feeling better after his discussion with Ricardo. When he awakens again, it's dark in the bedroom and he sits up, groggy and feeling very out of it as he stares at a clock, not understanding. He glances around, trying to regain his bearings, figure out what woke him up, why the sun hasn't risen yet, when it finally clicks with him. It's now Thursday evening, just barely after 9 PM.

He grunts and stares at Ricardo's empty bed, shaking his head as he recalls the morning email about Smackdown. Eyes widening, he realizes something else: He'd slept close to fifteen hours, not even counting the couple of hours he'd gotten prior to the email. "Damn," he breathes, staggering to his feet before sluggishly making his way out of the room, down the hall, until he stops to find his friends staring at him with amused grins from the kitchen table. "Why did you guys let me sleep so late?" he grunts, melting into the chair at Morrison's right and clunking his head down onto the table as his best friend leans over and massages his neck and shoulders.

"It was pretty clear you needed it," John tells him. "You've been running yourself ragged the past... who knows how long. So, since us three can actually practice some volume control unlike some people, we stayed nice and quiet and let you sleep it off."

Letting the dig against his loudness pass, Miz blinks blurrily at them as John's repetitive motions against his skin continues on and on. "Keep that up, I might fall back asleep right here," he mumbles, incapable and disinterested in moving even an inch at the ministrations.

John slows, then moves away completely, leaning over until he can look Miz in the eye, smiling a little when he grumbles. "Yeah, well, my table's been abused enough thanks to you this week. It doesn't need drooled on too." As Miz huffs at this, sitting up regretfully to disprove his former tag partner's claims, Morrison stands and wanders to the oven, pulling out something that immediately shuts the Awesome One up. "Ah, that woke him up," he says with a knowing smirk, setting the dish in front of him. "Here you go, we kept it warm for you and everything."

"Lasagna from that Italian place?" he mumbles, immediately digging into it. "God, I feel like I haven't ate there for years." He takes a bite and sighs, eyes fluttering shut. "I'd forgotten how good it is..." The three others grin at each other as he ignores them, not wanting to take his focus off of the mouth watering food before him, startled at just how famished he'd been. _I guess they're right, I really did need all of that sleep... and all of this food..._ he thinks, stuffing a slice of cheesy garlic bread into his mouth. _To take better care of myself in general..._

Even after staying up half of the night and only getting a few hours of sleep just before daybreak, Mike feels better on Friday than he has in a long time. Even succeeds at keeping his mouth shut as he comes across Vickie Guerrero that night at Smackdown, on her way to the ring to introduce Randy Orton. His good mood, however, starts to slip when he almost runs right into Big E a little later, the large man's dark eyes boring into him as AJ grips his arm, glowering at Mike as well. He smirks darkly at the enforcer, despite only having eyes for the divas' champion. "Long time no see, AJ," he says simply, crossing his arms over his chest as she tosses her head haughtingly.

E.'s just taken a heavy step towards him when she digs her nails into his skin, shaking her head when he looks down at her in some confusion. "Give us a minute," she mutters, waiting patiently as he reluctantly moves away, keeping them both in view despite giving her her request for some privacy. She merely stares at Mike, twirling one of her pigtails around her finger. "I heard your commentary during my match on Main Event," she says simply, smirk more than a little bitter and twisted. "Regretting what you said on Sunday, huh? I had a feeling it wouldn't take you too long."

"No, I don't," he mumbles truthfully, staring down at her. "That's one part of Sunday night I wouldn't have changed, except for the fact I probably should've said it a long time ago."

She backs up a bit at this, looking visibly thrown for the second time in a week. "How long ago?" she whispers despite herself, eyes locked on him as he swallows.

He takes a breath, trying to pinpoint the exact moment... when he'd slowly realized he was falling for the bizarre, unreadable, beautifully broken girl in front of him... remembers when he'd finally confessed to Alex, and then John awhile later... "Around New Years." She immediately goes pale and he looks away. "I just couldn't tell you. Not after everything. You seemed happy with Dolph, and I really, really wanted that for you, you honestly deserved someone to take good care of you. Especially since I didn't feel deserving of you, considering how I started everything by trying to take advantage of you. I never expected it'd become real... but it did, and I'm _so_ sorry I put you through all of that. I know it's not enough, but I am. I pay for it every day, still, when I see how much pain you're still in, and know that part of it is my fault." Staring grimly at the floor, he turns on his heel and walks away from her.

He stays in the locker room after that, listening to Ricardo and RVD talk lowly across the room until Ricardo excuses himself and joins him, the two of them watching the end of Big E vs Ziggler side by side. AJ had seemed normal enough during her entrance and the match, skipping to the ring as ever with a smug look on her face, Mike feeling even worse at how little his heartfelt words had seemed to affect her, but as soon as E loses to Ziggler, she completely freaks out again, screaming in anger at her ex once more getting the upperhand against them. He closes his eyes and looks away from the screen, relieved for the ring announcer's presence as he rests a hand between his shoulderblades, watching him. "She hates me," he mutters finally, staring at his hands. "Understandably so. It's just... I love her, and it's worse now that she knows, and doesn't care."

The younger man swallows and pulls him closer, resting his head atop Mike's in an attempt at comforting him. "I'm sorry," he whispers, wishing he could do something to help, make things better for the torn man next to him. Even when Del Rio's match starts a bit later, he doesn't move, continuing to rub Mike's back as he keeps an eye on his former employer, RVD doing the same from across the room. Alberto still looks like he's been smacked in the face with a bag of bricks but competes through it all, managing another victory against Christian. Here, Ricardo dispatches himself carefully from Mike. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he tells him, nodding at RVD, who is already on his way out of the room.

Miz sighs. "Knock 'em dead," he says quietly, watching as Del Rio once more goes on about people being peasants and following him and on and on, until finally Ricardo comes out, mocking him, saying that he wasn't going to do that, nor were these people... nor would RVD, who comes out and walks to the ring, Ricardo by his side. They're barely halfway down the ramp when Christian regains himself after the match and dropkicks Alberto from the toprope while he's distracted, rolling out as RVD enters and performs the rolling thunder on an already prone world champion, who once again rolls to safety, gripping his arm in pain as he looks up into the ring, watching Ricardo pick up his title belt which he'd left behind in the melee.

Mike can't help but laugh, though the look on Del Rio's face when the camera turns back to him gives him pause. He looks honestly wounded as he slumps against the ramp, watching his former ring announcer show the title belt to RVD, mockingly waving his fingers at Del Rio while daring him to come get it. "Geez, Del Rio, keep this up, people might start to think you care or something," he mumbles, remembering vaguely that the Mexican aristocrat had looked like this as well when Ricardo first came out on Monday night and denied him as a hero.

Either way, when the two men return to the locker room, he greets them with a grin, feeling slightly better from earlier. "That was awesome," he tells them, dropping a hand on Ricardo's shoulder. "How'd it feel to hold the World title again?" The look in Ricardo's eyes belie his own smile, Mike immediately feeling like a jerk for even asking as he squeezes his arm in understanding. No matter what Del Rio had done, or how good it might feel to pay him back bit by bit on the road to Night of Champions, it has to be odd for Ricardo, after such a long business partnership and friendship, not to mention the actually short amount of time since the initial betrayal, to so suddenly have a new person to represent and want success for. Especially considering Smackdown too had been held in Bakersfield, the very city the two men had debuted in together exactly three years ago to the day.

"It felt weird," he admits honestly, staring at his hands. "But good. Rob deserves to hold it, I'll see that it happens." He's still quiet, however, solemn beneath the smile he keeps on his face as RVD pats him on the back and goes back to watching the show. "I suppose we should begin to head back to LA, si? Pack to leave and all..."

Mike nods, going to collect his own untouched bag. "Yeah, man. It's gonna be a long drive." He's glad he'd come, despite running into AJ. He had needed to say all of that to her for a long time now, relieved to have it too off of his chest, but mostly he's glad to have been here for Ricardo, support him through his continued issues with Del Rio.

After a quick goodbye to Rob, they walk out of the arena side by side to return one last time to Morrison's to collect their things and then leave the past two weeks spent in California behind, though Mike has no doubt that it'll be affecting all of their futures for a long time to come...

Almost relieved to be back on the road that following Monday, Mike, Ricardo and Alex are hanging out in the locker room, a few of the others scattered around paying them little mind as they watch the beginning of Raw, HHH and Orton starting things off. "Oh, yay," Mike mutters, running his hands through his hair while half-listening to the COO's ramblings. Unable to focus, he turns his attention to his own issues, not really wanting to hear anymore of what H has to say. "Hey, I'll be back in a minute," he tells the other two, leaving the room.

Fandango had successfully evaded him the past few events, but he's determined for that to not happen now, not after how he'd attempted to embarrass him at both Summerslam and Main Event. "You're not getting away that easily tonight," he mutters, wandering the halls until he finds the secondary locker room on the other side of the building, peering inside to find it mostly empty, only 3MB inside. They all freeze, staring at each other, until he shrugs them off and locates Fandango's bag, clearly his by the garishly ugly jacket hanging over it that had urged him to give the dancer the nickname of Skittles. Digging around inside, Mike smirks when he finds the matching pants inside and raises an eyebrow at the so-called rock bands' inactivity, leaving the room with the procured items. "Time to have some fun."

He has to fight not to laugh at the look on Alex and Ricardo's faces, a freshly arrived Rob Van Dam staring at the clothes as Miz sets them out on the bench in front of his actual wrestling gear. "Whoa," the highflyer mutters. "Trippy."

"Um, Mike..." Ricardo starts, sliding away from the clothes and rubbing his eyes like seeing the bright mess first hand had hurt his vision. "What are you going to do with that?"

"You'll see," he smirks, standing back and crossing his arms over his chest as he examines them. "Something's missing... I need a partner. You guys watch over this stuff for me?" When they nod, still looking scandalized, he ducks back out of the room, walking towards the divas locker room. "First diva out," he decides, not wanting to wait for too long as he notices on a monitor that Cody Rhodes vs Fandango is beginning.

It only takes a few minutes, thankfully, the door opening a couple of minutes later to a lot of loud giggles and talking, a familiar form venturing out and stopping short when she sees him. "Miz?"

He smirks. "Rosa. Would you do me the honor of granting me this dance?" She looks confused but smoothly takes his hand anyway as he leads her back towards the main locker room, explaining his idea to her. As soon as she understands, she agrees readily, waiting outside as he hurriedly changes into the blinding so called clothing. "How do I look?"

When he looks up, everyone in the vicinity look truly horrified, gazing at him like he's a trainwreck and they can't look away. He sneers. "Perfect!" And it really does go right to plan, Fandango watching on in disgust as he and Rosa do the most ridiculous looking dancing he can think of, leaving Fandango vulnerable to a roll up pin by Cody. As soon as Damien gets involved, Miz makes his way to the ring and joins in on the fighting, just for Brad Maddox to interrupt and make it an impromptu tag match. His good buzz continues when, after Fandango bails on his tag partner, he hits the Skull Crushing Finale and defeats the Smackdown Money in the Bank briefcase holder, smirking from the ring as Fandango and Summer Rae pose from the top of the ramp, Fandango enunciating his name as always.

Mike is still pleased as he and Rosa make their way backstage, WWE's film crew catching them for an interview. He talks for a bit about why he'd done what he did, Rosa chiming in that he looks better in Fandango's pants anyway, her hand warm on his bare shoulder. "That's what I'm talking about," he smirks before they walk off together. He's just slowed to turn and thank her for helping him before returning to his friends, when there's an abrupt flash of color and he feels a rush of air as something just misses him, Rosa squeeching when flesh meets with flesh, Mike blinking stupidly as he watches AJ Lee solidly push her into a room off to the side of where they'd been standing, shutting the door behind her decisively.

The two of them stare at each other for long, tense moments, Rosa banging and pounding on the door while yelling to be freed, AJ turning and slamming a fist against the barrier. "Shut up!" she snaps, clicking the outside lock in place and keeping her from being able to escape.

Mike swallows, suddenly losing all happiness he'd felt even two minutes earlier. "What are you doing, AJ?"

She tilts her head, smirking at him as she walks closer to him, eyes dark in the shadows of the hallway. "Am I unnerving you, Mike?" She presses against him, fingers suddenly digging into his hair as she pulls him down until they're eye to eye. He barely flinches, trying not to show how true her words are, watching breathlessly as she leans closer. "Do you typically tell someone you love them, then select a different dance partner barely a week later?" she whispers against his ear. "Or is it something you do especially for me?"

"What does it matter?" he asks her. "You've made it clear you don't care how I feel, and I don't blame-" Her fingers dig deeper into his scalp and he wonders if he's bleeding as he stares into her rage-filled eyes. "AJ..."

"You could've asked me," she breathes. "None of this would've happened if you just _asked_ me."

"Asked you what?"

"Anything! Everything!" She lets him go so suddenly that he stumbles back and almost falls into the door Rosa is still trapped behind, gingerly pressing a hand against his head as he massages where her nails had bit into his skull, the girl pacing away from him. "I'm much better at everything than that bleach blonde Barbie doll in there."

He gapes, finally realizing what her problem is _this_ time. "You... you would've been willing to help me mock Fandango and-?" He cuts himself off, shaking his head as he thinks about even dragging her into the middle of his stupid vendetta against the dancer. "No, no. AJ, you're divas champion. You don't need to- to get wrapped up in the middle of my stupid ideas. You're better than that, you _deserve_ better than that."

She turns slowly and stares at him, lips twisted uncertaintly. "You really think so?"

"Of course I do," he says softly. "I didn't go to you because you have much better things to do than get involved in this sort of ridiculousness... but if I had thought you would've actually _wanted_ to and not just laughed in my face, you're the first I would've asked..." She stares at him, weighing his words, before walking back up to him, eyes dark and unreadable. "AJ..."

"All I've ever really _wanted_ ," she murmurs, standing as close to him as she can without touching him, "is to feel safe. Especially in this typically unsafe business. I thought Daniel, or Kane, or Punk could provide that security for me, then Cena... and Dolph..." Her voice grows all the more bitter at the end there and she blinks, licking her lips, visibly trying to distance herself from that well of pain. "Cena wasn't interested, and Dolph... Dolph _pretended_ to for awhile, but he had no problem dropping me at the first sign of trouble." She stares up at him through her eyelashes, taking a deep breath. "After Summerslam, and Smackdown, I thought about everything you said."

"Oh," he says, suddenly feeling exposed and clammy. He'd been wanting closure for a long time, just some sort of answer, but now that it's here, he's not sure what to say, how to feel. "I see." His voice cracks and he closes his eyes in raising nerves as she examines him.

"I considered my past relationships, and what I wanted out of them." She sighs. "It didn't take long to realize that I hadn't felt safe in any of them- even Dolph's, as much as I deluded myself into believing he meant what he said, that he had honest feelings for me. There was a part of me that couldn't believe in it, especially how he kept flirting with every other woman around, and grew obsessive with the world title to the point that he stopped caring about what I was going through in the business..."

He hates hearing about her relationship with Dolph, even if it's less than flattering, but he forces himself to hear her out, knowing that it's the least she deserves from him yet after everything.

"Then I started wondering if I had _ever_ really felt safe... and I could really only pinpoint one time." She sighs and smiles slightly. "Do you remember... the night Jerry Lawler had his heart attack and no one knew if he was going to... to survive or not? And it was all on me, because I was in charge and..." She coughs, becoming a little choked up, and he reaches out, hands pausing a few inches from her shoulders before he drops them back to his sides, not wanting to overstep but also desperate to help her.

"You asked me to hold you that night," he whispers, remembering it well. Similar to now, he'd just wanted to comfort her that night.

She nods jerkily, regaining control of herself at his voice. "Right. I did. And you did. Despite it all, despite you still acting... just trying to get me to get John Morrison his job back. There was nothing insincere about that moment. You held me for so long, I lost track of time, and felt mortified when I pulled back and realized just how much time _had_ passed, but you were _so_ sweet about everything. Walked me back to my office, sat with me in there until the show ended, and made sure I was ok to drive when it was time to leave." She smiles fondly at the memory before looking up at him. "I was close to falling apart again that night but you helped me keep it together, do what needed to be done while we waited for word. I'd never felt safer, and it's a memory that the truth didn't ruin because I could tell it wasn't part of your plan; you weren't pretending or trying to convince me to do anything for you that whole night."

"No," he admits faintly. "I just wanted you to be ok and be around to support you, no matter what was going to happen that night. I'm glad you can look back fondly on something from those days, at least. I never meant to hurt you, I didn't expect it to go this far..."

She presses a finger to his lips. "I know. I understand all of this now, Mike." She takes a breath, looking away from him. "I also realized something else..." She sighs and presses closer to him once more, touch much gentler this time as she grips the back of his head and pulls him down to her level. "The truth of why you did what you did only hurt so much because I... I'm in love you too." Replacing her finger with her lips, she kisses him desperately, swallowing his gasped breaths as he freezes against her. As her hands trail down his sides, he finally wakes up to the reality of what she'd said, what she's doing, and he responds, kissing her back with as much passion, eyes closed so tightly that it hurts because if it's a dream, he doesn't want to know.

"AJ," he mutters against her. "You're so beautiful."

She hesitates mid-kiss, blinking up at him. "And those pants are hideous."

He barks out a laugh, nodding as her hair tickles his skin at the movement. "I agree," he breathes out, relieved that she'd told him her true thoughts about the horrible wrestling gear of Fandango, unlike Rosa who had tried and failed at flirting through exaggerated compliments. He gasps slightly when she pulls away just to leap up into his arms which he instinctively wrap around her hips, holding her in place against him securely as she continues to kiss him, tangling her legs around his midsection. He realizes distantly that they're still in the hallway, where anyone could be watching, and groans. "Your locker room," he mumbles. "Where...?"

"Down this..." She points carelessly over her shoulder, smirking as he slowly heads in that direction, neither of them paying any attention to their surroundings as they continue to make up for lost time, AJ eventually somehow guiding him to her room where he fumbles one-handed for the doorknob before stumbling inside and kicking it shut behind them.

The hallway returns to quiet bustle after that, until... "Hello? ... HEY! Let me out of here! Is anyone OUT THERE?!" Rosa's highpitched screams resume as she slams her fists against the door, desperate to be let out of the dark, empty room. "Miz?! MIZ! See if I dance with you ever again!"

An hour later, Mike watches from the couch in her locker room as AJ slowly pulls herself away from him, leaning down to give him another lingering kiss. "I'll be back," she tells him softly. "I have to deal with some all-important diva business."

"Ok," he murmurs. "I'll be watching... Try not to take too long." She grins down at him, trailing her hands down his chest before finding her title belt and skipping to the door. He sighs, running his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it back down with an unstoppable grin of his own. "Well, this isn't how I expected tonight to go... at all..." He's so happy he can barely focus on the show until AJ's music hits, the champion skipping out onto stage. Her promo is amazing, Mike's eyes wide as she verbally demolishes the six in and around the ring one by one, smoothly ignoring their attempts at interrupting her and plowing through as if they were meaningless little gnats buzzing around her, which he supposes, is close to truth in this moment.

When she finishes, she skips around the ramp and he smirks, enjoying all of this until the show goes back to commercial. When she returns to him, she looks smug and flushed all at once, tenderly resting the title belt back on the table in front of the couch before sitting in his lap once more, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. "How was that?" she whispers, lightly kissing the skin where Rosa had dug her nails during the interview which feels like it'd been a lifetime ago for Miz, though he's aware that it was barely an hour and a half ago.

"That was awesome," he tells her, cupping her jaw and lifting her face until he can look at her. "You're incredible." She smiles up at him before he leans in and kisses her deeply, brushing his fingers through her hair. As she settles in once more against his chest, they watch as the commentators discuss RVD vs Del Rio next, Mike feeling briefly guilty that he'd completely forgotten Ricardo, hoping that the younger man is doing ok before the first match that he'll be involved in directly that pits his former employer with his current client.

"Hey, where's Mike?" Ricardo asks quietly, trying to get ready for the match but unable to fully focus. A lot rides on this match, and he doesn't want to mess up, especially considering it's the first contest he's involved in since the brutal beatdown Alberto had given him three weeks ago.

"I don't know," Alex says. "Off somewhere with Rosa?" The ring announcer looks as comfortable with that assumption as Alex feels, and they shrug at each other.

Ricardo's distraction fades away when RVD returns, something bright red in his hands. "Eh, Rob?" he asks after a moment, staring at his new friend with some curiosity. "What is that?"

RVD grins as he stares down at the fabric in his hands, shaking it out to cover the bench that Ricardo's always present tuxedo is spread across, waiting for him to change into it. "I had an idea," he says. "See, the whole... dress clothes thing might've worked for Del Rio and all, but it's so not my style. I want you to be comfortable... be yourself... while you're helpin' me out, Ricardo, so what do you say? Wanna wear this?" The three of them peer at the bright red RVD shirt, Ricardo tilting his head as he examines the bright yin/yang symbol near the neckline.

He grins. "Si! In fact, I have something that would match..." He digs around in his own bag and pulls out a nearly as bright piece of Zubaz fabric that he wraps around his fist and across his thumb, Alex noting that it'd succeed at drawing extra attention to his hands for the thumb motions. Rob grins too as the ring announcer lifts the shirt and, brushing the white dress shirt away, quickly pulls it on, staring down at it. He had only worn Alberto's shirts a couple of times in the three years they'd worked together, for tag matches and the like, usually content to remain in his tux, represent Del Rio to the best of his ability... This is a fresh change, one that pleases him, although he'd never required this kind of leniency from Alberto, understanding and even enjoying trying to look his best while he'd stood alongside the older man. "Gracias."

RVD grins at him and claps him on the shoulder before looking up sharply, all of them pausing as they watch the recap of what had happened when Del Rio had attacked Ricardo as it airs on TV, the ring announcer's grin immediately slipping. Rob and Alex both look sympathetically at him before Alex mutes the TV, not wanting to hear the sounds of the bucket impacting with the poor man over and over again. Van Dam stands between him and the screen, trying to distract him from the horrible memories as he drapes the dress jacket over his shoulders and smooths it out, grinning when Ricardo, abruptly understanding the purpose behind this, forces his arms into the sleeves, covering up most of the shirt. "Alright, let's get going."

"Si," Ricardo sighs. By the time they get caught by WWE interviewers, he seems more himself, cheerfully answering a few questions with RVD about their new friendship before they continue onto the ring. It's different, introducing Van Dam, but he does his best, following him down to the ring and waiting for Del Rio, who comes out a few moments later. It's during _his_ entrance that Ricardo unbuttons the jacket, tossing it aside to reveal the whole of the RVD shirt he'd been wearing, pointedly motioning to the back of the shirt as Del Rio glowers up at him, saying something that no one can catch over his theme music.

It's weird for the ring announcer, his eyes still instinctively following Del Rio, though he quickly corrects himself as soon as he realizes who he's watching, working at getting the crowd behind RVD to the best of his ability throughout the match. The contest goes back and forth, Ricardo growing more and more anxious with each nearfall, not wanting them to start off on the losing side of things so early in their allegiance. Another two count that came very close to being a victory for Alberto and he starts looking around wildly for something to do- some way to help Rob that wouldn't cause a DQ. It clicks with him when he sees the commentary table, pacing back and forth by the ring apron as his former employer motions for the armbar.

Caring little about much else than helping his new friend and keeping his former employer from managing another success, he scrambles onto the table and begins doing the thumb motions desperately, effectively distracting Del Rio, who points out at him, yelling something at him. Ricardo's impulsive action works, however, as Del Rio turns back to lock that move in on RVD, just for Rob to use his legs to tangle him up in a pinning combination, winning the match as Ricardo leaps back off of the table and races around the ring to join him, relieved.

They laugh at Del Rio's visible anger as he tries to push past a referee holding him back, probably remembering what he'd done to Sin Cara the week before and not wanting a repeat performance, their pleasure at winning this match only growing when Brad Maddox meets them at gorilla, explaining that he'd decided that if RVD had won this match, he'd gain his Night of Champions match against Alberto for the title. RVD releases a breath before clapping Ricardo on the back, grinning. "Well, Ricardo, this little alliance of ours is off to a great start, isn't it?"

The ring announcer nods. "Si, it definitely is. I'm happy for you, Rob."

"Don't go far," Maddox warns them before returning to his office. "HHH wants all of the superstars out for Daniel Bryan vs The Shield in a little bit."

RVD and Ricardo's grins slip a bit as they exchange glances. "Oh. Great..."

They're still standing there when Mike and Alex join them, the group of superstars filling the gorilla area growing by the moment. "Hey, there you are," the younger man greets them, relieved to see that Mike's changed out of Fandango's ridiculous gear and back into his own.

"Yeah, sorry I wasn't around before the match against Del Rio. You alright?" Mike asks, clapping Ricardo on the shoulder. He just barely gets to nod before Maddox appears again, hovering much too close to Mike to all of their displeasure. "What do you want, Maddox?"

"That's Mr. Maddox to you," he snaps back, trying and failing at sounding authoritarian. "I am your general manager after all." He doesn't seem to notice when Mike rolls his eyes at this, barreling right on to the next thing. "Renee Young has been asked to do interviews before the match begins, HHH wants to hear from Dolph Ziggler, Big Show, and you, so the three of you need to be towards the front and in the middle so the world can see, and hear, what you all have to say."

As he walks off, Mike closes his eyes, shaking his head. "Oh, this'll end well." He feels a familiar gaze on him and turns to find AJ staring at him, head tilted as she clings to her title belt. He nods slightly at her, smiling faintly, before turning back to his friends. The match is just about to begin, the group of them waiting for the announcements to begin before filing out, when loud, rough Spanish fills the air and Ricardo tenses next to Mike, all of them immediately aware of what the problem is. Mike turns sharply, watching as Alberto walks by, too close for all of their comfort as Van Dam pushes his ring announcer back, out of the walking path as the World Champion gazes in their direction.

Miz and Rob glower at him warningly as he walks by, his dark eyes shifting from his opponent at Night of Champions to the man who had came close to knocking him out a week earlier, an angry look on his face as he turns away sharply and storms out onto the stage, the rest slowly trickling out after him. Van Dam keeps his hands securely on Ricardo's shoulders, guiding him to the corner furthest away from where Del Rio's standing, close to where Mike has decided to stand, Ziggler nearby and Big Show across the aisle from them, none of them looking necessarily pleased at being singled out like this.

While waiting for the match to begin, Miz spots AJ standing on the opposite side of the ramp, not far from Del Rio. She looks up at that moment and they stare at each other, the girl smiling a little before Renee begins, going from Show, who remains silent, to Ziggler, who also says nothing. She then turns her attention to Miz, who stares down at her when she says that he's outspoken, wondering how he feels about Daniel's situation. He starts to speak but, along with the many hundreds of eyes locked on him, he can feel Ricardo and Alex's anxiety from here, not to mention the intensity of AJ's gaze, which hadn't broken even when Renee joined him. For this reason, he cuts himself off mid-sentence, gritting his teeth until it's painful.

Their hands are all tied as they watch from the ramp as Daniel defeats Seth Rollins, just for Reigns to interrupt his attempts against Dean Ambrose, the match quickly turning into a pure demolition, HHH coming out to stare down Ziggler and Big Show for the duration. When Orton's music hits, however, it goes from bad to worse, the WWE champion getting HHH's approval to storm the ring and add insult to injury by RKOing Daniel yet again before standing over him, title outstretched over his prone form.

Mike grunts in disgust as the show ends, the superstars slowly returning backstage, none of them necessarily thrilled with what they'd just seen, what it hints is to come for all of them with the Helmsley McMahons back on a ridiculous power trip that would put most of the general managers over the years to shame... He's gnawing at his lips, wanting so badly to have been able to say or do something without risking his job- he'd been fired too many times before, repeating it _now_ when so many people are depending on him is the absolutely last thing he wants to do- but to keep his mouth shut, let Daniel Bryan get destroyed like that again had just been so damn demoralizing. He's only taken a few steps when a soft hand slips into his, looking down to find AJ standing by his side, staring up at him. He squeezes her fingers back, suddenly feeling like he can breathe again.

Ricardo looks around curiously as Alex drives from the airport to his apartment, the two of them too tired after the long flight to really say much. Having a few days off before Smackdown, they'd come back to Tampa so Ricardo could unpack and settle in to Alex's apartment, the group of them having shipped Ricardo's things from Morrison's apartment before they'd left California. He's relieved to find the boxes waiting for them, Alex helping to carry them inside and stack them into the bedroom that's to be the ring announcer's from this moment on. "Gracias," he says with a smile as they drop the last two boxes inside, stepping back to examine their handiwork.

"No problem, man. I know the room's not huge or anything, like what you had back at Del Rio's, but do you think you'll be ok in here?"

Ricardo looks surprised for a moment before nodding vehemently, feeling a little bad that Alex had been thinking perhaps the room wouldn't be good enough for him in comparison to Del Rio's large grounds and house. "Si, it's perfect, Alex. I had an apartment similar to this one before Alberto hired me, so I'll be more than fine."

"Great," Alex says, looking relieved. "Do you need any help unpacking?"

The ring announcer looks around the room at his few bags and boxes before shaking his head, smiling. "No, gracias, Alex. I think I can manage on my own."

"Alright," he says, clapping Ricardo on the back as he stands. "Call if you need anything, I have to sort through mail and all of that fun stuff..." He smiles before leaving the room, quickly getting lost in trying to catch up on all of his responsibilities that had built up during the weeks he'd spent in California, busy with WWE and everything going on with Miz and Ricardo. When he finally finds himself at the other side, most of his bills now paid, calls returned, and other business handled, he's surprised to find that the sun's set and he's starving. "Damn," he mumbles, blinking in surprise at the clock.

Getting up from the table and stretching as his back and neck pops in protest of the lengthy period he'd spent not moving, he sighs and ventures back to the bedrooms, knocking on Ricardo's partially open door. "Hey, man, are you hungry-?" he starts to ask, pushing the door the rest of the way open just to come to a sudden stop as he finds his new roommate sitting glumly on the end of his bed, staring down at his iPad. Merch shirts are scattered along Ricardo's bed, as if he'd been examining them, and Alex is startled to find the Viva Del Rio! and RVD shirts laying side by side. "What's wrong?"

Ricardo blinks a few times before handing the device up to him, watching as he reads the interview on the page, mouthing some of it while sitting down next to the ring announcer. "Alberto- he took this interview Summerslam week," he whispers. "It says he's certain that I, his friend, would find a new role in the business soon. Two days later, I aligned myself with Rob." He glances over his shoulder at the shirts and grimaces, tears welling up in his eyes. "He still considered me his friend...?"

Alex closes his eyes, quickly pressing the button to make the tablet go dark before leaning closer to Ricardo, rubbing circles in his shoulders. "Hey, man. I know a part of you is still conflicted, may be for a long time to come, but I saw your face when WWE replayed the clips of him beating you down earlier. Those aren't the actions of a friend, alright? What he did that night was unnecessarily cruel. You didn't deserve that. And perhaps when he took this interview, you working alongside one of his enemies wasn't what he expected, but did he really think you would take that kind of thing laying down? After all that you've done for him, for him to repay your loyalty like that... I think Mike and I would've been more worried if you _hadn't_ wanted some kind of revenge against him."

Ricardo releases a pained breath, still staring at the two shirts side by side. "I know how his mind works," he mutters. "You saw it in the interview. He thinks it's just... business, firing me by beating me up to that extent, that it wasn't personal. But it was three years of my life that he kicked away like it was nothing, with no warning, or... or anything." He stares at his trembling hands. "I'm not wrong here, am I? You don't think I'm overdoing it, by... by going after what I know he values above everything else? His title?"

Alex slowly shakes his head. "Ricardo, you know the only person other than Del Rio who has said you're a traitor by these actions? JBL. I think that says it all. Mike and I are on your side, as are a number of other people. Why do you think Rob so easily agreed to help you?" He smiles at the ring announcer as he slowly calms down, nodding a little. "Now come on, let's put this behind us for now and get something to eat. I lost track of time while working on stuff, I bet you did too."

"Si, I did," Ricardo admits, staring at the clock in shock. As they walk side by side to the kitchen, Alex wraps an arm around the younger man's shoulders and smiles. "I'm going to be ok." It seems almost experimental, the ring announcer saying those words, and he looks pleasantly surprised when he realizes that he actually means them.

"Damn straight you're gonna be," Alex agrees quietly.


	173. chapter 173

Miz is preparing to travel on to Las Vegas for Main Event when he receives another of those dreaded emails. "This is to notify you you're not needed for Main Event, but HHH has requested an edition of MizTV to begin Friday Night Smackdown. We'll see you then," he reads aloud, frowning at the screen. "What the-?" He'd commentated pretty much every episode of Main Event since its inception, only missing one here or there for overseas tours or when he'd actually wrestled on it, so this makes no sense to him. He narrows his eyes as he continues to drive to the city, trying to accept that he won't have anything to do the next couple of days, his inate need to be busy all of the time vehemently opposed to this.

Only a few of them are usually needed for Main Event, so most of the others are off doing their own thing- Ricardo and Alex in Florida, and AJ in New Jersey. It had sucked to say goodbye to her at the airport, Mike not wanting to let her out of his sight so soon, but he'd been comforted by the thought that he'd stay busy preparing for commentary, and then sight see a bit until she arrived for Smackdown. Now he has no idea what to do... until there's a knock on his hotel door, his eyebrows lifting towards his hairline as a keycard is entered into the slot. Knowing it could only be one person, he stands as Alex Riley enters the room, his smile a little forced and a _lot_ sheepish. "Kid? What are you doing here?" he asks, blinking in surprise. "I thought you were going to stay in Florida a few days, help Ricardo settle in."

"That was the plan," he admits, settling his bags down. "But... um, I received an email this morning..." He swallows, looking anxious. "Um, don't get mad, Mike, but they asked me to do commentary for Main Event."

Mike stares at him, this not really registering with him for long, tense moments. "What?" he finally asks dumbly, eyes wide in his face as he tries to digest this. "They... but..." Alex winces and walks up to him, squeezing his shoulder sympathetically as he sinks onto the bed. "I don't get this. I've done it for months now and... I mean, no offense Alex, but they- they asked you to do it instead? Why?"

He sinks down next to his former mentor, sighing. "I think... considering everything, it's probably HHH's way of punishing you. You did come _really_ close to speaking out against him on Monday. More so than Ziggler or Show..."

Mike groans, scrubbing at his face as he remembers the mysterious part of that email about there being an edition of MizTV scheduled for Smackdown this week. "Of course... of _course... Dammit!"_ he snaps, kicking at the bedside table so viciously that it tips and rattles, only just falling back onto all four legs after a few seconds of gravity trying to send it toppling to the ground.

"Hey," Alex whispers, nudging him. "Hopefully it'll just be for this week, huh? He'll get distracted by other things and you'll be back where you belong next Wednesday."

"Hopefully," he echoes on a sigh. "Whatever. How's Ricardo doing?" They discuss the ring announcer for a while, raiding the minibar in the process, until Alex has to go to the arena a couple hours later. "See you," Miz tells him, working his way through a box of Junior Mints.

"Bye," he says, visibly feeling poorly about having to leave the other man behind while going to do what's essentially his job.

"Hey, Alex?" Mike calls before he's out the door, smirking a bit when his former NXT rookie peers back in at him. "Don't worry about me, have a blast out there, yeah?" This puts a grin on Alex's face and he nods, shutting the door behind him. Mike sighs and picks at his nails, grimacing. He's well aware of how much A-Ri enjoys commentary and he hadn't wanted to rain on the younger man's parade but he misses sitting out at that table already.

Nonetheless, he turns the TV on when it's time and watches as Main Event starts, Alex grinning next to Josh Mathews. The show's relatively standard, Mike not interested in much until Kofi Kingston comes out to wrestle Fandango. He watches this a little closer, smirking as Alex and Josh discuss what he had done on Raw to the dancer. He has no problem with Alex on commentary until the kid compares John Morrison to Fandango, Mike's eye twitching as he considers that. "Hell no," he mutters, grimacing. "There is just _no_ way."

He's laying in wait when Alex returns, looking almost nervous as he enters the hotel room, staring at his friend. "So did you watch, Mike? How did I do?"

Mike sneers, sitting up on his bed as Alex sits across from him, waiting anxiously for his verdict. "I'd have given you an A+ until the last ten minutes or so. Did you _really_ compare Morrison to Fandango? Really?"

Alex winces. "Um, don't tell him I said that?" he offers sheepishly.

"Oh, no, I think he deserves to know," Miz says, smirking. "Don't you? Hey, John, Alex thinks Fandango is the new you."

"I didn't say _that!_ " Alex sputters, looking horrified. "Mike!"

Miz laughs loudly, it turning quickly into a cough as Alex smacks him in the midsection with a pillow, winding him. "Dammit kid!" he snaps, grabbing a pillow of his own and whacking A-Ri in the face with it. They continue on for nearly five minutes until Mike's pillow all but disintegrates in his hands, both men freezing as they stare at each other.

Both begin to crack up. "Ok, I think we should stop here before neither of us have any pillows left to sleep on," Alex says once they can breathe again.

"Yeah, I guess. Truce?"

"Truce," he agrees with a smile, vowing never to compare Morrison to another superstar again- at least within hearing range of Miz.

Unfortunately, Friday goes badly. Mike had had nagging uncertainty about the whole MizTV as urged by HHH, but he'd been determined to go in, do his job. The only true plus about the whole situation is AJ arrives early in the day, her eyes lighting up when she finds him waiting outside of her locker room, the two immediately drawn together. "Hi," he greets her, brushing some of the hair out of her face as she leaves Big E back in the shadows of the hallway, leaning up to kiss him. He runs his hands down her arm, smirking softly against her lips until she pulls away, eyes gleaming.

"Hi." They stand there, still not fully believing that things had finally worked out, that they're here, like this, now. After so long, so many painful twists in the past year, neither had thought it was possible... but what do you know, give them a couple of weeks in California, and everything shakes out in the best way. She rests a hand on his merch shirt, examining the wording on it before sighing. "I don't think they have anything scheduled for me tonight, probably scared of what I'd say after Monday..."

"Seems to be a lot of that going on lately," he murmurs, unable to stop touching her as his fingers graze the side of her face. "You're here anyway? Not that I'm sorry to see you or anything," he adds quickly, not wanting to further her self-confidence issues, "but you know, you could've stayed at home... got some rest... had some fun..."

She smirks at him, stroking the small scar on his brow from where Kofi Kingston had landed a brutal kick months back. "No," she says softly. "I really just wanted to see you. So I'm here." Her fingers trail lower, brushing against his lips, and she grins when he leans into her touch slightly, eyes dark and fixed. "What are you doing tonight, anyway?"

He closes his eyes for a moment, not wanting to risk discussing this where anyone could be listening. "Come on," he says, taking her by the hand and leading her into her locker room, sneering when Big E glowers over at him as he shuts the door behind them. Leading her over to the couch, he sits down and waits as she curls up next to him, both of them pausing again at the realization of just how well she fits against him. _Why did it have to take us so long to get here?_ he thinks soberly, brushing his fingers through her hair again, unable to stop touching her. "I received an email a couple days ago, HHH wants me to do an edition of MizTV with Dolph and Big Show on it." Her fingers freeze against where they're trailing circles against his chest and he sighs, pressing a faint kiss to the side of her head. "I think he wants to use it to get more ammunition against us all. Especially after Monday."

She pulls away from him and shakes her head, skin pale and eyes wide. "No, no, Mike- I know you have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this whole situation, but you can't- you can't get yourself fired now...not after everything, please. I can't lose you now." She kisses him, her every movement fueled by desperation, and he grips the back of her head, kissing her back just as intensely.

"Hey, hey," he finally whispers, pulling away from her. "Look, I've been fired before, ok? I always find a way back in. I'm crafty like that. But you need to trust me." He pulls her in for another kiss, leaning his forehead against hers after a few moments. "I will do everything in my power to _not_ get fired, yeah? I have too many people here who care about and need me to just up and ditch them when everything's so up in the air... and besides." He taps her nose gently, watching her eyes flutter. "Even if I was out of the WWE, you'd not get rid of me that easily. We would find a way. After everything, you think I'd let you go, now that I finally have you?"

She looks like she's about to cry, lunging forward and kissing him again. "You'd better not," she groans against his mouth as his hands splay against her lower back, holding her in place.

Leaving her behind in her locker room is the hardest thing he's ever had to do, but he knows he's to start the show off so he has no choice, uncomfortably aware that HHH is actually here tonight, his sharp gaze following Mike all the way out to the ring.

Inviting Big Show and Ziggler to the ring, he makes weak attempts at getting them to talk, relieved when Big Show only half-heartedly says that Monday was one of the hardest things he's ever had to watch, shaking his head futilely. They'd been tag partners a long time ago, so to see him so shaken is weird, leaves Miz unsettled more than anything else this past week had. He tries to turn his attention to Ziggler, sneering internally at the thought of actually wanting to hear what the man has to say after months of just wanting the man to shut up, but the Showoff only suggests they let Big Show finish his thought, Mike growing more and more uncomfortable with the tense silence of his guests.

It grows worse however, when he starts to say that he's outspoken, familiar music hitting and grinding the already slow proceedings to an utter halt as HHH comes out. He hesitantly requests to ask H a question, but immediately gets shut down, adding to his annoyance. HHH tries to continue his rhetoric from the week prior that it's just business, not personal, but Mike doesn't believe him, the two behind him aren't buying it, and the crowd definitely doesn't understand as he says again that Orton is the future of the WWE.

HHH's uncomfortably truthful comments about him and the WWE title adds to his annoyance, it taking everything in Mike to stay quiet, his lips so thin that it's almost painful. When H says he's going to give Mike a chance against Orton tonight, the Most Must See superstar grows slightly intrigued at the prospects- until it becomes clear that it will be far from a fair fight when H sticks Dolph in a match against the Shield again and puts Big Show at ringside to do nothing but sit and watch the proceedings. It only grows worse when he tells Mike his match is now, leaving him no time truly to prepare as his opponent comes out.

Despite the lack of warning, he doesn't give up, fighting back as well as he can, until he truly starts to gain the advantage, hitting a clothesline on Orton in the corner. The WWE champion volleys briefly but Miz wiggles free from the ropes and regains his footing, slinging Randy over the top rope clear to the floor below... just for SIERRA HOTEL INDIA ECHO LIMA DELTA to echo through the arena, his growing momentum shrieking to a stop as he watches on, lips parting worriedly while the three men who'd been feared by most in the WWE for almost a year now makes their way down to the ring. Thankfully, they don't actually try to enter the ring, but the distraction had been enough, Orton quickly taking advantage back. Before Mike can wrap his head around having to compete the rest of this match with those three men standing guard at the ramp, he finds himself outside of the ring, Orton taking pleasure in returning the favor of slinging him over the top rope where he falls between the Shield members.

They still don't touch him, merely watching as Orton continues to beat him down. They return to the ring and Miz finds another burst of energy, targetting Orton's leg enough to even succeed at getting the Figure Four locked in, but the WWE champion finds his way to the ropes and he has no choice but to break the hold. It ends quickly from there, Orton leaving the ring for a brief breather before slipping back in and hitting an RKO that leaves Miz vulnerable to the pin. He stares up at the lights, dazed and breathless at how quickly it'd all gone down, when he feels the ring shaking, The Shield appearing over him and beginning to beat him down. He tries to curl in on himself, defend himself as best as he can, trying to focus on AJ waiting for him backstage, figure out a way out of this, his eyes locking briefly on a helpless Big Show- when Daniel Bryan's music hits and The Shield and Orton scatter, the bearded man hitting the ring with a steel chair and equally as steely determination.

Miz rolls out of the ring with a groan, not wanting to get caught up in that, hitting the floor bonelessly. Big Show joins him immediately, large hand on his sweaty shoulder. "Hey, man, are you ok?"

"Yeah," he grunts, trying to shake the cobwebs loose. "Ow." He's never been more relieved for Daniel Bryan in all of his life, well aware of just how badly The Shield beatdown could've ended up if given anymore time. He's sore enough already as it is. He guesses that the four men leave pretty quickly because a minute later, Daniel joins them, steel chair still at the ready. Blinking at him, Mike struggles to sit up, Show assisting him. "They gone?"

"Yes," he says unironically, leaning the chair against the apron to lean down by him. "You alright?"

"I'll live. I just- I need to get out of here," he mumbles, wanting nothing more than to see AJ right now, assure her he's fine. Big Show pulls him to his feet like he weighs nothing, Miz thanking him once his head stops spinning from the rapid change in position.

"I'd help you backstage, but as you know," the giant says, his eyes glum and weary, "I've been ordered to remain at ringside. Daniel, can you...?"

The two men stare at each other, their longterm issues stemming from NXT still there under the surface, but Daniel ultimately nods. "Sure, I can help him backstage." Big Show nods in relief before dragging Miz's arm around the shorter man's shoulders, making sure they're somewhat sturdy before stepping back and returning to his chair, Daniel steadfastly easing Mike backstage.

He swallows when Daniel tries to walk right past an obviously waiting AJ Lee, shaking his head. "Wait, no- wait." He breaks free and almost loses his balance, Bryan just grabbing him before his knees completely buckle. "AJ-"

Daniel looks from her to him and back, rolling his eyes. "Oh, what, _you_ two are together now?" He snorts and laughs derisively, Mike suddenly wanting to kick his ass... if he wasn't currently stuck using him as a crutch... but he slowly sobers up, having much bigger things to worry about than his ex's latest romantic entanglements. "Well, have fun with that," he spits, gingerly sliding Mike's arm off of him and transferring him to the Divas champion's care.

"Jackass," Mike grunts once he's out of hearing, resting his head on top of AJ's. "I'm ok," he promises her as she looks up at him, eyes shining with worry. "Just need to check in with the trainer. Alright?" She nods and begins to walk him in that direction, Mike forcing himself to take back some of his weight, reminded yet again of just how petite AJ really is as she struggles without complaint to keep him upright.

The trainer, however, checks him over thoroughly, not wanting to miss anything just in case. He'd already had to deal with a fair few injuries that had thankfully been minor thanks to The Shield, Orton and HHH, but he doesn't want things to spiral out of control just in case. AJ is still pressed against his side on a cot while they wait for the trainer to come out and release him when Ricardo comes out to introduce RVD for his match against Damien Sandow, Mike smiling a little at the flourishes to the announcing that the younger man has included. They watch together as RVD defeats Sandow within a few minutes, Ricardo entering the ring to congratulate the other man, when Del Rio's theme music hits.

Mike closes his eyes as Alberto immediately begins insulting Ricardo, calling him a traitor and select other things in Spanish that makes AJ whistle in surprise next to him, and although the ring announcer seems more angry than sad, Mike has no doubt that underneath it all, he's smarting, though he'd never allow his former employer to see it. As soon as the trainer gives him the all clear, he stands from the cot and wraps his fingers around AJ's hand, tugging her upright. "Come on, let's go." He smiles at her. "Ready to meet my friends?"

She tilts her head, pursing her lips at him. He leans in and softly kisses her, grinning as she sighs, leaning into him. "If they act like Daniel did-"

He shakes his head. "No, I promise. They won't, AJ." He squeezes her hand gently, tangling their fingers together. "They know how much this means to me- how much _you_ mean to me." She stares up at him, a surprised, beautiful smile taking over her lips. "Yeah, um. So ready?" She nods and he leads her down the hallway to the main locker room, pausing only long enough to look inside and make sure everyone is mostly decent before he welcomes her inside, ignoring some of the scandalized glances thrown his way as a few of the superstars quickly get out of dodge, remembering all too well what happened the _last_ time AJ Lee had found her way into the male locker room.

Ricardo, Alex and RVD are in the corner of the room, the ring announcer merely nodding now and again at whatever the three of them are talking about, Alex looking intently at him as RVD stretches between two benches, the very sight of it first hand making Miz's legs hurt. "You're right," he says as Mike and AJ join them. "I know, it's just- a part of me is still adjusting. But I know I'm not a traitor, no matter what he claims."

Miz winces, wishing that he'd been able to help in _that_ particular conversation, but the conclusion they'd reached without him seems promising anyway so he softly clears his throat, grinning when all three of them look up, Alex's eyes widening almost comically as he catches sight of AJ. Ricardo merely grins, as if he'd suspected such a thing, and RVD only blinks at them before changing his stance slightly, leaning forward. "Hey, guys."

"Hello," Alex finally manages, eyes locked on AJ as she grips Mike's hand tighter. "Um, Mike-? You know AJ's behind you, right?"

It takes everything in Mike not to roll his eyes, or swat his former protege upside the head, but ultimately, he finds the patience just to nod. "Yes, Alex, I know AJ's behind me." He tugs her forward to stand next to him and wraps an arm around her, staring at them warningly, unsure how they're going to respond to the news, considering her track record, the things they'd done to each other, the weird foundation this relationship was being built on. "We're together now."

"Oh," Alex all but squeaks as Ricardo grins up at him, still seeming unsurprised.

RVD is the first to actually speak a whole sentence. Well, sort of. "Congrats!" he calls from his twisted up position, AJ grimacing as she takes in how painful his stretches really look first hand.

Ricardo chuckles softly before standing. "I figured, since we hadn't seen much of you since Monday... I'm happy for you both," he says, smiling at them.

"Thanks, man," Mike breathes, grinning at the ring announcer, remembering how he had perhaps been the first one Mike had really talked to about her in depth when Big Show had knocked him out all of those months ago, reflecting on how oddly fast things can change in this business. He then turns his attention to Alex, wondering how he's going to respond, _if_ he's going to as he continues to stare at the girl, lips parted in lingering shock. "Shut your mouth, Alex, flies may get in," he deadpans, growing weary of the unending silence that's only adding to AJ's discomfort.

"Maybe this was a bad idea," she mumbles, trying to pull away and leave. Mike clings to her, however, eyes locked on Alex as something finally clicks with his former rookie.

"I- I, _wow._ " He shakes his head, making it quickly to his feet. "Sorry, I just- wasn't sure this would ever-" Cutting himself off again, he surges forward and hugs Mike tightly. "Long time coming, huh?" he mutters against him, grinning widely. When he pulls away, he turns to AJ, who backs up a bit, overwhelmed by his sudden reaction. He calms down then, though the grin remains. "I'm glad it all worked out," he finally says warmly, clapping Mike on the shoulder. "You have a good guy here."

"I know," she says, flushing prettily as Miz smiles down at her, his blue eyes intent in a way that makes her knees weak. "Thank you." She glances at the men before her, brows furrowing as she takes in Mike's friends for real, seeing that underneath their individual quirks, they truly care for him, are happy for his happiness. She can't remember the last time any of her so-called friends had ever felt like that for her, not when she'd thought she was happy with Daniel or Dolph, not when she'd won the divas' title...

Something clicks within her, leaving her a bit breathless. _I guess this is what true friendship looks like._ She glances at him with a smile, remembering how dedicated he'd been to getting John his job back, the memories no longer as jagged and painful. After all, they had led her here, to this moment. _And it goes both ways._ She smiles as he wraps an arm around her, holding her close as he talks with his friends. _If he's that loyal to his friends and them to him, I can only imagine..._ She rests against him, feeling secure for perhaps the first time in her whole life.

That Monday, Mike stands outside of AJ's locker room, waiting patiently for her to answer her door. As soon as she does, he smirks at her. "Well, lemme see." Her lips twitching, she turns slowly and he carefully collects her hair, holding it away from her neck with one hand and looking down at the lines marking the date that she'd won the Divas title. It's unique, he must say, and strangely suits the girl, his warm fingers ghosting against the black ink marking her skin. As she shudders at his touch, he leans down and presses kisses against the still sensitive area, sighing when she turns to look at him, eyes hooded. "I like it," he whispers, gently freeing her hair from his hold and watching as it cascades back across her shoulders and down her back.

She leans up and kisses him, breathing a soft thanks against his lips before pulling away. "So you're up next, right?" He nods and she takes his hand, walking him to the gorilla before his match with Fandango, pressing a hand to his lips when he leans down to kiss her before ducking out for his match, a smirk on her face that causes him to shiver. "No Rosa this week, it's a big improvement," she tells him quietly, trailing a finger down his cheek.

He blinks a few minutes, distracted by the warmth of her against his face, before pressing a kiss to their tips. "We've already deduced from now on I'm only going to have one dance partner, and that's you," he tells her with a soft smile, grinning when she moves her hand to pull him closer to her, their bodies flush as she presses lengthy kisses against his mouth, sighing when he pulls away reluctantly, the beginning of his theme music vibrating through them. "I gotta go," he tells her. "You gonna wait here for me?"

She tilts her head, poking her lip thoughtfully. "Maaaaaaaaybe," she comments carelessly, eyes twinkling as he huffs and kisses her again. As he walks through the curtain, she watches him go with a small smile before finding the nearest monitor and sitting as close to it as she can, eyes locked on her man as he competes very well against Fandango, not even distracted to the extent they were obviously hoping when Summer Rae attempts to cost him the match a few times, even slapping him. A low drop kick eventually leaves Fandango with a broken nose, AJ unable to help the evil smirk that forms at this.

He ultimately wins after Fandango injures his leg, allowing Mike to twist him up in the Figure Four Leg Lock, Fandango quickly tapping out to it, writhing out of the ring alternating between holding his leg and his nose. Miz feels vindicated further for all of Fandango's interruptions over the past few weeks, all but dancing back up the ramp, face lighting up even more when AJ greets him at the curtain. He laughs as she skips over to him, tilting her head when he holds his hand out to her, stopping her short. As she meets him half way, squeezing his fingers between her own, he spins her the rest of the way over to him, causing her to gasp as he wraps his arms around her and, pulling her against his chest, sways slightly, laughing.

She chuckles and grips his arms, pulling back to look at him. "You're pretty happy."

"Of course," he murmurs to her. "I have you, Fandango keeps failing against me... life's pretty good, considering..." _Considering it was the exact opposite a few weeks ago,_ he thinks, shaking his head to keep from thinking too heavily of those days. She smiles and leans up, kissing him in agreement. "Mind hanging out with the guys a little bit? You don't have anything going on for awhile, right?" He feels like he hasn't seen a lot of his friends lately, still wrapped up in the freshness of his relationship with AJ, and he feels like a crappy friend, despite their apparent understanding of the situation, so when she nods and folds her fingers back in his palm, he can't help but feel very relieved. "Great, c'mon, let's go find 'em."

They're not far from catering this time around, which is a relief to Mike, who doesn't want AJ to have to endure more side eyeing from the male superstars in the locker room, RVD and Ricardo talking as the much more limber man stretches and the ring announcer attempts to repeat his actions, only making it part way. When he sees Miz, he stops, laughing sheepishly as he shakes his leg out and walks over to him. "Hey, Mike. AJ," he greets the girl simply.

She stares at him, looking somewhat surprised that he's talking to her, after their rocky history. "Hello."

"How's it going?" Mike asks him, lips twitching as he watches Rob continue to easily contort his body while stretching. "Damn," he mutters, shaking his head as Ricardo chuckles. Alex joins them after a few minutes, grin looking a little tense on his face as he claps Mike on the shoulder. "Hey, kid."

"Hey," he says, licking his lips. "Can I... talk to you for a second?"

"Sure," he says, blinking in surprise before turning to AJ. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Ok," she says, frowning as she stands awkwardly next to Ricardo, glancing over at Mike as he follows his former rookie to a more quieter part of the hallway.

"HHH came to talk to me," Alex tells him simply once they've stopped walking, crossing his arms over his chest wearily. "It looks like they want me to do Main Event commentary again this week."

Unlike the time before, Mike doesn't feel all that surprised. "I see. When H gets a vendetta going, he really is dedicated to it, isn't he?" he asks with a sigh. Noticing how uncomfortable A-Ri still looks, he claps him on the shoulder, squeezing his arm. "I'm not mad at you, kid. It's not like you asked for this. Relax."

"Alright," he says. "I just don't want this to come between us. Not after everything."

"It won't. I have plenty of problems with this situation, but none of it's your fault. Now come on, my girlfriend is looking lonely," Mike urges, opting not to dwell on it for too long. He smiles at being able to call AJ that, finally, walking back over to her and pulling her back against him. "Hi."

She squeezes his midsection, smiling up at him. "Hey." The four of them hang around, talking about this or that while they watch the show on the nearby monitors, things growing more and more solemn as Cody Rhodes wrestles Randy Orton for the chance to keep his job, and loses, immediately being fired by HHH. AJ swallows thickly and clings to Mike tighter, remembering how both Raw and Smackdown the week prior had scared her, it all only more horrible now after seeing it firsthand, and imagining how Cody's fiance must feel, leaving her more than a little breathless and tense.

He senses it and rubs soothing circles against her shoulders and back, leaning over to look at her. "That won't be us, ok? I told you, I'm not going anywhere for a long time to come." She smiles warily at him and he kisses her softly, brushing his fingers through her hair and down her neck, reflecting on the barely visible tattoo that adorns her skin now. "I love you."

"I love you too," she murmurs, running her own fingers through his hair. When a triple threat number one contendership match for her Divas title begins awhile later, she slowly pulls away from Mike and kisses him once more. "I requested to do commentary during this match. I'll be back soon." He nods and watches as she skips away, glancing over at RVD who is now meditating during his stretches, Ricardo who is watching the monitor alongside him, and Alex who is barely paying attention while eating a bowl of ice cream from catering, looking unabashed.

The match, however, doesn't last too long when AJ gets off of the commentary desk and rushes the ring, attacking anyone who moves, when the divas on the outside of the ring enter and she begins getting manhandled by all of the woman at once, left laying by the catty group, mocking her as they leave. Mike winces, growing worried when she barely moves, the referee trying to help her. It takes a few minutes and he bites his lip as the group of still bickering women make their way down the hallway, walking quickly to gorilla as the referee eases AJ past the curtain. "Allow me," Mike tells him tensely, scooping the girl up into his arms and smiling when she instinctively clings to his neck and buries her face against his throat. "It's ok, AJ, I gotcha. You're safe now, sweetheart." He nods briskly at the referee before walking her back to the trainer's office, settling her in on the cot indicated by the man and sitting next to her as he begins to examine her.

He remains worried until she grows more aware, able to answer the trainer's questions somewhat sensibly, groaning faintly as he prods at her. Upon finishing with the examination, the trainer moves away and pulls his gloves off, looking up as Mike immediately joins him, his lips thin and pale. "How is she?"

"She's sore, and a little out of it, but I think she'll be ok. She should tell me if she starts to feel worse, or something seems wrong, though."

Mike nods, thanking him quietly, before returning to her side. As she blinks up at him, he lifts her upperbody gently and scoots in next to her on the thin cot, holding her close. "I'm sorry," he tells her softly, pressing a careful kiss to her temple. She folds their hands together and lays there quietly, resting against him as they watch RVD vs Sandow end in another win for the highflyer, despite Del Rio's dark gaze from the top of the ramp watching everything closely, Ricardo somehow succeeding at keeping his attention on the match in the ring and not focusing on his former employer as he cheers on his current to victory.

When the three divas who were part of the triple threat match is shown in Stephanie McMahon's office, the woman sanctioning a fatal fourway at Night of Champions for AJ's title, Mike stares down at her worriedly as she hisses out a strained breath, fingers fumbling around. He quickly guesses and finds her title on a nearby table, left there by the referee apparently, and quickly lays it in her arms, watching as she clings to it. "No," she mumbles, unfortunately aware that it's going to be a huge challenge to walk away the victor at the pay per view, swallowing.

This being determined so quickly after she'd gotten the tattoo proving how important the title is to her seems cruel to Mike, but he has no doubts that if anyone can pull out a victory, it'd be the girl in his arms. He's still laying there, quietly trying to soothe her, when Brad Maddox comes around, once more trying to round up various superstars and divas to stand at the ramp and watch Daniel Bryan vs Big Show. Mike groans faintly, reluctantly pulling away from her again. "I'll be back in a little bit," he whispers, softly kissing her.

The match is what they expect, Show doesn't want to fight Daniel, but he has his pride and insists until he angers the much larger man, finally Big Show trying to leave just for H and Stephanie to drag him back, Shield brutalizing Daniel when he refuses to. Finally Big Show does as H requests and reels back, punching Bryan solidly and downing him, the larger man once more looking devastated at being forced into such actions. It's a grim, disgusted Miz who makes his way back to the trainer's office after Orton stands smugly over the smaller man and finds AJ sitting up, staring at him. "Hey. How do you feel?"

She shrugs. "More than ready to get out of here," she admits tiredly, pulling herself off of the cot and wavering slightly until he steadies her. "Thanks." After he collects her things from her locker room and ducks into the male locker room long enough to get his own, they walk side by side to the parking lot and he stops, brushing the hair out of her eyes and looking down at her. "What is it?" she whispers, unable to look away from his intent eyes.

"It kind of scared me when you were so out of it earlier," he admits, kissing her palm until she giggles at the ticklish sensation. "I don't want you alone tonight... Come back to my hotel room." She looks startled but he smiles, continuing to trace her skin with his lips and teeth. "I'm rooming with Alex, but he'll understand, I just want to make sure you're ok. Please?"

She swallows and finally nods, releasing a soft breath. "Alright, Mike. I'd like that." He grins down at her and pulls her into his arms, closing his eyes against the memory of her so still, so quiet in his arms earlier, the fear that he'd been drowning in as he carried her back to the trainer's office.

Alex wakes up early the next morning, yawning quietly as the sun brushes over his face and directly into his eyes, causing him to moan in disgust when he sees the hour. "Damn," he breathes, standing up and wandering over to the bathroom. He pauses when his foot gets tangled up in something on the floor and he looks down, blinking sleepily before he collects the sheets pooling off of the other bed, turning to look at Mike and AJ, the girl sprawled out across his former NXT mentor, both of them deeply asleep, looking more peaceful than he'd ever seen either of them. "Huh," he whispers, lips twitching up into a smile before he shakes the sheets back out on top of them, relieved when neither stir as he continues on to the bathroom for his morning shower before traveling to where Main Event will be held. He feels bad for leaving Ricardo to adjust to his new living situation alone the last couple of weeks, but it's out of his hands, as are many things in this business for a lot of people currently.

Back in the main room, Mike stirs as his phone beeps shrilly, drawing him out of the comfortable, warm sleep he was lost in, his blue eyes blinking sluggishly as he stares down at AJ, who's only moved to bury herself further in his arms. He smiles, lifting one arm carefully to scoop his phone up and bring it over to stare at it. _Email from: WWE_ , he reads off with a derisive smirk. _What a shock, no one else would dare to email at this hour..._ Sighing, he opens it up and mouths the words on the screen quietly before putting the device carefully down on the bed, wrapping his arms more tightly around AJ. "Of course, who doesn't want to go last minute on a fourteen hour flight to Abu Dhabi for media?" he mutters, closing his eyes as he realizes this means he'll not be in the country for Main Event (which he had admittedly expected to not be involved in) or Smackdown, and thus lose even more time with AJ. "Dammit," he sighs, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as she sleeps on, already missing her.

But as he watches her, he's relieved that at least one of them is able to get a decent amount of sleep, especially considering how worried he knows she is after last night, with the fatal fourway looming over her head.


	174. chapter 174

With Mike off in Abu Dhabi, Alex finds himself once more behind the commentary desk at Main Event, struggling to toe the line between speaking his mind, trying to be entertaining for the people watching at home, and not going too far and getting in trouble with HHH or any of the other McMahons, feeling the stress of the backstage politics as much as the next person. When the hour finally comes to an end, he breathes a little easier, running through his check off list. _Spoke carefully about this situation as much as Josh would allow me,_ he thinks. _And didn't compare Morrison to Fandango or anyone else who would annoy Mike. I guess I can claim it as a success then._

He shakes hands with Josh before making his way backstage to collect his things and return to the hotel, where he hangs out until Smackdown, only leaving now and again for food and some fresh air when his thoughts about what all's been going on with Mike and Daniel Bryan and Cody Rhodes and everything else get too heavy to handle. With Mike not there, he's once again reminded of just how much he hates the silence of not having his best friend alongside him. At least with it being Friday now, RVD and Ricardo will be arriving shortly and, since it had seemed ridiculous for them to be in separate rooms, the three of them would be sharing a room. He looks forward to having some company, even if it means he gets stuck staring on in horrified awe as the highflyer contorts his body yet again.

But when he finally sees Ricardo and RVD, it's not in such happy surroundings, the three men standing tensely on the top of the ramp along with the rest of the other superstars, Alex swallowing as Ricardo looks nervously over at him. His only relief is that Miz isn't here tonight to get in any more trouble, but RVD looks calm, focused, as HHH begins to talk about Monday and what's best for business and all that had happened with Cody. He tries to target Alicia Fox, who meekly shakes her head and attempts to hide from him, which isn't easy considering she's one of the tallest divas in the WWE currently. Alex feels for her, but eventually a few others speak up and then- RVD himself comes up to the mic, Alex's lips parting in worry as Ricardo stands anxiously next to him.

A-Ri isn't sure what exactly RVD says throughout, the buzzing in his ears too loud to hear through as he nervously glances around, his eyes falling, for whatever reason, on Del Rio, who is standing a bit ahead of him, his hands tense on his title belt as he glares over at his former ring announcer and his opponent at Night of Champions. He blinks a time or two, thinking that the older man looks less angry and more... concerned? but then HHH begins talking again, making matches for later that evening, and he puts RVD in a match against... the so-called Face of the WWE, the WWE champion, Randy Orton, next.

Alex swallows and starts to follow the others back, pausing only long enough to clap Ricardo on the shoulder as they go different directions, the ring announcer smiling weakly at his roommate, trying not to let his still-lingering anxiety show, though Riley can see it easily. He sighs and finds the nearest monitor, having a strange feeling about all of this. His worry is proven when Del Rio remains at ringside, going to the table to do commentary during the match. "Oh hell," he mutters. The Mexican aristocrat's commentary is brutal, rude, calling Ricardo a thief and many other things that makes Alex want to reach over to the production table not far from where he's at and mute the whole damn commentary desk, but he only just refrains, most doubts from what he'd seen in Alberto's eyes earlier wiped from his mind.

He watches closely as RVD is thrown out of the ring, Ricardo immediately going to check on him, just for Orton to slide out of the ring nearly on top of him. Ricardo scrambles back and hits the floor hard, desperate to get away from the viper, who barely sneers at him before turning his attention to his opponent. In the melee, Alex realizes that Del Rio had made it to his feet, standing by the side of the table, watching the proceedings, and dammit all, he's got _that_ look on his face again. Riley swallows, shaking his head in disbelief, as Ricardo leans against the apron, desperate to cheer his new friend on as the match continues inside of the ring.

All Alex can do is gape as Del Rio comes from the side and grips the ring announcer, throwing him into the turnbuckle post with absolutely no warning, the younger man immediately crumpling to the floor near the barrier wall, frighteningly motionless. The rest of the match moves quickly from there, RVD getting away from Orton and diving out of the ring in defense of his friend, taking Del Rio down. Unfortunately it allows Orton to take control, the champion attacking him and tossing him into the commentary table before throwing him back into the ring for a quick victory. Alex closes his eyes as Del Rio smugly enters the ring and stands over his opponent at Night of Champions before locking in the armbar, wrenching back on it determinedly.

When he makes his way back awhile later, Riley is waiting for the referees to finish helping Ricardo and Rob backstage and their eyes lock, Alex swallowing as he sees absolutely nothing like what he thought he had seen earlier in his dark gaze. Alberto sneers before pushing his way past the former NXT rookie, almost pushing him towards the entrance ramp, Alex only just stopping himself before he gets tangled up in the curtain. "Bastard," he mumbles, still standing there when the other two finally appear, Ricardo holding his head gingerly as RVD presses a hand between his shoulderblades, the arm that had been locked into Del Rio's brutal submission held closely to his core to keep it from being jostled.

"Lo siento," the ring announcer mutters, wavering slightly as Alex moves closer and supports him on the other side. "I- I... cost you that..."

"Don't worry about it, man. It wasn't your fault," RVD tells him, brushing it off. "Del Rio'll pay for all of it next Sunday when I walk out World Heavyweight Champion."

He sighs glumly and glances over at Alex, who nods in agreement at him. "I suppose," he murmurs, still feeling vulnerable and out of place. The last time he had inadvertently cost someone a match, well... everyone had seen how _that_ one had ended. He closes his eyes, licking his lips as he remembers the look on Del Rio's face from that night, the pain- emotional, physical, all encompassing- as his boot had landed against his skull, leaving him with a throbbing headache nearly exactly like this one.

The trainer sets on them immediately, running IMPACT tests on Ricardo, erring on the side of caution considering his history with neck and head injuries, before carefully examining Rob's arm, eventually confirming that they're going to be fine, urging them to rest that night, come back to him right away if they have any other problems. Alex wraps an arm around the ring announcer's shoulders, leading him out of the room with Rob on his other side. "C'mon, guys. Sleep sounds pretty good to me too right about now," he says. "Let's go back to the hotel."

This is easily agreed upon and Alex drives them back, Rob and Ricardo saying very little through the trip. As soon as they're all inside of the room, Ricardo releases a soft groan. "I forgot, we never did figure out who was going to take the couch, since there's only two beds."

Alex smiles a little, thinking about how when it was him, Mike and John, it didn't matter- the three of them comfortable enough with each other to just split the beds with little fuss, one of them getting a bed to himself while the other two fought over pillows and covers in hissed whispers and tried not to kick the other in their sleep. But Ricardo and RVD are relatively new friends, not to mention Ricardo and Alex had only started to get to really know each other a month and a half ago. Along with the fact that the other two are hurting, Ricardo still squinting now even in the soft glow of the lamp, and RVD is gingerly prodding his arm while thinking, so Alex quickly decides it for them. "I'll take the couch."

"Are you sure?" Ricardo asks even as he drops down on top of it, eyes wide.

"Yep, it's comfortable enough." He's so tired after the stresses of the last week that he thinks he'd have been able to sleep on the floor, though he thinks the couch is a fair deal more comfortable than that. After RVD is settled in his bed and Ricardo finishes up in the bathroom, he grabs a pillow and spare set of sheets and drops them onto the couch before trudging carefully towards the other door. "Good night," he tells the two men, yawning slightly as he shuts the bathroom door behind him, exhaustion weighing him down only now eased by having the general sounds and comfort of not being alone surrounding him once more.

Hours later, the room is quiet, dark, as Alex rests peacefully on the couch, RVD also fast asleep on the furthest bed to the left. Nonetheless, a soft groan rends the air, Ricardo's head rolling in distress against his pillow as he fights against something in his dreams.

 _There's a warmth near him, breaking through his exhaustion and agony, terror and heartbreak. It's familiar, comforting, and he wishes he could open his eyes, move, embrace the sensation and never let it go, but he has a bizarre feeling that it's fleeting, about to fade away entirely. He's startled when the voice that had guided him through the last three years of his personal and professional life begins to speak next to his ear, sounding about as broken as he feels._ "You'll always be mi mejor amigo, and I know whatever you do from here on, you'll excel at. Because you do at everything, si?" _A broken laugh, a soft breath, and then more words breaking through the gloom holding Ricardo down._ "I will be watching your successes proudly... as I've always been so very proud of you. You are stronger than most realize, it's time for you to show it, mi amigo." _There's an tender pressure on his head that somehow feels like farewell, and ..._

He jerks awakes, gasping and fighting off the sheets clinging to his lower body, sitting up in a daze. "El Patron?" he forces out, staring ahead blankly. Comes back to himself slowly, remembers everything- the terrible beatdown a little over a month ago, the things his former employer had said about him on twitter, TV, and everywhere in between since. Ricardo's own response, returning with RVD. The interview that had cast some doubt on what Ricardo had believed in until the past week when Alberto had shown his nasty side yet again, Ricardo's fingers grazing his forehead as he remembers being pushed into the post by his former friend mere hours earlier. And yet, yet the words that he had heard seemed so... real, so... unbelievably true...

He takes a breath and looks over at Alex, who is still fast asleep on the couch, then at RVD, who is also unaware of what new turmoil is haunting the ring announcer only a few feet away. Not wanting to disturb either man's much needed rest, he sinks back down into his sheets, beyond troubled. "Was it only a dream? But..." He sniffs, wishing that everything following August the 5th wasn't such a horrible, painful blur, that he could _remember_... "It felt so real." He stares at his hands, unsure if it's just that he _wants_ it to be real.

He doesn't sleep for the rest of the night.

Mike takes a breath when he arrives in Canada mid-Monday afternoon, exhausted and more than a little jetlagged. Quickly finding his rental car, he heads for the arena, dialing his phone and setting it to hands free while he watches a red light take its sweet time turning green. "Hey, A-Ri," he greets his friend when he answers the phone. "How's things?"

There's a pause and finally his former protege sighs. "So-so, I guess."

Mike frowns, not liking the sounds of that as he finally drives away from the slow intersection. "Talk to me, Alex. What's wrong?"

"I guess... same old," he breathes. "I don't know, things are still really tense here and... Ricardo's acting weird, and... everything's just not the same without you here. You know how it is."

Miz smirks a little, though he quickly turns back to what Alex had said before. "What do you mean, Ricardo's acting weird?"

"I'm not sure," he says. "It's just... Del Rio threw him into the turnbuckle post on Friday, and RVD lost his match while trying to help, and... he's just not been the same since. Trainer says he's not concussed, or anything. He just seems... sad." He looks over his shoulder at where Ricardo is sitting close to RVD, both men meditating. He has no doubt that RVD considers the ring announcer a friend, but the highflyer is so relaxed and easygoing, he's not sure Rob's the right one to notice when there _is_ a problem brewing. And Alex had tried talking to him, but Ricardo would just smile and brush it away, merely to return to silent ruminations not long afterwards. "Maybe you can help him more than I can."

Mike sighs. "Alright, I'll be at the arena in less than ten. See you then."

"Bye."

Hanging up, Miz closes his eyes and thuds his palms against the steering wheel before turning the last block towards the arena. He'd wanted badly to see AJ right away, but for now, Ricardo sounds like he needs him more, so he walks instead to the main locker room, bag held securely over his shoulder. Alex looks up immediately, anxiously tapping his phone against his knuckles, before standing. "Hey," Miz tells him, clapping him on the back as he hugs him, relieved that he's back. Blue eyes turning towards Ricardo, he waits, not wanting to disrupt the meditation session. "So... he's been acting off, huh? How so?"

"Not as bad as directly after the attack by Del Rio, but still," Alex tells him softly. "Enough to be concerned by, I think. He just seems... not himself."

Mike sighs. "Alright, well, I don't know if it's anything to worry about, he's been through a lot the last couple of months and that stuff doesn't just leave you, but I'll talk to him when he's... you know, not ohm-ing all over the place." He grins mirthlessly. "I'm not sure why I always attract the meditative, poetic types, but hey."

Alex chuckles and they settle in to wait, Miz telling him lowly about Abu Dhabi. He's just finished up the third story when Ricardo opens his eyes and stretches with a sigh, dark eyes blinking as he glances around. "... Mike?"

"Well, it took you long enough," the most must see superstar teases him, smirking as Ricardo stands and joins them. "How's it been going?"

"Eh, alright, I guess." But there's a look in his eyes that Mike isn't very pleased by, his smile looking fake and forced. "How was Abu Dhabi?"

"It was ok, I'll tell you about it later after I see what's in store for me tonight." Miz smirks grimly as he ponders what HHH could possibly have planned tonight. But for now... "Hey, mind coming with me for a minute? We can get some stuff from catering for everyone, and you can tell me what's been going on."

Ricardo hesitates, glancing over at Rob for a moment, before finally nodding. "Si, sure. Let's."

Alex watches as they leave, sighing. "Good luck, Mike."

They're in line, waiting for people in front of them to finish collecting their food already, when Mike nudges Ricardo. "Are you sure everything's ok? I saw what happened on Smackdown... I wish I'd been here-"

"No, it's fine," Ricardo says quietly. "I understand last minute media tours all too well, don't worry about it. I was, and still am, fine." But it's visible that something's troubling him and he swallows, closing his eyes against Miz's piercing stare. "I... I've just been having dreams, is all."

"What kind of dreams?"

"I..." He swallows. "I think they're from... that night. That Del Rio- that... he..." His voice fails him and he sighs harder. "I hear his voice, and it's like I'm unconscious, I can't move or speak or anything... but I can hear, and he's telling me... all of these things that make no sense." He stares up at Mike, desperation bleeding from his gaze. "I do not... understand it, but I can't deny that the dreams feel... _real..._ "

"What's he saying?" Mike whispers, forgetting everything around him as he stares down at the ring announcer.

"That, that I will always be his mejor amigo, and he's proud of me, and it's time for me to prove how strong I am, and-" He cuts himself off, his desperately trying not to cry choking his attempts at further explanations. "It makes no sense, I know. I guess I just- I miss him sometimes, or at least the man he used to be, and... this is my subconscious' way of trying to make me feel better?"

Miz remembers that night all too well also, sitting at ring side watching Ricardo get beat down at the hands of Del Rio and having to help him backstage alongside Alex... leaving to collect Ricardo's things from Del Rio's locker room, relieved to find the Mexican aristocrat gone. Returning to the trainer's office to find Ricardo's bowtie waiting, left carefully behind on the counter... He swallows, closing his eyes. They'd never told Ricardo about that, just leaving his bowtie in amongst his things as they'd packed him up to take him to California where he'd be safe, so much happening that they hadn't seriously thought about it since then. But now, with these odd dreams, it's all brought back to the forefront of Mike's mind and he takes a breath, wondering if perhaps it all _had_ happened, if Del Rio's subdued, morose reactions the past few weeks had been... because of... but no way, right? That's impossible. There's just no way...

"Mike?" Ricardo whispers. "Are you ok? We're- we're holding the line up..."

"Oh, right." He smiles warily and walks forward, trying not to let all of his thoughts show on his face. _What if, though..._

He leaves Ricardo with Alex and a now alert Rob before walking away, still trying to think through everything that he suspects, finding his way to AJ's locker room with a small smile. As soon as he knocks, she answers and grips his hand, dragging him inside. He laughs against her lips as she kisses him hello, hissing softly when she digs her nails into his shoulders, bringing him over to the couch. As soon as they're settled, AJ resting her forehead against his, he smiles up at her. "Missed me a little, huh?"

"Something like that," she nods, tangling her fingers in his hair. "I can't stay long, I want to commentate that divas match that's upcoming."

"Mm," he says, hands resting against her midsection lazily. "Alright. I have a match against Sandow not long after that, I think. I would've been here sooner, but I guess Ricardo's been having a hard time of it since I've been gone, so I wanted to make sure he was ok first."

She sighs. "I guess that's what I get for being with a guy who's such a loyal friend," she teases him, subtly kissing his nose. He smirks up at her as she leans against his neck, whispering, "I guess you'll just have to make it up to me..."

"Oh, I will," he promises lowly, pulling her closer.

A little later, he walks her to the gorilla position, nodding quietly at Alicia Fox, Aksana and Layla, before returning to the male locker room to look in on his friends. The three of them are all still there and he joins them to watch the divas match, losing all track of the action when Jerry and AJ get into it on commentary, the Divas champion snapping at him that she's too old for his tastes anyway, obviously throwing King off of whatever game he has left, just for him to snap back belatedly that she's too ugly for him too. Mike's eyes narrow warningly as his friends look over at him, the others scattered around the room buzzing or laughing at the argument raging on behind the desk.

"Idiotic old man," he hisses, remembering all of his dealings with Jerry when he'd been WWE champion, and various other situations through the years. "Ugh." Unfortunately it gets worse when Alicia taps to Natalya's submission hold, AJ's anger only growing as she stares up at her three opponents from the table. Mike's about to go to her when he learns that Del Rio's match is next, determined to be there for Ricardo, especially after earlier. Not wanting to leave her in the lurch again, he finds his phone and quickly texts her, urging her to join him in the locker room.

She's flushed with anger when she arrives, a simple glare from her enough to shut the mocking comments from all of the other men up, especially when they notice her joining Mike again, none of them wanting to get into a confrontation with him and his friends, risk gaining HHH's attention. Everyone had been flying under the radar as best as they could since Cody's firing, just wanting to come in, do their jobs, and leave with said jobs in tact. Mike is relieved for this, aware that he'd been taking a chance by inviting her in again, curling an arm around her and drawing her up against his side.

She hums as he presses a kiss to her ear, whispering to her while they wait for Del Rio vs R-Truth to begin. "Lawler's a fool. He's only ever done one good thing in his life." She pulls back and stares at him curiously as he grins at her in a way that makes some of the anger ease from her gaze, leaving her warm. "Having the heart attack that in a way led to this, us," he breathes, resting a hand on hers. "A year ago tomorrow, right?" It's a somewhat evil thought and most would look twice at him for even daring to verbalize such things, but it's AJ. He has no doubt she'll understand.

Her eyes shine as she examines him, amused by the realization that, yeah, a year ago tomorrow, the moment that had ultimately caused her to fall for Mike had happened, brought them here to _this_ moment. She wraps her arms around him and kisses him deeply, only pulling away slightly when the bell rings for Alberto's match, allowing him to focus on what's happening in the ring and with the younger man sitting next to him.

Thankfully it's a fairly standard match, Ricardo barely reacting throughout it, though he does still look glum, and Mike has no doubt that he won't be forgetting his dream anytime soon. Once it's over, Mike realizes that his match is soon and he nuzzles against AJ for a moment before pulling away to stand up. "I gotta go get ready, my match is coming up."

"Good luck," Ricardo offers with a smile, trying to blink away his distraction.

"Thanks." Mike changes into his ring gear quickly, taping his wrists up before gripping AJ's hand. "Wanna come with to gorilla?"

"Sure," she smiles, standing. They walk side by side to the entrance ramp and he kisses her softly. "I'll be watching from here."

"Alright," he tells her softly. "I'll be back in a little bit." As he hops around a bit, trying to loosen up, Santino runs by, looking proud after his win. "Hey, welcome back," Mike says, smirking at the hyperactive Italian.

"Ah, grazie!" he says, all smiles and energy as he rushes back to the main locker room, AJ blinking in subdued exasperation at his actions.

Mike grins over at her briefly before making his way to the ring, effectively interrupting whatever it is Sandow is about to say. Their match goes back and forth for awhile, Miz thinking he perhaps is close to winning, when Fandango's music hits, the man himself dancing out with Summer Rae and distracting him effectively. So much so that Sandow achieves a cheap rollup victory against him, leaving Mike stewing as he glowers up the ramp at the other man, wanting nothing more than to shut him up once and for all.

He storms backstage and stops short, looking over at AJ as she stares up at him sympathetically, breathing heavily as she walks up to him, taking his hand. "I'm sorry you lost," she says softly, squeezing his hand. "One of those nights, huh?" He nods and she begins to pull him back to her room, ignoring the main locker room as they walk past it.

He's leaning against the back of the couch, AJ idly tracing circles in his arms, when Justin Roberts announces Ricardo, adding in that he's "RVD's numero uno amigo", which makes Mike chuckle softly when he sees the look on the ring announcer's face in response, trailing his fingers down AJ's side in some worry as first Ryback and then Del Rio come out, Ryback somehow not taking the chance to attack Van Dam or Ricardo while Del Rio talks, calling Ricardo a peasant in Spanish and saying that RVD and Ricardo deserve each other, while he and his World Title will never be separated. "Yeah, because titles are all that matter in the world," he mumbles, hand pressed flush against AJ's lower back as he shifts to accommodate her some more, not noticing when she pauses for a moment before continuing to kiss his neck.

Thankfully Alberto leaves as the match starts, but it barely gets off the ground anyway as RVD kicks Ryback brutally, causing the larger man to curse darkly, the production truck only just bleeping him in time. From there it only goes from bad to worse as RVD tries to dive out of the ring and hits the barrier wall with his face, Ryback lifting him and ramming him groin first into the post twice until the referee is forced to call for a DQ, Ricardo standing a few feet away with his hands covering his face in worry and terror for his new friend. He leaves him trapped there for a few moments, adding insult to injury, before dragging him back to the ring, where he proceeds to slam him cruelly against the mat, leaving him struggling as he angrily heads back up the ramp.

Mike winces as he strokes AJ's back. "Damn," he breathes, knowing that that could not have felt great.

After helping the referee get a grimacing Rob back to the trainer's office, Ricardo sits by RVD's cot, his hands pressed together anxiously while the trainer bustles around, bringing ice over for the highflyer. He well remembers what feels like it'd been decades ago by now, sitting in an OR waiting room with Sofia by his side waiting for word on Alberto following surgery needed to repair his groin tear, his body still aching after his own injuries following being pushed off of a ladder into a table set up on the floor at TLC the week prior, the dwarfing brace that had been a staple of most of his time as Del Rio's ring announcer the only thing keeping his neck from being a constant source of agony. The months of rehab for them both, Alberto's growing anger at not being able to return prior to Wrestlemania... Ricardo winces, hoping that _this_ won't be a repeat of that, especially when they're so close to Night of Champions and Rob's chance to become World Heavyweight Champion, pry the title from Del Rio's fingers.

But yet... he looks up uncertainly, catching Rob's eye. His dream, if it had been true... If those words spoken by Del Rio were legitimate and he still ended up assisting RVD to victory against him... He shakes his head, not wanting to think like that. _It's not true. He hates me, has made it quite obvious this last month. Rob's the one who's been by my side, and Alex, Mike and John. Not Alberto._ He closes his eyes, swallowing. _Right?_

He gapes when Rob reaches out abruptly, tapping his knuckles. "Hey," he says, voice sounding strained as he struggles against the mind numbing pain shooting up his core with every inhale or movement. "I'm gonna be ok, dude. Don't worry. Everything'll be fine."

Ricardo stares at him, nodding wearily. "Right. I believe you, Rob. We're amigos, right?"

"Hell yeah," he sighs, resting his head back against the padding of the cot. "Like Justin said, numero uno..."

The ring announcer smiles sadly. "Did you tell him to say that? I was wondering, but so much happened out there-"

"Yeah," RVD nods. "I did, while I was out filming that short video they aired before Del Rio's match." He takes a breath, examining Ricardo. "You've seemed kinda down since Friday, and I thought maybe it'd cheer you up. You know I don't blame you for Friday night, or tonight, right? These things just happen. I'd never do to you what Del Rio did, it's not my way. You're a good guy, no matter what he thinks, so don't worry."

Ricardo tries to smile even as doubts continue to haunt him. "Gracias, mi amigo." And if it sounds a little forced, he hopes Rob doesn't notice... This is the worst possible time to have second thoughts, so close to the pay per view, but he's not sure what to do, which way to turn. _Ay, why did this have to happen now...?_ He struggles to take a deep breath, remind himself that Night of Champions is still days away, and whatever might happen on Smackdown may put any doubts he has to rest.

For now, he refuses to let RVD know about his uncertainty, determined to do what he can to help the aching man through the next few days.


	175. chapter 175

Somehow Mike is granted his seat back at the Main Event commentary table that week, finding himself having to toe the very same line Alex had the past couple of weeks- wanting to say so badly all that he's been feeling, but yet not risk his job. Considering he's a deal more outspoken than the former NXT rookie, he struggles a bit more with this matter... and it comes out in a different, much worse way.

They somehow get on the subject of AJ during Big E's match, though the two of them hadn't been seen together in public really since Mike and she had confessed their feelings for each other, and before he knows it, that side of him that had so ruthlessly hurt Ricardo's feelings at this very desk not even four months ago resurfaces and calls the girl crazy, insisting that no one would want to be with her.

He's subdued through the rest of the match, wondering where _that_ had come from, why he'd even said it when it was far from what he meant or felt, some of the past issues they'd not completely worked through, too lost in the other to think about things that had left them bitter and all but hating each other until they'd both snapped over Summerslam and confessed what was the truth deep down... He hopes she's not sitting in New Jersey right now, watching and replaying his hate-filled, hurtful words over and over again in her already-obsessive mind.

After a quick post-show conversation with Josh, he all but races to his car and just toes the speed limit, not wanting to get pulled over but also just needing to get to the hotel room so he can handle whatever might arise from his thoughtless words. Upon arriving at the hotel, he slams himself down on his bed and pulls his phone out, frowning at the lack of texts or calls.

Unsure if this is a good or bad thing, he hits speed dial #2 and listens as it rings in while he loosens his dress clothes, needing something for his hands to do while he waits. He frowns down at the device when it goes to voicemail, AJ's voice urging him to leave a message. Worry growing, he hangs up and dials again, not entirely surprised when it goes to voicemail again. "Dammit," he breathes, aware that the girl doesn't ignore calls, especially when it's him.

This time he leaves a message, barely able to hear his own words over the pounding of his heart. "Hey, AJ. I wanna talk to you. Please call me back... I'll be up late, so whenever you have a minute." He closes his eyes, listening to the silence as it slowly beeps, the message timing out. "Dammit, way to go, Mike," he tells himself viciously.

After two sleepless nights and an excruciatingly unending Thursday, he's relieved to face Friday, knowing that he'll see the Divas champion at Smackdown and face her rage while trying to explain himself, or even worse, her sadness. He arrives early for this reason, wanting to set things straight before too much more time had passed, and scopes the building out until he finds her locker room, resting a hand on the butterfly emblem before knocking.

He takes a breath when he hears shuffling around inside, the door slowly opening to show a wary looking AJ. Her eyes grow even darker when she spots him and he swallows, hating the unhappy, hurt twist to her lips when she spots him. "What do you want?"

He swallows. "To talk. I know you don't have a match tonight, so there's time-" But she moves to close the door on him, her stubbornness catching him by surprise when he tries to stop her by sticking his foot out before she can completely do it. He finally manages to squeeze inside as she huffs against the door, pressing her face against the wood. "AJ-"

"Get out, Mike. This is the last thing I need right now." She turns on him, eyes flashing warningly. "Get out now."

"No, not until we've talked-" But he's shut up immediately as her hand crashes against his face, staggering him. "AJ-" And again, Mike growing more than a little annoyed as she rounds on him for a third, but when he grabs her this time, he realizes quickly that tears are in her eyes and her ragged pants are from trying not to sob. His face falls as she struggles against him, slamming her fists against every inch of him she can reach.

"You were supposed to be different! Especially now! But just like the others, all you- you do is call me crazy? Really? You said you _loved_ me!" she screams at him, all but folding in on herself when he refuses to let her go. "You're no better than any other guy-"

"I'm sorry," he breathes. "I'm so sorry, please-" It's all he can say, repeating it over and over and over again as he holds her up, strokes her hair regretfully. "I don't know- I don't understand myself half the time on commentary. You've done it, you know- you have to find things to fill time for fifteen minutes, or an hour, and sometimes you say things you don't really mean-"

"I've never said anything I don't mean," she says, eyes gleaming with fresh tears. "I would never talk like that about you-"

He takes a breath, relieved when she begins to take some of her own weight back, but doesn't try to get away from him in the meanwhile. "AJ, trust me, it's the way of the business, you'll get wrapped up in something during another MizTV segment or whatever else, and you'll say something less than flattering about me. We all run our mouths and regret it one way or another later, you can ask any one of my friends- Alex, John, Ricardo. Especially Ricardo. I thought for sure I lost his friendship, and I would've deserved to."

"But you're just so charming that they all come running back, huh?" she asks bitterly, glaring up at him as he rubs her arms.

He smiles wanly. "I'm not sure why they've forgiven me. I guess my good outweighs my bad, in some fashion." Realizing that she's perhaps just a little too hurt to seriously consider forgiving him just yet, he pulls away from her and takes a breath. "Listen, I'm not giving up on us, not after everything. But I'll give you some time to think about what I said, alright?" He cups her hands and stares into her eyes. "I love you. In case I don't talk to you before Sunday, good luck. I'm sure you'll do fantastic." He leans in and tenderly kisses her forehead for long moments, eyes squeezed shut tight, before painfully pulling away from her and, releasing her hands, leaves the locker room quietly.

Leaning against the door, he breathes in, trembling, unaware that she's leaning against the other side, tears pouring down her flushed cheeks as she stares down at her divas' title, shaking her head back and forth against the wood.

He wonders how she manages to focus throughout commentating the divas match later on, while he listens to her discuss Sunday and everything else for a few minutes, trying to sort out an outfit to wear for this dance off that's coming up soon. He's not part of it, it's supposed to be his former tag partner, R-Truth, against Fandango, but that alone's enough to inspire him to interrupt.

His changing into the clothes that look like something from the 80s is interrupted, Mike sitting there with his shirt half on, when AJ storms the ring before Aksana can be defeated, just to be beat down by her three opponents on Sunday. He swallows and watches as she's left laying, wincing. It's not an auspicious lead-in to the PPV, and he honestly worries that his own actions had knocked her off of her game.

He tangles his hands into the folds of his shirt, considering going to see her, when he shakes his head. "I don't want to make it worse for her... Maybe after the dance off, I'll look in on her," he breathes. Finding the ridiculous wig he'd found, he slips it on and stares at himself in the mirror. "Well, worst comes to worse, I'll maybe make her laugh instead of cry and that'd... that'd be good..."

So he goes out and does the most ridiculous dancing possible out to the ring, almost losing his wig a dozen times then alone, feeling multiple pairs of incredulous eyes on him as he enters the ring and faces Fandango with a sneer as he and Summer Rae glare at him, Truth looking more amused than anything else as he takes in his former tag partner.

When Khali comes out for no real reason and Vickie makes it into a four-way dance off, Mike smirks and watches the others dance, giving into it when it's his turn and letting the music take over, trying to be at his most ridiculous to make AJ, should she be watching now or will be watching later, laugh wherever she's at. When it's time for the audience to determine a winner, he receives the most cheers, which angers Fandango.

When he tries to attack, Truth and Mike doubleteam him and leave him spinning out of the ring, barely able to see straight in his anger as the former members of Awesome Truth dance together in celebration, Miz laughing once the segment ends, relieved to see that Truth seems a lot more stable than he'd been the last time he'd seen him, capable of having fun and not constantly worried about conspiracies and a multitude of other things. He thinks perhaps the tag team with Kofi had been good for him in the end, helped put his focus back on what mattered instead of what wasn't really there at the time.

His mood quickly plummets, however, when he and Truth enter the main locker room to find Alex watching the monitor with a worried look on his face. "Hey, kid, what's up?"

Alex points to the screen and they watch as Vickie speaks to Ricardo. "...if you can beat Alberto Del Rio tonight, then you'll be allowed to accompany Rob Van Dam at Night of Champions," she tells him coolly, barely blinking as he continues speaking in Spanish, trying to convince her otherwise. "I'm done. I said I'm done," she reiterates until finally he gives up and leaves the room.

Mike blinks, tearing the obnoxious pink jacket off of his back as he quickly forgets about dance offs and angry girlfriends. "What- what was that?"

A-Ri bites his lip a moment before turning to his former NXT pro. "She called Ricardo into her office and told him she was keeping him from being in RVD's corner at NoC for 'his safety' but he was trying to change her mind when she... when she made that match. Mike-"

Miz presses his hand to his mouth, blue eyes blazing as he stares at the monitor now airing commercials. "Dammit, why- why would she do that... I know she's never really liked him, but..." His mumbles quickly die away when the locker room door opens and a visibly worried, scared Ricardo enters, Rob Van Dam's hands warm on his shoulders. "Ricardo."

His eyes light up a little before dimming again. "Mike. Have you heard?"

"Yeah, man. I have." He walks over to them and claps his hands against the ring announcer's arms. "Hey, you're gonna be ok, alright? RVD'll be there, and Alex and I'll be at gorilla if you need us."

"Gracias," he breathes, eyes still downcast. When Mike nudges his jaw slightly, he finally looks up. "I don't know how I'm going to do this." His voice cracks. "He was- he was... my best friend and... it was one thing when I was just- helping Rob against him, but to do it personally, I..."

Mike sighs and ruffles his hair. "Hey, look at it this way. You know his wrestling style better than most, right? I know you don't get in the ring often but you two used to train together? I think you've said that in the past." Ricardo nods hesitantly and Miz smiles. "See, you'll be ok. You know what to avoid and what weaknesses to exploit."

He still doesn't look completely sold but he eventually nods and swallows. "Thanks, Mike. I'll- be ok."

"Damn straight," Rob tells him cheerfully. "I'll make sure of that. Now come on, let's go get you ready. I'll help you stretch out before the match."

Mike laughs slightly at the horrified look on the ring announcer's face at _that_ offer before turning to look at Alex as soon as they're out of the room. "He will be ok... right?"

"God, I hope so," the other man mutters, verbalizing Mike's own thoughts. "Come on, let's go."

They've been standing there awhile, watching the show carry on as if this unsettling match isn't ahead, when Del Rio appears, sneering at them before going out to the ring. Mike looks on anxiously, growing all the more disgusted when Alberto barely acts like the fact that he'll soon be in the ring against the man he once claimed was his only friend even matters.

Alex turns sharply and nudges him when Ricardo and RVD appear, the ring announcer wearing RVD's merch shirt and picking at the tape around his fists nervously. "Hey, Ricardo," he says, gripping his roommate's hands to make him stop loosening the tape. "You're gonna do fine, man. Don't worry, it'll be alright."

"Of course it will," Mike says, trying not to look as wrecked as the ring announcer himself does, pulling him in for a hug which Alex quickly joins in on, all of them aware of how little time they really have for all of this, Del Rio's music still loud behind them. "You're strong and we'll be here waiting for you when you're done."

Ricardo forces a smile, nodding. They know he probably doesn't truly stand a chance against the World Champion, considering his limited ring time over the last few years, but they know he'll do his best and that's enough for them. "Gracias," he breathes out before pulling away hesitantly from them. Rob claps him on the shoulder again and they're off, Ricardo struggling to keep his anxiety to himself as they walk to the ring.

Alberto keeps the advantage for a few minutes but Ricardo finds an opportunity and takes it, surprising all of them- and himself- when he manages to down Del Rio with a tornado DDT, it all fading away when Alberto takes back control not long afterwards, knocking his legs out from under him and trapping him on the top rope and kicking RVD into the barricade wall when he gets too close to the ring for the Mexican aristocrat's liking.

As Ricardo gasps and tries to breathe through the pain, he feels the rope shift behind him as his former employer climbs up and hooks an arm around his neck. Something about this set up clicks with him and he responds instinctively by wrapping his arm around Del Rio's head, a subtle squeeze against his side reminding him even further as he feels himself being lifted and plants his feet against the post, controlling the fall somewhat as Alberto flips him over so he falls face-first on the mat, landing on top of him.

He's dazed, his chest and face sore, as he feels himself being turned over and pinned, unable to find the strength- physically or emotionally- to kick out as Del Rio is announced the victor. There's only a split second of nothingness but failure, realizing that he now has his answer after that dream the week prior, until- until... His arm is grabbed and he scrabbles, crying out as he's twisted up in the dreaded armbar, feeling nauseous as his best friend holds his arm in a tweaked position, the pain even this is causing bringing tears to his eyes-

But then Rob is there, kicking Alberto off and Ricardo rolls away hurriedly, clinging to his throbbing arm, unaware of what's going on behind him until Rob joins him, leaning over to murmur soothingly to him. "I'm sorry," he chokes out. "I failed. I won't- won't be in your corner Sunday."

RVD strokes his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, man. We have some time, let me handle it, alright?" He looks up, glaring over at Del Rio as Ricardo continues to struggle against the pain at his feet. He blinks when Ricardo reaches up and tugs at his shirt. "What is it?" He looks up at what Ricardo is staring fixedly at, smirking a little when he realizes. "Be right back." The ring announcer nods, breathing heavily as the trainer joins him and begins examining his arm.

Not going too far away, Rob reaches out and grips the abandoned World Heavyweight Title, staring determinedly down the ramp at Del Rio as he holds it up, vowing anew to leave Sunday champion, especially when Ricardo whimpers slightly behind him as his arm is rotated. Laying the belt down, he quickly moves back to his friend's side and supports him when they walk backstage, Mike and Alex joining them once more.

Ricardo looks even more miserable as Mike pats him on the chest. "You did really well out there, man," he tells him with a soft, sad smile.

"Not well enough," he breathes, squinting against the pain. "I won't be able to do anything on Sunday-"

"Leave that to me," RVD repeats with a soft smile, nodding at Alex as he steps closer. "I'll be back in a little bit. I have to go have a little talk with Vickie Guerrero."

Mike squeezes Ricardo's uninjured shoulder before turning to chase after Rob. "Wait a minute, I wanna talk to her too!" he calls after the highflyer.

Alex laughs as he hooks Ricardo's good arm over his shoulders, helping him the rest of the way to the trainer's office. "I think you won't have anything to worry about this Sunday with those two on your side," he tells the younger man with a faint smile. "Just relax and let's get your arm looked at, eh?"

"Si," he agrees faintly.

Mike and Rob walk side by side to the office, both silent as they consider what they're going to say to convince the woman, neither buying into this _what's best for business_ nonsense. Mike's not sure what shape Ricardo's arm is in, but he knows the ring announcer pretty well by now. He'd struggled through a broken ankle for weeks to do his duty for Del Rio, and he doubts that a messed up arm would keep him from doing the same for RVD: He'd have to be unable to hold a microphone to be agreeable to sit in the back and do nothing, and even then he'd probably try to get someone else to hold it for him so he'd be useful.

He smirks a bit before RVD knocks on the door, pushing his way inside once the Smackdown general manager encourages him to enter. She glances suspiciously between the two men before standing up and crossing her arms over her chest. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm here about you keeping Ricardo out of my corner at Night of Champions," Rob tells her. "It's not fair. You knew when you stuck him in that match that he'd lose and probably get injured."

"I was proving a point," she says simply, eyes flashing warningly. "He was questioning my judgment of the situation but if he can't even handle a five minute match against Alberto Del Rio, what's the point of him being out there at ringside Sunday? Especially now when his arm is injured?"

RVD sucks in a breath and shakes his head at her. "He deserves to be out there because you yourself said what Del Rio did to him last month wasn't right. Ricardo has the same goals as I do, and he deserves to see first hand the conclusion to our match Sunday."

Mike speaks up then, "Besides what would HHH say about you making a match where a ring announcer ended up with a potentially serious arm injury? You yourself said he needed to be protected from Del Rio, but you still put him in that match because he annoyed you. I wonder what the board would think about that kind of thing."

She grows pale and he watches her, eyebrows raised, as she closes her eyes in annoyance. "Fine," she grits. "Depending on what the trainer tells me about his injuries, I'll consider allowing him to accompany RVD to ringside after all."

Rob grins as Mike smirks, both pleased with this verdict. "Thank you," he says, the two of them leaving the room. "Hey, good job on the backup, Mike," Rob tells him.

Miz nods, eyes glinting in pleasure. "We make a good team, huh? Now let's go tell that ring announcer of yours the good news."

When they arrive, Ricardo is still clearly in some pain but the trainer and Alex are looking relieved even as fresh ice is administered to the worst of the pain throbbing down his arm. "Strained muscles and some inflammation around his elbow," the trainer tells them simply. "I'll give him a sling to restrain the arm for a few days, but he'll be ok. No serious damage was done. Actually, considering some of the things I've seen Del Rio do to people with that move, he was pretty lucky."

RVD sits down next to his ring announcer and pats him on the back, smiling comfortingly as Mike glances at Alex. "Yeah, lucky," he mutters faintly, the two men shaking their heads.

Ricardo breathes in deeply before looking balefully between his two friends. "Sunday?"

"Oh, right," Rob says. "Well, considering what the trainer just told us, I'd say that you're going to be allowed to accompany me after all."

Ricardo's eyes shine as he smiles, relieved at this little bit of good news. "Gracias," he murmurs.

Mike is still keeping his distance from AJ, trying to allow her time to sort through whatever this is between them, but when it's almost time for her match, he texts her quickly, _Good luck._ Unsurprised by the lack of response, he carries on getting ready for his match against Fandango that's not long after the divas' match, wondering if he'll catch a glimpse of her on his way out to gorilla.

He's just pulled his merch shirt on when the match comes to its conclusion, AJ retaining after making Natalya tap to the Black Widow. He smiles a little and runs his fingers through his hair, ready to go out and once more embarrass Fandango. He once more texts her however, a quick, _Congratulations, I knew you'd walk out still champion._ He leaves his phone behind, not having time to wait for her to respond, and walks out to the ring for his match against the dancing Skittle, continuing the submission victories by locking in the Figure Four and making the other man tap out.

Next up is RVD vs Alberto Del Rio and Mike sits in the locker room, brushing his sweaty hair back as he watches the match begin. Alex is on the roundtable overseeing the PPV and so Miz is all alone right now, with nothing but his wayward thoughts to keep him company as Ricardo, wearing a sling but looking beyond relieved to just be there, announces RVD to the ring.

All and all, it looks pretty even, RVD holding his own against Alberto until the Mexican aristocrat locks in the very same armbar that had left Ricardo needing that sling on Rob, pulling back viciously again and again, refusing to break it even when the referee warns him. A five count later and it's over, the match going by DQ, and an incensed Del Rio storms out of the ring to grab a chair, rolling into the ring with it and preparing to use it against his opponent when there's a flash of black and Ricardo appears, pulling it out of his hand with his good arm, startling his former employer.

Mike chuckles a little at the look on his face, eyes widening when RVD kicks him and leaves him laying in the corner, visibly out of it and limp against the turnbuckles. RVD calls something over to the ring announcer and Ricardo moves quickly, still clinging to the steel chair as he crouches on the apron and holds the weapon against Del Rio's face, making sure it's steady as Rob climbs to the top rope and leaps out, striking the chair feet first and sending it straight into Alberto.

RVD may not have walked out champion, but he does look pretty pleased none the less as he and Ricardo leave the arena, Alberto still barely with it in the ring as trainers and referees assist him in sitting up, blood dripping sluggishly down his chin.

Mike smirks before going to join them, all of them planning on hanging out together to watch the show until Alex's responsibilities are finished. Hopefully celebrate afterwards, should Daniel walk out champion.

Which is, thankfully, what happens... but it only holds for barely 21 hours as HHH strips him the next night in the first half an hour of Raw, disgusting all of them as none of them really believe that Daniel could be in any kind of conspiracy with Scott Armstrong.

But Mike's focus is elsewhere- his parents, for one, are in the audience _and_ Brad Maddox tells him he has a match against Randy Orton. He's nervous and excited all at once- his mom had always been supportive of his ventures, be it wrestling or reality TV, movies or just whatever... but his father had been a harder sell, the man just not understanding how a son of his could have such unbelievable goals for somebody from Cleveland, Ohio. And even when Miz had succeeded at most of them, he'd still been nonplussed, not understanding a minute of it. So when he'd agreed to come tonight, Mike had been amazed and more than a little worried about what he could possibly say, a few sentences from him typically enough to kill Miz's self-esteem until he had to pick himself back up and put on the sports entertainer face for the WWE crowd, and not allow his rivals to see any weakness.

Thus he's so distracted, he only sees bits of the show- AJ commentating another six divas match and staring Natalya down afterwards, and RVD wrestling Sandow to another victory, Del Rio nowhere to be seen. He's relieved for that, but there's no time to stop and talk to Ricardo as his match is coming up, so he only claps the ring announcer on the shoulder as he passes him by, making his way to the ring to face off with the angry, former WWE champion.

But of everything he expected from this, what he gets isn't it. He's taken the time to hug his parents, speak to them for a minute, when he's rushed from behind, Orton attacking him and throwing him around like he's nothing, his parents watching on in disbelief as his shoulder begins to throb almost immediately. The match begins a few minutes later, Mike struggling to his feet, but he's at a disadvantage early, barely able to move his one arm, so no matter how stubbornly he tries to fight back, it doesn't matter as Orton comes back at him with twice as much aggression, sending him into the barricade wall near his parents, throwing him into the timekeeper area, taunting his parents with him as they watch on, his father as unresponsive as ever, while his mother covers her face in horror next to him.

Orton clearly has lost interest in the match as it goes in a double countout but the beatdown continues on and on, Mike's body throbbing unceasingly as the deranged man DDTs him off of the wall in front of his parents before slinging him back into the ring. He disappears for a minute and Mike stares ahead blankly, thinking, hoping that it's all over, but the ring begins to shake again as Orton re-enters, smacking a steel chair down to the mat next to him, and his stomach sinks. He hurts too much to move, all he can do is feel as the cool weapon is wrapped around his head and neck, Orton pausing for excruciatingly long moments as he thinks out what to do.

Finally decided, he attacks and all Mike can do is spasm as first numbness then intense, all-enveloping pain takes him over, struggling away from the weapon, uncomfortably aware of how his mother must feel, watching all of this from feet away. Before darkness creeps into his vision, he wonders if AJ is watching, how _she's_ feeling about it all. He breathes in as he remembers the look in her eye the first time he saw her after those stupid, stupid comments he'd made on Main Event and whimpers. "I'm sorry," he mouths to thin air, losing consciousness finally.

When he wakes up again, he's in the back, soft voices surrounding him. He recognizes his mother's reassuring voice, her touch against his hair, and groans, eyes fluttering open to find her leaning close to him. "Baby," she breathes sadly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "You're going to be ok."

"Mom," he breathes out, reaching out for her with a trembling hand, which she scoops up in both of hers, holding it close to her chest. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, baby, you have nothing to apologize for. I love you," she tells him quietly. "You did so well tonight, even though that... that insane man was clearly only out to injure you." She sniffs and presses her face against his hair, overwrought with emotions at seeing her son in such a state.

Everything hurts and he can't move too much to look around, a brace stabilizing his neck, but he can tell his father is nearby, probably watching on with that same old, tiredly uncomprehending look on his face. Thankfully, Alex steps up then and rests a hand on Mike's mom's shoulder, smiling faintly when she glances back at him, shifting aside to allow him to step closer. "Hey, Mike."

"Hey," he breathes, noting a flash of black behind him as Ricardo and RVD enter the room, the ring announcer looking anxious and worried as he holds his injured arm close to his chest. "Hey, Ricardo, Rob." They look relieved at finding him at least conscious and venture closer, the room starting to fill up as his mom looks around at all of the people surrounding her son. "Mom, this is Ricardo," he says after licking his dry lips. "I mentioned him, remember?"

She nods slowly, offering a faint smile at the younger man, who murmurs something that Mike can't quite catch as fresh pain distracts him from his family and friends. The trainer approaches them and ushers them back so he can continue to examine the grimacing man, Mike hissing slightly as he prods at his neck, chest and arm, blue eyes trailing around the room as he looks for something else to focus on. His lips twitch when he finds AJ standing in the doorway, watching him with pain and horror in her brown eyes. The trainer pauses in his exam when Miz lifts his good arm and reaches out for her, the girl hesitantly making her way through the group of people until she's at his side, swallowing harshly as she stares down at him.

He stares up at her, guilt mixing in with the pain in some horrible cacophony of agony from all sides. "I'm so sorry," he tells her softly as tears fill her eyes, AJ shaking her head. "I am. I shouldn't have said-"

"No," she whispers. "You shouldn't have. But don't worry about it right now. Alright? Just- just relax." She cups his hand in hers and kisses his palm slightly, and he feels like crying too as she refuses to move through out the rest of the trainer's exam, steadfast in comforting him whenever he shows any sign of pain.

Finally the trainer concludes doing what he can, determining that it seems like Mike hadn't suffered any breaks, thankfully, but would need further examination at a hospital, who would have better equipment on hand to look for any kind of hidden injuries that he can't find. A stretcher comes quickly, the group of them following it out as the EMTs take Miz out to the waiting ambulance, the trainer following to tell them what he'd done and found since the initial injuries. All of them hover around, watching as he's packed into the back of the van, Mike's mom immediately slipping inside and taking her son's hand. Ricardo glances at AJ, who seems frozen outside, before looking over his shoulder at Rob.

"Go ahead, I'll come to the ER later after I see what happens with Daniel tonight, man. Text me if you need anything." Patting his ring announcer on the shoulder, the highflyer smiles as Ricardo nods in thankfulness before joining Mike's mom next to his friend. They're sitting there, awkwardly staring at each other on either side of the cot when the doors are shut and the ambulance begins to drive off to the hospital, leaving the others behind to find their own ways to the hospital.

Once it's gone and Rob and Mike's father has wandered, Alex turns his attention to AJ, who is still staring blankly ahead. "Hey, do you- uh, want a ride to the hospital?" he offers after a moment, unsettled by the vacant look in her eyes. She turns to look at him, still saying very little, and merely nodding. "Alright then," he murmurs. "Come on." He hears her follow him as he walks outside to the parking lot, unsure how the next few minutes will pass with them alone, but she says absolutely nothing, merely staring outside as streets zip past, Alex eventually catching up to the ambulance at a stop light just a couple blocks from the hospital.

When they get out of the now parked car, Mike's stretcher has just been pulled out of the ambulance and Alex is somewhat relieved to see he's dozed off again, hating the look of tense pain on his face. Ricardo looks up as they approach and struggles to smile, his eyes locked on AJ as she stares down at her boyfriend the whole way into the building. They settle him into a room and urges the others out, overwhelmed a bit by the amount of people who are trying to sit with him. His mom stays in the room while AJ, Alex and Ricardo venture out to the waiting room, even the drone of the TV in the corner not distracting them as they wonder what _these_ tests will find out about their friend's condition.

Finally, tired of sitting around and fussing anxiously with his sling, Ricardo stands and offers to get them coffee, Alex agreeing reluctantly as he considers what sludge hospitals tend to pass off. He's at the machine, pouring cups for himself and Alex one handed, weighing getting one for AJ as well, when he turns to collect some sugar packets just to nearly run into the girl herself, gasping sharply. "Uh," he mumbles, flustered. "Sorry, you really shouldn't sneak up on a guy like that." She stares up at him, lips twisted into an unhappy grimace, and he grimaces, turning away from her. He didn't get along with Vickie, no, but AJ had been a special level of torture, especially when she was GM, sticking him in a six man match with Del Rio and Otunga when he was still fresh off of another neck injury following Sheamus' brogue kick back last fall... He wants to be supportive of Mike, especially after all he'd been through with the girl, but she just disturbs him more often than not, leaving him annoyed and a bit defensive.

When she takes a breath, sounding like she's about to start a conversation with him, he shuts his eyes and steels himself for what's to come. "I'm just curious," she says finally, sounding subdued and unlike much of anything he'd ever heard from her in the past. He turns hesitantly and stares into her eyes, which are still wet and red rimmed as she fiddles with the end of her hair. "I've watched those few weeks when you were sharing the commentary desk with Mike, the things he said to you that nearly ended your friendship. What caused you to forgive him?"

He stares at her and absently stirs a straw through his coffee, trying to sweeten it so it doesn't taste as horrible, while thinking about her question. Its origin. He'd heard what Mike had said about her on Main Event, unsurprised when he'd seen little of her since, but she's here now, and looking completely wrecked, so he releases a tense breath, deciding to give her a break, knowing that it's what Mike would want, especially now. "You know Mike threw a plate of food in my face once?" he asks with a sharp, derisive laugh, putting the straw down. "And then a couple of hours later he threw me off of a ladder into a table on the outside of the ring. But we were far from friends then... something clicked when Del Rio and he tag teamed against 3MB those times back in December." The memories are far from happy ones for him, leaving him feeling like he's choking on thin air as he remembers Alberto's reaffirmation in their friendship in those months, how happy they'd been, even if it was only for a few weeks before everything began to go to hell again, trying yet again not to think about that dream, especially when his arm being in this sling thanks to him seems to prove it was all just a figment of his stressed imagination.

"He speaks a lot before he thinks, I think... but deep down inside, he means well." He leaves the coffee behind and sits down in a nearby chair, his arm beginning to ache a little. She joins him and he watches her for a moment before continuing to talk. "I'm not sure you're aware of this but when Del Rio betrayed me, and- and... all of that, Mike was there for me every step of the way." He swallows and stares at his hands. "He even went to Florida with Alex and packed my things up and brought it back to me in California so I wouldn't have to deal with Alberto immediately after all of that. Without him and his support, I probably wouldn't have found a new place to stay so soon, nor would I have been even close to the proper mindset to begin working alongside Rob. I'm not sure what would've happened to me without him, but I doubt it would've been good."

AJ looks thoughtful as he sits there awkwardly, waiting to see if she'll say anything else, and when she doesn't, he collects the coffee and brings it over to Alex carefully, somehow succeeding at not dropping it one handed. The three of them haven't moved when finally things begin to move: Mike's stretcher is brought out again and his mom leaves him hesitantly, going to them immediately. "They agree with the trainer that he hasn't broke anything, but they're going to run a few more tests and scans... we'll just have to wait and see." Ricardo moves to get her a cup of coffee as well but she refuses it, resting a hand on his good arm before he can even take a couple of steps. "Thank you, no," she murmurs, leading him back over to the chairs and sitting between him and Alex, visibly exhausted and worn.

Rob arrives before Mike does, glancing around the waiting room before spotting Ricardo, joining him. "Hey, man, any news?"

"They're still running tests," Ricardo says softly, smiling a bit when RVD sits down next to him and claps a warm arm around his shoulders. "Did Raw end alright?"

"A number of us ran in to help Daniel at the end, when The Shield was trying to do their thing again. I'm glad I hung around to help out. Hunter will probably make me pay for it, but oh well," he says in his typical undisturbed fashion. "It'll be ok, man, don't worry," he adds anyway when he sees the look on Ricardo's face.

"Of course," he says doubtfully, the group of them falling silent as time ticks by slowly, a nurse finally approaching them almost half an hour later.

"Mrs. Mizanin?"

"Oh, yes?" Mike's mom asks, standing nervously. "Is my son ok?"

"The tests show that nothing _is_ broken, but he has a severely bruised collarbone and chest bone, and we want to observe him overnight so he's being moved to a permanent room right now. I can take you there, but visiting hours are over so you all can look in on him, but please don't stay for too long. It's late and he needs his rest." They all release relieved sighs before Miz's mom nods and begins to follow her to the elevators to take them to her son's floor, the others following behind.

It's a long night for them all, Ricardo nor Alex willing to leave the hospital despite not being able to see their friend, nurses saying nothing when Miz's mom stays in his room with him, and AJ is hanging around somewhere while Rob plays solitaire on a computer, all of them relieved somewhat to see sun shining through the windows finally hours later. "Think he'll be released soon? His flight to California," Ricardo says quietly, watching as nurses bustle back and forth between the rooms, getting patients their breakfasts.

"I'll see what I can do about transferring it to a later flight," Alex says tiredly. "I think I want to go with him to California, I can't stay too long because they want me for commentary at Main Event, but just to make sure he gets settled ok. Wanna come too?" Ricardo nods immediately, none of them surprised until a female voice speaks up too.

"I'm coming as well," AJ says simply, all of them blinking as she reappears at the doorway to the fourth floor waiting room. She turns and walks away, hair flipping back and forth as she walks to Mike's room, Alex blinking after her.

"Sure she is," he mutters.

Despite the process to get Mike out of the hospital seems to take forever, they arrive just in time for all of them to board a plane to LA, and Miz gingerly hugs his mom goodbye, promising her he'll take good care of himself- and if he doesn't, the others will make sure to fix that. She smiles through her tears and pats his face before looking at his friends one by one. "I hope to see you again, under better circumstances," she tells them soberly.

"Same here, Mrs. Mizanin," they echo before shouldering their bags and walking slowly with Mike to their gate, all of them wanting nothing more than to be at Mike's house already. Alex had called John the night before during the horrendous waiting period, having no doubt he'd either watched Raw, or heard what had happened, and not wanting him to worry needlessly. Ordinarily they'd stuff themselves into his apartment like during Summerslam, but adding AJ to the mix, it doesn't seem like the best idea.

The flight seems to take as long as everything at the hospital had, but finally, Ricardo opens his eyes to find himself staring at the California coast out of the airplane's window as it begins to prepare for descent. Mike is even more stiff now after sitting in one position for so long, each step paining him even with Alex and Rob trying to assist him as carefully as they can, mindful of his bad arm held tightly to his side, and finally they get a small cart for all of their bags, Ricardo dragging it one handed to the exit and beyond surprised when AJ begins helping him load up Mike's waiting car, barely looking over at him as she does so.

They all sigh in relief when Alex pulls up in front of Mike's house, John's car waiting outside not surprising any of them really. He must hear the car because he meets them at the door and pulls Mike's good arm over his shoulder, easing him inside. "I would've met you all at the airport, but I was getting the house ready for the next few days," he says apologetically as he helps his former tag partner to the couch and sits him down. "At least nothing was broken, huh?"

"Yeah," he mutters. "Soon as I can move my head again, all will be fine and dandy."

John exchanges glances with Alex and Ricardo before spotting who can only be AJ lurking out in the hall, frowning a bit. "Oh," he mumbles, putting the pieces together. They hadn't met yet, the girl joining the WWE main roster a bit after he had gotten fired, and he remembers his and Mike's last conversation about her, how the Most Must See Superstar had said something on the commentary desk to hurt her feelings. But she had come all the way to California for Mike, despite living in New Jersey, so he suspects that she's not as angry as Mike had thought. Though, by what he'd heard of her, this would be hard to prove... Squeezing his friend's side gently, he levers him upright again. "Come on, let's get you to bed, let you sleep all of this off."

"Sounds good," he sighs, head held rigid as he allows John to walk him down the hall to his room. "There's plenty of rooms here, each of you pick whichever one you want. Doesn't really matter to me. John and Alex will tell you which are theirs."

"Damn straight we will," John agrees.

The rest of the day passes quietly, Mike sleeping hopefully peacefully in his room and Alex, Ricardo and John quietly wandering around the house, none of them sure yet again where AJ's snuck off to. They've just ordered supper, John going to wake up Mike while Ricardo is outside waiting for the delivery man, when AJ reappears, startling Alex during his search for paper plates and silverware, not wanting to dirty any of Mike's things and add onto the to-do list during the last few hours he'll have in California before traveling back to Ohio for commentary on Main Event.

"Whoa," he grumbles, staring at her suspiciously. "Where did you come from?"

She tilts her head and stares back at him. "My room," she says simply. "I have a question for you."

"Like what?"

She leans forward on her toes, dark eyes boring into his. "I understand you've known Mike for years. I'm aware of how he sacrificed your job to try to get under Cena's skin... how did you forgive him?"

He blinks, thrown a bit by how far back she's going with this line of questions, that particular memory faded and only a little painful when he recalls it. "I barely knew him in those days, not like I do now. But I just... he was apologetic afterwards and I could see how sincere he was, and he really did do everything he could to get me my job back, in some capacity. And my giving him a second chance was the best thing I ever did." He smiles faintly. "When I needed those surgeries last year, he was there, waiting in the hospital with me leading up to surgery, and then he and John came and stayed with me at the start of my recovery. He's an infuriating man, but he's also a really good, loyal friend. The bad comes with about ten times as much good."

She tilts her head, watching him closely as he swallows uncomfortably and turns, continuing his search for the paper products. When he turns back around, she's gone again and he shakes his head. "What have you gotten yourself into with this one, Mike...?"

They all eat in different parts of the house that night, John helping Mike to force down as much food as he can stomach while still out of it from muscle relaxers and painkillers, dropping the rest of it in the fridge and going to just sit with his best friend as he dozes, unaccustomed to seeing him in so much pain. John and Alex both had had their surgeries, Mike there for both of them as much as he could, but Mike had never been severely injured, the worst he'd ever had being a concussion, so this is unsettling to John, especially after so long out of the business.

Miz hisses and groans as John adjusts the sheets around his shoulders, pausing before resting a hand on top of his head. "It's ok, Miz. You're gonna be ok, I promise." He stays there for a little over an hour, just watching him, when he realizes just how quiet the house is. "I'll be back in a little bit." Standing, he ventures out into the hallway and blinks at the pure darkness, guessing that the others have gone to bed early. He's just about to turn back into Mike's room, however, when he hears a soft rustling from the kitchen and approaches it warily, somehow not surprised to find AJ Lee sitting alone at the table, staring at nothing. She barely looks up as John sits across from her. "Oh, someone _is_ still awake," he says drily. She stares at him and he smirks, undisturbed by her. After all of the bizarre personalities he'd come across during his time in the WWE, he's not bothered by her. "So I've heard tell that you've been having conversations with Ricardo and Alex."

He says nothing else and she blinks slowly. "Yes. So?"

"Well, they may be good friends with Mike, but there's a name missing from that list." He sits back and crosses his arms over his chest, watching her. "I've known him longer than both of them combined, know his faults and strengths inside and out. So why not come to me?" She doesn't seem to have an answer to this, her eyes wide, and he merely smirks larger. "Come with me." He doesn't wait to see if she does, merely stands and ventures into the living room. She walks softly, but he can still tell when she's behind him, their shadows falling just so on the barely lit floor.

Mike's DVD collection is ridiculous and John thinks, if he hadn't obsessively organized them all the last time he'd been here with too much free time, he'd never find what he wants, but finally he succeeds and moves over to the DVD player, opening one of the cases and stuffing its contents inside. As it begins playing automatically, he moves to sit on the floor in front of the couch, so he can see both her face and the video. It starts with his final WWE match against the Miz back two years ago almost, the girl frozen as Mike attacks him again and again with a steel pipe, it not clear from this angle that he'd been protecting John with each strike. They watch the match through quietly, leading up to the pain in Mike's eyes afterwards as he chokes out a barely held together promo while John is helped out of the arena.

The screen goes dark and AJ is about to say something when John holds a hand up, quelling her comments and questions for a moment. "I knew my contract wasn't going to be renewed," he tells her simply. "That morning, I asked Mike to grant me my final match. He hated it, I think it honestly broke him that day, and I was afraid that our friendship wouldn't be the same, that I had asked too much of him finally. But somehow he found it in himself to not only give me the sendoff I wanted, he _also_ forgave me for making him do it. He's the most annoying man in the world. But he's also the most dependable. If you ask him to do something, he'll do it, no matter how much it's killing him." He stands, collecting the DVD and putting it back where it belongs. "I understand that what he says can hurt a lot, more than most probably. We've had some ridiculous arguments over the years, but we always come back stronger from them because in the end, we're best friends and he's like a brother to me, even when I want to strangle him to shut him up."

She doesn't move or say anything, her lip trembling a little as she considers his words. John watches her for a moment before quietly making it to his feet and walking towards the door, deciding the best course of action would be to leave the girl alone, let her think things through, something she's probably had precious little time for the last few days.

Mike stirs slightly when his bedroom door creaks open a bit, a shadow slipping into the room and approaching his bed. He breathes in deeply before whispering, "AJ?" His guess is proven correct as she shifts the sheets and slips under them, resting her head gently on his uninjured shoulder. They lay there quietly for a moment, Mike almost afraid to speak or touch her, should she bolt, but finally he whispers, "I really am so sorry. I didn't-"

Her finger on his lips derails his thoughts as she looks up, eyes gleaming in the moonlight visible through the window. "I forgive you," she whispers, replacing her finger with her mouth, kissing him softly.

He smiles, his pain miraculously lessened at this.


	176. chapter 176

Alex grimaces as he and John ease Mike back into his LA home, settling him down on the couch where Ricardo and AJ are sitting, the girl resting a hand on his shoulder and soothingly rubbing circles in his skin. "What'd they say?"

"Pretty much the same as the ER and trainer said," John says softly. "But further examination of his tests and his physician said it also looks like he has a pinched nerve."

AJ sucks in a deep breath as Ricardo glances from Mike to John, well remembering that that kind of injury had led to John needing surgery and time off while he was still contracted to the WWE. "What does that mean?" he wonders worriedly.

"Means he'll need to take it easy for awhile," Alex speaks up, staring at his former pro. "We asked if it may require surgery but the doctor says not at this time, should heal on its own. They'll keep an eye on it, and if that proves to be wrong, they'll handle it."

"One plus is Mike's wrestling style isn't as intense as mine was, so he probably will have a better chance than I did of it actually healing on its own," John offers with a wary smile, blinking innocently when his former tag partner grumbles wearily at him.

Alex sighs and squeezes his friend's shoulder, making Mike look over at him. "I have to leave for Main Event now, I'm doing commentary with Josh. Take it easy, yeah? I'll be back tomorrow, unless they randomly decide they need me for Smackdown."

Mike nods, closing his eyes. "Be careful with what you say," he says tiredly, speaking from experience on a number of fronts.

Alex nods, watching as AJ smiles wanly and presses a kiss to his cheek, curling up against him. "I will, don't worry. See you guys later." As he leaves to a chorus of byes, he sighs and closes his eyes. "Well, here we go," he mumbles, dreading entering their tense-filled work environment.

Thankfully Main Event goes alright, uneventful, and he arrives back at LA mid-Thursday just as AJ and RVD are leaving for Ohio, unsurprised by the fact that he's not needed for Smackdown. Mike spends the rest of the day sleeping, still affected by the medicine prescribed to him, so Alex, Ricardo and John pour over his DVD collection and talk quietly through the night until one by one they go to bed, wondering what the next day- and Smackdown- will bring.

Mike seems more with it and even seems hungry, eating most of the ham sandwich and potato chips that Ricardo brings him, blinking at his friend for a moment. "Hey, where's the sling?"

The ring announcer smiles slightly and gingerly rotates his arm. "I checked in with a local doctor, and he said I seem to be alright, and could take the sling off, as long as I take it easy for a couple days longer."

Mike grins at him, picking aimlessly at the couple of chips left on his plate. "I'm glad, man. Hey, what do you think the chances are of John allowing me to sit in my own living room to watch Smackdown with you all tonight?"

Ricardo chuckles. "I'll talk to him about it," he promises, leaning over to collect Mike's plate.

"Thanks." He leans back against the pillows, closing his eyes. He has no doubt that John will have even more of a problem with what he's planning for this weekend, his focus on Texas- the weekend house shows calling his name. Injury or no injury, the doctors hadn't said he couldn't compete... But first he has to make it past watching Smackdown tonight, seeing what the higher ups have in store for his fellow competitors...

And it's not really great from the start, more frustrating than anything as Vickie announces the elimination match, Ricardo tense next to him when she includes RVD in it, worried for his friend. Mike reaches out with his good arm and awkwardly pats his shoulder, lips pursed thoughtfully as he glares at the TV screen.

AJ wrestles before the elimination match, defeating Naomi, but it only serves as a minor distraction as they all wonder what will possibly happen to the eleven men in the elimination match. Rob is the fifth man out, the four before him losing in two minutes or less to the rampage of the three men, and Ricardo leans forward to watch, his eyes dark with anxiety and worry as he wishes that he was there to help, or at least support the man...

But RVD does well, about to leap off of the top rope to the outside to splash Reigns, the other two down around the ring, when HHH's music hits and puts a halt to everything. "No, no," Ricardo mumbles, growing more distressed when this leads to Roman regaining control of himself and throwing Rob viciously onto the barricade wall. "Ay, I should've been there," he breathes, fingers digging against his mouth as the screen goes dark, commercials picking up. "Rob..."

"Wouldn't have wanted you there," John says simply. "He wouldn't want you to get hurt any further. I think he'll be ok, looks like he was just dazed. Don't worry too much until you know otherwise, alright?"

Ricardo stares from John to Mike to Alex, who all seem to be in agreement, before nodding wearily. "Alright, si. I'll try..."

They all watch closely as RVD is shown a little later in the trainer's office, HHH coming in to apologize and talk to the trainer, who says Rob will be sore, but ok, and Ricardo immediately begins to breathe a little easier. He even grins when HHH announces that Rob will face Del Rio in a rematch for the World title at Battleground, but all happiness and relief fades when Del Rio lunges out from the corner of the room, attacking Rob viciously before slamming a case against his upper back, leaving him unconscious on the floor.

Ricardo is on his feet, hands pressed into fists at his side, and it takes Alex guiding him back to the couch for any sort of realization to come back to him. "No," he mutters. "Rob- he, he wasn't moving. At all... Do you think- he's ok?"

"I don't know," Mike says honestly. "We can try calling him in a few minutes but let the trainers do their thing. I'm sure if it's something serious, the commentators will tell us." He squeezes Ricardo's neck. "Relax, man. He's gonna be ok, he's an ECW guy, right? He's been through worse, I'm sure."

"Right, of course," he breathes, glaring at the TV as his former employer comes out for his match against R-Truth with more anger than any of them had ever seen from him.

Despite his friends' varied attempts at keeping him at home, Mike goes ahead anyway and flies out to Texas, relieved that he passes by the weekend without any guilt-inducing texts or calls from AJ, who is busy on the Indiana and Illinois tour and seems unaware of what he's done, before traveling to Chicago that Monday with no further injuries, though he can still barely move his neck or one arm.

AJ greets him at the arena, arms crossed over her chest as she stares at him, head tilted. "So I hear tell someone went to Texas when they should've been at home resting," she says simply, an edge to her voice.

Mike chuckles. "Erm, well... yeah, that happened. How was your weekend?" She rolls her eyes at him and he coughs. "Look, I talked it over with WWE doctors and they cleared me. I wouldn't have risked it if they hadn't. See, I walked away without any... other... scratches on me."

She sighs and leans up, staring at him, gauging the honesty behind his words. "Yeah, well, just be careful, huh?" She shakes her head and kisses him gently, feeling as he smirks against her lips. "Idiot." His smirk turns into an exaggerated pout, causing her to laugh in exasperation. "Come on, let's go find your friends," she finally urges, taking his hand and leading him carefully down the hallway.

The night starts off early, as HHH remakes Vickie's idea from Smackdown, instead making it a pure 11-on-3 elimination match with RVD stuck in the middle of it, and also making a WWEActive poll with RVD, Ziggler and Truth options against Randy Orton for later that night. Thankfully Rob looks alright after Friday, even speaking up when HHH is in the middle of his spiel, and afterwards they all watch as Alberto picks apart Kofi Kingston in a match, setting the mood for the rest of the matches involving those against The Shield later that evening.

Unfortunately, Mike has his own problems, interviewed by Renee Young about the past week and his injuries, when HHH finds a way to force himself into that too, telling Mike there'll be a MizTV segment tonight, Big Show his guest. Mike only has time enough to make it slowly back to the locker room and hold AJ for a few minutes, who is even more worried now, before waving halfheartedly at his tense friends and continue out to the ring, immediately vowing to get payback on Orton for the beatdown he'd fed him the week prior in front of his parents, then calling Big Show out. His mouth gets him in trouble almost from the start again and he's not surprised as Big Show grows more and more annoyed listening to him, remembering their tag team and how short lived it'd been since Big Show couldn't stand his nonstop talk.

Mike's just told him to step up, stand with the others against HHH and Stephanie, demanding that he stops letting her demean him, when- her music begins to play. Her smug face and hateful words haunt him for days afterwards as she reiterates again and again in his mind how he's only good for media events, called upon for this opening and that, and dammit, he wants to believe it's not true but there's no falsehood in her gaze. She believes every word she's saying, and then... she tells Big Show to knock him out. He turns slowly just to meet his former tag partner's fist and everything goes dark, the man awakening a few minutes later to the trainers and doctor leaning over him, asking him questions, trying to ascertain his awareness.

He's in and out, only just aware of AJ's warm hand clinging to his, until he hears RVD's music hit, the man the 'winner' of the poll for the match against Orton, and he forces his eyes open, watching the match. Even when Ricardo's new, bright yellow shirt blinds him, he only closes his eyes a few moments before resuming watching it, breathing heavily through the throbbing in his jaw that seems to be pulsing down to meld horribly with the pain that had been a constant companion the past week in his chest and arm. Orton, as he had done with him, forgets quickly that it's an actual match and just takes to dismantling Rob, throwing him into the barricade wall after he tries a 5-Star, the match ending by double countout. After that, it's like everything stops mattering to Orton as he tears the padding away, lifts his opponent up and slams him into the beams that comprise the barricade wall.

Mike's worry for Ricardo and RVD both grows until Orton storms after a lurking, terrified Ricardo, the ring announcer almost tripping over himself in his rush to get to safety, hiding by the top of the ramp to watch. Orton then throws Rob into the steps and walls once more before slinging him into the ring, where he then DDTs RVD from the top turnbuckle. Finally satiated, he leaves, allowing the referees and trainers to try to assist him. But it all goes to hell again when Alberto comes out of nowhere and attacks his Battleground opponent, locking in the armbar twice before finally releasing him, laughing as the referees yell at him.

When RVD is brought into the trainer's office, Ricardo's distressed apologies echo through the room, Mike wishing he could stand and join them, comfort him. Finally he coughs and calls out, "Ricardo, come here a minute. Let the trainers do what they need to, man."

There's a soft sniff and the ring announcer peers around the makeshift curtain the trainer had put up to give Mike and AJ some privacy, his face falling as he catches Miz's eye, hesitantly joining him at the cot. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, just a bruised jaw to add to the list of fun injuries I've got currently." Mike squeezes his arm. "Rob'll be ok too. Just take it easy, huh?"

Ricardo's just nodded miserably when AJ leans over and kisses Mike carefully. "I have to go, I want to talk to Stephanie about this match she's put me in," she tells him, bite in her voice. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," he says, watching as she goes, eyes dark with worry about what she could possibly say to the woman after what she'd done this evening. "Be careful." He glances over as Ricardo takes the now vacated chair and stares at his hands. "Hey, it'll be ok. We'll all get through this mess one way or another."

The ring announcer nods grimly. "Of course, you're right. It just... I wish things weren't so complicated right now... I miss when things were... at least a little... simple..."

Mike feels for him, he does, but he can't remember the last time things really _were_ simple, so he doesn't say anything, just pats Ricardo on the back until he spots AJ with Stephanie on the monitor, the apparent owner of WWE throwing a cheap dig in at AJ and her relationships through HHH's new DVD set. AJ is nonplussed, however, and, looking like she wants to say so much more after everything else going on this evening, proceeds to ask Stephanie about the ten divas tag match later on, clearly trying to get out of it. Mike knows this isn't going to go too far, his worst fears confirmed when the response given basically is compete or risk losing her championship reign, which quickly shuts AJ up and makes the girl backtrack, quickly leaving the office to get ready for her match.

He's not sure if it's just everything catching up with her or she's distracted by what's going on with him, or just a little bit of both, but AJ loses in two minutes to Brie Bella of all things, and he winces as Tamina Snuka carries her from ringside, AJ coming to at the ramp and looking behind her to the ring, clearly unsettled. Thankfully when she returns to the room and the trainer finishes examining her, she seems ok, if a little quiet, and he holds his good arm out to her, smiling faintly when she tentatively walks around Ricardo's chair and curls up against him, just small enough to fit comfortably next to him on the cot. He holds her quietly and the three of them watch as the 11 on 3 elimination match begins, quite a few of the eleven looking beat up or a bit off of their game after the matches held earlier.

So much so that RVD is the first eliminated and Ricardo releases a heavy sigh, shaking his head as he pats Mike on the arm and stands to go meet up with an even more beat up Rob, alternatively relieved that the night's all but over for them all and feeling worried for his injured friend, what this'll mean for his chances against Alberto, and what the next few weeks will bring for them all as they all appear to be targets of the McMahon Helmsleys...

AJ finally speaks up a minute later, head still warm against Mike's shoulder. "What a mess everything is becoming."

He strokes her hair gently, sighing softly. "Yeah..."


	177. chapter 177

Mike feels better than he had the week prior, even with the fresh jaw soreness, and he suspects it's more about he and AJ being fine this week compared to how she understandably could barely look at him the week prior at the start of his recovery, although the fact that he had avoided a concussion was also nice.

Even so, he's not that surprised when Alex is the one called in to do commentary for Main Event, unable to really complain when AJ accompanies them to where Main Event and Smackdown both will be held, content to stay and keep him company in the hotel room while Alex is at the arena. Ever since forgiving him, when not distracted by her own championship issues, she's been by his side, making sure he's as comfortable as is possible, getting whatever he needs, or even just cuddling against him as he sleeps away the pain.

Her head is resting on his shoulder, the warmth of her body against his doing more for him than any painkiller could, when Main Event begins and Alex starts it off by wishing him a speedy recovery, Mike chuckling softly against her hair as she hums and trails her nails down his chest, the two of them too content to move or say much of anything.

Although the few days he spends relaxing with her and Alex helping him as needed are nice, by Friday he's relieved to find that he can actually kind of sort of move his neck and shoulder again, however gingerly, and so he goes to Smackdown with fresh resolve, wanting the vengeance he'd laid claim to on Monday. And so, following the chorus of groans that accompanies HHH opening the show, Mike finds his way to the ring, interrupting the COO of the WWE.

He only speaks for a brief period of time when HHH interjects and, as Mike flashes back on what Stephanie had said only days earlier, tells him to blame himself for his own shortcomings, not management or anyone else for failing at the opportunities he was given against Orton, and with Big Show as a guest on MizTV. Mike's anger is boiling, blue eyes cold and hard as ice as he glares at his boss, who then gives him another opportunity- a rematch against Orton, Miz accepting. HHH, however, gets the final word, offering to fly in his parents to watch _this_ match as well, mocking Cleveland's size and its airport before leaving.

Mike glances around at the crowd before leaving, breathing heavily through his nose as he makes his way back to the locker room, AJ's hand fitting snug in his while she follows him quietly from the gorilla position, already well aware that when he's stewing like this, it's best to remain quiet, give him at least a little time to himself.

He's so lost in his own world that he barely notices when Ricardo and RVD leave the locker room, only just realizing that Alberto Del Rio is wrestling R-Truth, bleeding from the mouth as Miz's former tag partner gets a surprising amount of offense in. This seems to anger the World Champion and, after he beats Truth, he runs back over to his struggling opponent and locks in the armbar, holding it in viciously until RVD and Ricardo run down.

RVD rescues Truth, who rolls out to the apron with some assistance from Ricardo, the ring announcer then rushing to get a steel chair, that he throws into Rob, who slams it into Del Rio time and again before kicking it into his face, Ricardo joining his new friend in the ring before looking down at his former employer, who is left laying on the ground, gripping his arm and face in pain while RVD holds the title belt high, appearing even more determined to leave Battleground champion.

Mike has to smirk a bit as HHH suggests, and Vickie agrees, that their match be made a Hardcore match, but RVD's night isn't over as later on, he comes out when Dolph Ziggler has a match against Dean Ambrose to counteract the other two members of The Shield being out there.

"Hey, where's Ricardo?" he murmurs, realizing belatedly that the ring announcer hadn't rejoined them after seeing RVD out to the gorilla position.

Rob had made it known early on he doesn't want Ricardo involved in this whole mess, enough of them getting hurt over the past few weeks that he doesn't want to put more of a target on the younger man's back, so although he understands enough to let Ricardo assist in things involving Alberto, when it comes to Orton, or The Shield, he won't risk the other man's career along with his own, and so Ricardo would generally stay in the back and wait... but for there to be no sign of him, now... It doesn't sit right with Mike, who then realizes he's just been much too distracted with this whole Orton situation to truly pay much attention to Ricardo, especially after the memory or dream he'd confessed to having a couple weeks ago.

"Damn," Mike whispers, burying his fingers in AJ's hair and, kissing her quickly, standing. "I'll be back before your match." She blinks and starts to say something but he hurriedly leaves the room, wandering around a bit to try to locate Ricardo. Even asks around, growing more worried by the negative response he receives from everyone around. "Dammit," he breathes, squeezing his hands against his sides. "Idiot, why would you start ignoring him now, when-..."

He stops talking suddenly, eyes falling on the shut door to the trainer's office and he sucks in a deep breath, suddenly just _knowing._ He's just reached for the doorknob when it twists violently and is forced open, Ricardo all but falling out as he says something in Spanish behind him, Mike gaping as he rushes past him, tears in his eyes. "Ricardo!" he finally cries out, chasing after him. "Stop, hey- man, hang on!"

He's just reached him, gripping his shoulder, when the ring announcer spins around and slaps his hand away, startling both of them by the anger behind the move. "Mike," he chokes out, collapsing in on himself as Miz forgets the pain Ricardo's rash movement had sent stabbing up his neck and arm, immediately leaning down by him. "Mike- I don't, I don't understand," he sniffs. "I don't-"

"What'd he do? Huh?" he breathes, pulling the ring announcer closer. "What'd he say?"

"He said- he said he did all of this to protect me," he whispers. "It makes no sense. Why- how could any of this _protect_ me? And from what?" Mike has no idea so he just stays there, ignoring his body's various protests, how time is ticking away, his rematch ticking ever closer. "You know what else he said to me?"

"What?" he whispers, fingers buried in Ricardo's dark hair as he tries to sooth the younger man.

"He asked me- where... where my bowtie is at." He shakes his head glumly. "I don't even know- I haven't seen it since... since..." He chokes and closes his eyes, not wanting to remember that horrible night anymore.

"It's at Alex's," Mike says quietly, staring ahead blankly when Ricardo looks up at him. "It was- it was... we, uh... When Alex and I went to get your things from Del Rio's locker room, we returned and it was... it was on the counter, and- we, we packed it for you. So it's probably at Alex's, in whatever of your things you haven't unpacked yet."

Ricardo loses whatever balance he had left, sitting down heavily on the floor as he stares ahead blankly. "He... he _was_ there, then? Is that what you're trying to tell me? It wasn't... it wasn't just a dream...?"

"It's highly possible, Ricardo," Mike whispers sympathetically, sitting next to him shoulder to shoulder and just listening to his ragged breathing until finally he can't stall any longer, his match against Orton next. "Listen, I have to go- RVD should be around somewhere, go to the locker room, relax a bit... I'll be back soon, and we'll talk, ok?"

He nods blankly and Mike stands up, heading for the ring. He fully plans on upholding his promise to Ricardo, knowing that this conversation has been brewing for quite awhile, but he just can't maintain any kind of offense against Orton. It devolves about as badly as their last match had, Mike quickly falling apart after landing on his already aching chest after a failed clothesline in the corner. From there it's all Orton as he attacks him in and outside of the ring, once more destroying him as HHH and Stephanie's insults the last few days ring in his ear with each blow to his already taxed body.

He sinks into unconsciousness, aware that there's nothing he can do against the Viper. Not now, maybe not ever. He groans, remembering the look on his mom's face, AJ's, Ricardo's, Alex's, everyone's... _I'm sorry... Maybe they're right... I_ am _just a failure... I try so hard though... It's never enough..._

Trainers confirm that Mike's going to be ok, Orton's newest attack has just aggravated all of the injuries from the initial beatdown, and he knows he should feel relief at this, but he feels nothing as he heads into another week of dreading what HHH and all alligned with him will do or say to Mike or Mike's friends. Ricardo seems about as with it as he feels, the two of them looking blankly out the hotel window at Biloxi, Mississippi, unaware of the worried glances their similarly glum attitudes are beginning to garner from Alex, AJ and RVD. Only when Alex sits down next to Mike, RVD settling in next to the ring announcer, do they pay attention to what's going on around them, Ricardo blinking in surprise as he turns to find Rob's worried brown eyes peering over at him. "Rob?"

"Hey, man, are you ok? You've been awfully quiet the last few days. Ever since we beat down Del Rio with the steel chair, really." He squeezes the younger man's shoulder, trying to smile comfortingly at him. "If something's wrong, you know can tell me. I won't judge, I just wanna help you."

He swallows and stares at his hands before glancing anxiously over at Mike, who is looking over Alex's head at him. He nods discreetly and the ring announcer stands shakily, releasing a deep breath. "Would you mind... if we went for a walk then, por favor?" he asks nervously, aware that he should've told Rob this a long time ago, feeling all the more hypocritical the longer he stares at Rob's sincere gaze, considering how frustrated and confused he still feels over Alberto being so tightlipped and mysterious about everything, even now, only confessing the bare minimum when knocked loopy from repeated chair shots. "I'll tell you what's been going on."

"Of course," Rob agrees quickly, following his ring announcer out of the room, head tilted patiently as Ricardo tries to figure out how to begin his explanation.

Mike watches them go, lips twisted, before turning back to his own hoverers, glancing from Alex to AJ tiredly. "Well, ask what you want to ask," he finally says, wanting nothing more than to climb back under the sheets and sleep it all away- the echoing comments that Stephanie and HHH had both made the past week, the look in his friends and family's eyes, everything. But that's not him, he's not a quitter, however tempting it might sound late at night when everything's too quiet and his thoughts are too loud, and he's feeling weak and sore.

"You've been about as lively as Ricardo," Alex says softly. "Needless to say, that's not like you. I understand it's been a hard couple of weeks for you, but you're... usually better about bouncing back than this, even after much worse circumstances. What's going on?"

He's staring at his hands, uncertain if he wants to answer, when AJ slips between his arms and sits in his lap, staring at him with a soft, worried look in her dark eyes that captivates him, unused to her looking at _him_ like that. He rests his forehead against hers, drinking her warmth in, wanting nothing more than to comfort her but unsure how to when he can't even find a split second of comfort for himself. "They were right," he finally mutters, eyelashes fluttering as she strokes a hand down his face. "Everything HHH and Stephanie said-"

"Wha-" Alex sputters, time stopping as he stares at Mike in horror, AJ's hand freezing against his jaw.

"I'm a failure," he finally verbalizes, resting his hands on her hips and gently lifting her off of him, standing to walk towards the bathroom. "I am just a utility player-" But before he can even touch the door, Alex is there, slamming it shut once more with one hand before gripping him with the other, forcefully turning him around. "Alex-"

"Hell no!" he cries out, incredulous gaze boring into Mike's weary face. "You are _far_ from a failure. God, this is what you've been thinking about the last few days? Dammit, Mike." Fingers digging into his shoulders, he leads his former pro back to the beds and forces him to sit down, AJ quickly reclaiming her spot to make him stay still. "You were WWE champion-"

"No," AJ cuts in when Mike opens his mouth, already prepared to argue this and every other possible thing Alex could think of down. "Be quiet and listen to him, Mike," she tells him warningly, eyes piercing, worry replaced by grim determination. That look on her face makes him feel all the worse and he groans, shaking his head quietly before burying his face in her hair, trying to block out the world beyond her, although he does listen to Alex.

"You were WWE champion, and no matter what HHH says, you deserved that, you worked hard for it, and since then you've been the lead actor in the best selling DVD for WWE Films ever, you've been doing so many other things that just listening to you talk about them all makes _my_ head spin, and you still find the time somehow to be good friends to me, Ricardo, John... and, I'm guessing, a decent boyfriend to AJ," he adds in, glancing at the girl who's stroking his hair as he breathes against her neck. "No matter what HHH says, Miz, you can't let it get to you. He can't see beyond his own nose most of the time, content to insult and belittle everyone who's not in his little circle. Please don't buy into the crap he's spewing. It's not worth it. You're far from a failure, you just need to ask me, AJ, John or Ricardo any time you start to doubt yourself again. We'll set you straight."

AJ has a small smile on her lips, actually looking relieved as she glances at Alex, who then realizes that Mike seems a lot less tense as he holds onto her, his breathing softer and not as rapid. "Mike?" she murmurs, kissing the side of his face as he pulls away from her and blinks a time or two, his lips still downturned as he kisses her.

When he finally turns his eyes onto Alex, the younger man feels nervous but it's a grateful smile he's granted as Miz nods at him. "Thanks, Alex. I guess you have a point. It's easy to buy into what he's saying, I guess, when I keep ending up on the mat, staring at the ceiling, but yeah... I know I should be proud of what I _have_ accomplished... and no matter what he says, I'm far from giving up on accomplishing more."

Alex grins at him. "That's what I wanna hear."

It's a more relaxed Ricardo and Rob that return almost an hour later as well, the two of them pleasantly surprised to find Mike, AJ and Alex also at ease in comparison to how they'd left them. As Rob begins collecting a few things that he'll need at the arena, Ricardo makes no such move to his own bag, instead sitting back on the bed, kicking his heels against the frame. "Rob suggested I take the night off." He presses his hands together and shrugs. "I thought about it and decided to take him up on it. This way I can clear my head some more before Battleground..."

Mike looks thoughtful. "Want some company?" he offers after a moment, unable to help the smile that takes over his face when AJ and Alex stares at him in surprise. "I could use a distraction as well."

Ricardo grins back at him. "Of course. I'd like that, Mike."

They all fall silent, the others going about their business to head to the arena while Mike and Ricardo play hooky, until... "What _is_ there to do in Biloxi anyway?"

Ricardo laughs. "I have no clue. We'll figure it out though."

And they do, leaving the rental car behind at the hotel and trailing along the darkening streets, taking in all that Biloxi has to offer. They even walk past the arena at one point, both men instinctively ducking their heads while waiting for fans to start surrounding them, curious why they're not inside, and demanding autographs, but it's quiet, and no one looks twice at them. "Wonder what's going on inside," Ricardo mutters, the itch to at least find a TV and check in on the show passing as soon as they leave the shadow of the arena, continuing along until they find a park, both men grinning as they stare down at a wide lagoon, listening to the sounds of ducks as night takes over.

They sit on a bench and just take it all in, comfortable and relaxed, until finally Mike checks his watch and finds that it's almost 10:30. "Holy crap," he laughs, shaking his head. "Man, the show's over, c'mon, let's go." He stands and holds a hand out to the ring announcer, pulling him off of the bench and resting his arm around his shoulders, the two of them walking side by side back towards the hotel. "This was kinda nice. Wouldn't want to do it every week, but hey..."

Ricardo nods, understanding. "Yeah, a break is nice sometimes." He nudges Mike. "Are you doing ok? I'm sorry- I was so wrapped up in my own stuff, I haven't really-"

Mike smirks. "It's fine, don't worry about it. I'm ok, Alex and AJ worked together to talk some sense into me." He sobers up. "How are you doing? Speaking of being distracted, I haven't been on top of things as well, either..."

Ricardo sighs. "I'm still confused," he admits. "But telling Rob the truth was the right decision. He, he took it better than I thought he would. At least I don't think he's lost faith in me, especially with the PPV so soon... And not seeing Alberto tonight helped as well, I'm not sure how to handle it. Or if I have to; I'll be surprised if he even remembers telling me all of that, he was really out of it." He shrugs. "Some situations we find ourselves in, huh?"

"Yeah," Mike mumbles. "But we'll be ok. I'm too stubborn to give up, and I know you, you won't either. It'll work out, we just need to get past all of this. And we will."

Ricardo smiles. "I'm beginning to believe you." Miz chuckles and they walk the rest of the way to the hotel, Mike leaving Ricardo at his and Rob's room before heading back to the elevator to get to his own floor.

He's just looked up when the doors open to bring him face to face with AJ, whose eyes light up upon seeing him. He grunts as she all but throws herself into his arms, laughing softly. "Hey," he mutters into her hair, carrying her out of the elevator before it can close on them. "Missed me?"

"Yes," she pouts against his throat. "They named that nasty Brie Bella #1 contender for my belt." She shifts her grip on something against his shoulder and he realizes that the belt is what's slapping against his back, smiling fondly into her hair as he adjusts his hold on her and carries her down the hallway, fumbling with his keycard before unlocking and pushing the door open one handed, marveling once more at her petite form as he carries her inside and settles her on the bed.

The bathroom light's on, Alex probably getting ready for bed, so he simply leans over and lightly kisses her. "It's gonna be ok, you'll do great. She has nothing on you." This seems to appease her slightly and she smiles up at him, but there's still some unhappiness in her eyes and he shakes his head, kissing her again.

He had enjoyed the last few hours, able to just relax and be himself with Ricardo, not worry about HHH and his comments or actions, but he can't do that kind of thing to AJ again, especially considering how sensitive she is to feeling abandoned, so no matter how certain he is she'll be ok, he vows yet again to be there this Sunday, support her through whatever may come.


	178. chapter 178

Although Mike's healthy enough come Wednesday, Main Event commentary goes yet again to A-Ri, Miz shrugging it off as best as he can, not willing to let himself dwell on the thoughts that had left him frozen on Monday until Alex and AJ had worked together to get him to think straight once more. He and AJ watch the show together again, both quiet as they think about the upcoming Smackdown- and the PPV beyond that, holding so many of their futures in its hand. He sighs, stroking his hands through her hair, down her back as he considers another show where he doesn't have a pre-announced match. _Whatever,_ he finally thinks, not letting it shake his determination. _It doesn't matter, I'll be there either way._ He stares down at her, forcing a smile when she sits up to kiss him lightly.

And he's certain about this until he receives a text early Thursday morning saying he's not needed for Smackdown, and had been given the night off, the typical hint for a superstar to not even bother going to the arena. He stares at it, his thumbnail digging into the glass of his phone screen, before he takes a deep breath and another, closing his eyes in disgust. Of course, he knows that the fact he has no scheduled match for Battleground makes his presence unneeded at the shows, too beat down the past few weeks for anything to really be built towards, but still... He paces around his hotel room in aggravation, gingerly rotating his arm as AJ sleeps on behind him, Alex having left early after Main Event the night before to handle some business back at home. He does feel a lot better physically, and thinks he's getting there mentally... but going against HHH's orders could get him suspended or worse. He purses his lips and finally sits on the bed next to her, kissing her shoulder gently. As she stirs slightly, just to fall back into a deep sleep after a moment, he checks his twitter account.

There are the standard early morning tweets and alerts from the various accounts he follows... and then he sees a tweet about a Cleveland Browns game from good ol' JR. He also is aware that it's Morrison's birthday, noting to take some time later to call or Skype him but... Thinking about home, and perhaps dropping in on his parents, letting his mom see firsthand, at least, that he's doing a lot better than the last time he'd seen her, sounds like a good idea so he nods slowly and glances once more at his girlfriend, smiling a little. Leaning over her once more, he nuzzles against her neck and presses another kiss to her throat, grazing his teeth gently against her jaw as she grumbles and shifts, resting a hand against his head lazily. "AJ," he whispers against her skin. "I gotta ask you something."

She sighs and opens her eyes, staring at him with a mix of sleepy grumpiness and subtle affection, her nails trailing through his hair as she inches towards something resembling wakefulness. "What?"

"Been told I've been given Friday off," he tells her, watching as realization clicks with her. "And ordinarily I'd ignore it and go anyway, but if I want to be there for you on Sunday, I kinda just want to keep the drama low this week... so I was thinking while you're at Smackdown, I may go back to Ohio and visit my parents, go to a football game or something. Is that alright?"

She continues brushing her fingers through his hair before pulling him the rest of the way down to her, kissing him to breathlessness. Both of them pull away as one, breathing in deeply before resting eye to eye for a moment, the girl smiling vaguely as she licks her lips. "Fine," she mutters. "But you have to make it up to me before I let you go anywhere first."

He grins. "Oh, I will. Promise." She giggles as he resumes kissing her, sighing softly.

Later that afternoon, he departs the plane in Cleveland and, pausing only long enough to turn his phone on once more, finds his rental car, driving slowly through the streets he'd grown up on towards his parents' home. He's just outside of the house when he notices one of the missed calls he'd received an alert for while his phone was off is from Alex. He blinks and dials him back, frowning. Alex normally doesn't call him when he knows he's midflight, so he figures it must be something fairly big.

"Hey, Mike."

"Hey, kid, what's going on?" he wonders, glancing back towards his house.

"Well, uh, and please don't freak out, but I had a doctor's appointment earlier and, uh, my doctor just confirmed I'm gonna need minor shoulder surgery. It's outpatient, and everything should be fine, but just wanted you to know. It's scheduled for Saturday, I should be back on the road in time for Main Event, if not sooner. I might travel back with Ricardo for the PPV tomorrow... I mean, why not?"

Mike swallows, his mind already going a million miles an hour. "I can be there-"

"No, no," Alex cuts in quickly. "Listen, the last surgery was different- it was more intense, and I lived alone at the time. This one's simple, and Ricardo'll be here to help me. I know you were looking forward to spending the weekend with AJ, I don't want to disrupt that. I promise you, I'll be fine. You enjoy your weekend, alright? Ricardo, I'm sure, will keep you up to date on what's going on."

Mike hates it, he does, but Alex _does_ have Ricardo, and his house is calling to him, not to mention a weekend with his girlfriend... He sighs and shakes his head. "Fine, kid, but if you need _anything,_ you let me know, got it?"

"I will," he vows. "Now go say hi to your mom for me."

Mike sighs and agrees, hanging up with no lack of reluctance. His mom greets him enthusiastically, visibly relieved to find that he looks stronger than he had weeks ago, and a part of him is glad to see his father isn't anywhere nearby as they sit and talk easily about a number of things- his career, how his recovery is going, and, last but not least, AJ. His mom had been understandably uncertain about the girl at first, aware of her from the times she'd seen her on MizTV segments while watching her son, but she'd observed her enough while they were all at the hospital with Mike to like what she'd seen, finding the girl a good deal more stable in real life than she appeared on TV most times.

Finally he realizes time is getting away from him, the football game starting within the next hour, so he kisses her goodbye and leaves, relieved that she seems comforted after seeing him, and more so that she approves of AJ; not that he'd _needed_ her to, but he loves his mom so to have her seal of approval means a lot to him. His good mood, however, fades away when he arrives at the game and recognizes a familiar bleach blond head of hair sitting in the stands nearby, pursing his lips in annoyance as he finds his seat and tries to ignore Dolph Ziggler, stuck on what luck it is that they're both _here._ Of course, they both originate from Cleveland, though Ziggler lives in Arizona now, and he in LA, so he imagines it had to have happened some day- but _today_? Really? Really?

And of course it quickly goes around the stadium that the WWE superstars are there- along with, to Mike's growing discomfort, JR and Jerry Lawler. Which explains why JR had been tweeting about it that morning, but geez. _I try to get away from work and look what happens,_ he thinks with a mirthless little smirk as all four of them are invited to tour the stadium, meet some of the team, and other things of that nature. He and Dolph even come face to face a time or two but Miz merely nods at him before continuing on his way. He's pretty sure they'll never get along well, if at all, but Ziggler had been dumb enough to throw AJ away, which had brought her to Mike with time, and he has many more important things to worry about than being stuck in the same building with Ziggler for a few hours. Besides, Ziggler also is against the whole HHH regime so it seems, and he knows they may eventually end up needing the other, so he bites his tongue as best as he can.

Which goes fine until his phone rings and he excuses himself, unsurprised to find that it's AJ. "Hey," he greets her softly. "How's it going?"

"I miss you," she offers after a moment. "Things are boring without you."

"Well of course," he says, smirking when she lets out a soft, huffing kind of laugh. "I'll come back early Saturday, I just think my mother needs a little more one-on-one time with me, after everything. Like I promised, we can spend the whole weekend together until your match, and then I'll be waiting to celebrate your title retention with you."

"Sounds good," she says, smile audible in her voice. "I love you, Mike."

"I love you too, AJ." After a quick goodbye, he hangs up and turns to re-enter the room just to find Ziggler leaning against the doorway, sneering at him. He closes his eyes, knowing immediately what the look on his face means: he'd heard enough of the short phone call to understand what was going on. "What do you want, Ziggler?"

"So you're the next one in AJ's long list of victims," he says with a smirk. "I figured after everything she'd put you through, all you've seen her do to a number of other guys the past year, that you'd know better."

Mike's eyes darken as he approaches the other man. "Watch it, this hasn't been a great few weeks for me, and she's been one of the few bright spots. So either shut up and go back in there, or-"

"Or what?" Ziggler wonders, standing up straighter as they stare at each other. "Do you really think she's worth all of this?"

"Yes I do," Miz says simply, glowering at him. "And more."

"How touching," he tells him. "I used to think so too. I would've done anything for that girl. But she became desperate and clingy and cost me my dream of being World Heavyweight Champion. How long until she does the same for you too?"

Mike rolls his eyes. "Well, thankfully, I'm not you." He leans closer and smirks at Dolph. "I'd never begin to ignore her to the point that she'd feel the need to cost me anything. Maybe if you were a better boyfriend, you'd still be champion. But thankfully you're not, and pretty much everything is as it should be finally. I'll make sure she's happier, and _stays_ that way, than you were ever capable of doing." He sneers and walks inside to join back up with JR and Jerry, leaving Ziggler behind to snarl at the door.

He watches Smackdown with his mother the next night, the two of them watching as first RVD wins via DQ to Fandango, hitting a van terminator with some assistance from Ricardo after that, Mike bursting out laughing when the shredded trash can is presented to Alberto Del Rio later on, the man throwing it aside before storming out for his match against Dolph. Mike's lips twist into a sneer as he watches the two men batter each other down, Del Rio finally cinching victory with another armbar.

He doesn't see AJ until later in the show, Brie Bella's match against Aksana ending with a victory for the Total Divas' star, just for the divas champion to come out and speak her mind. As soon as she's done and a commercial takes over, Mike clears his throat awkwardly and glances at his mom, who also looks a bit thrown by what the girl had just said. He laughs weakly, the little boy in him wanting nothing more than to crawl under his bed and hide but the man in him waiting to see what she'd say first. Then maybe he'd slink off to his room and do so...

Finally she clears her throat and looks at him, eyes softening when she notices the look on his face. "Well... she's quite spirited, isn't she?"

Just like that, the tension disappears and he releases a deep, almost painful breath before laughing, sincerely this time. "Ah, yeah, that she is, Mom." He smiles affectionately, shaking his head at the luck that the _one_ time he watches with his mom, his girlfriend would have to say such eyebrow raising things to her opponent. _Oh well, it's part of the reason I love her. You never know what she's going to say or do... sounds kind of familiar..._

Mid-Saturday, Alex wakes up, still feeling the affects of the topical numbing agents they'd used on him for the minor shoulder surgery, not to mention the painkillers. He blinks a time or two before focusing on the dark haired younger man by his side. "Ric... ardo," he slurs out, smiling when the ring announcer looks up at him, face lighting up. "Hey, man."

"Hola, Alex. How do you feel?"

"Floaty," he mutters, the ring announcer laughing softly at this, which causes him to grin. "You don't laugh enough, man." Before Ricardo can react, a nurse comes in to examine him, leaves behind a pile of paperwork that Ricardo helps him to sign one handed and bring to its rightful places so he can get released.

"Come, Alex, let's get you home." He agrees readily, Ricardo's hand warm and steadying against his back as he leads him to the car, where he dozes the whole ride back to their apartment. Alex is too tired to say or do much, merely nodding thankfully as the ring announcer leads him inside and sits him down on the couch, ensuring he's stable there before running back out to the car to collect his papers and other small things.

As he settles the items on the coffee table in front of the couch, Alex stares at it, blinking rapidly like it's a puzzle he has to figure out. "Hey, Ricardo... thanks, man. For everything. Miz is busy, and Morrison has some standup comedy stuff this week, so I really didn't wanna bug either one of them, and... I'm glad you're here," he mutters. "It sucks goin' through this kinda stuff alone."

Ricardo stares at him, unable to really think of one time when he'd been truly alone and injured or in pain. When younger, he'd had his mom, then Alberto and Sofia, and now he has Mike, Alex and Rob... He knows, despite all of the hardships, he really is rather lucky. "I'm glad I'm here too, Alex," he says softly. Resting a hand on Alex's good arm once more, he tries to help him up from the couch. "Come on, let's get you to bed, so you can sleep comfortably for awhile. I'll wake you up later for supper."

Alex is close to Alberto's height and for a few, wild moments, it reminds Ricardo of the many times he'd had to help the Mexican aristocrat to bed after one of his injuries or just a really, really rough day. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, still not sure what he's going to do the following night thanks to all of these memories and conflicted feelings. _Time's running out,_ he thinks brokenly, pulling sheets up around Alex carefully, making sure not to jostle his tender arm. _Why does everything have to be so complicated right now...?_

Mike keeping his turmultous thoughts to himself works out in the end- he has no match, but he is allowed on the roundtable to watch the show and share his thoughts with Titus O'Neil and Tensai, which is fine with him. He's still sore sometimes if he moves wrong, although his doctor assures him he's recovering well, considering. So he's content to watch from above as the show carries on, sneering to himself when he sees Ziggler come out, remembering their conversation from Thursday, but he soon stops caring when it's announced that RVD vs Del Rio will begin as soon as this match concludes. He swallows, alternatively worried and relieved that it'll all be over soon, putting a lot of their worries to rest. Though Ricardo seems better since telling Rob everything, he's still visibly conflicted and it shows in a tweet he sends out before the show begins. Mike feels for him, he does, but in the end it's his decision; all Mike can do is support him, along with Alex and RVD.

He's watching tensely as Alberto tries to lock in the armbar, Ricardo taking advantage of the Hardcore rules to slip in with, of all things, a bucket and slam it across Del Rio's back. The Mexican aristocrat twitches, arching away from the weapon, before throwing Rob out of the ring and turning on Ricardo. Mike can't see what they're saying, but it looks like Ricardo is about to hand over the bucket to his former employer when- he instead kicks the older man in the abdomen and begins hitting him with the bucket repeatedly, getting some form of payback for what he'd endured two months prior almost to the day. Mike swallows, however, when the volley quickly comes to an end, Alberto throwing Ricardo to the outside and screaming at him before kicking him viciously, leaving him slumped against the barricade wall, motionless.

Mike bites his lip, hope for this match ending with neither men being harmed fading away as RVD reappears, gets him away from Ricardo and even manages some offense on him outside and in the ring, but it all goes sideways after Del Rio catches RVD's arm in a chair and prises it back viciously in the armbar, Rob having no choice but to tap. Ricardo is still down on the outside, and Mike regrets being up here, unable to go check on them as the next round of match discussions begin between the three of them.

He struggles through the rest of the night to focus on what's going on in the ring, worried still about Ricardo, if he's ok, although they'd seen him come to and be helped up the ramp by the trainer and a couple of referees, RVD holding his arm close to his side as he follows them up with a referee of his own staying nearby just in case. But Mike's night isn't completely over as AJ's match comes up, his eyes locked on her as she comes out, Tamina at her side. She looks incredible, and he catches her glimpsing over at the skybox he's in, Miz grinning slightly as he pretends to listen to Titus and Tensai discussing the match.

The match is straightforward enough, though there's a time or two where he worries that Brie may almost have it. Finally, Tamina seems to be growing worried as well because she grabs Nikki and chokes her out, distracting Brie just long enough for AJ to slip behind her and catch her in a roll up, retaining the Divas title. As the twins watch on, Nikki gripping her throat and struggling to take down a full breath again, AJ stares at them from the ramp, kissing her belt in relief as Tamina supports her.

Mike grins, relieved that at least _one_ thing has gone right tonight, turning back to his job. The rest of the evening goes by quickly, all of them on the roundtable happy for the Rhodes when they successfully defeat The Shield to get their jobs back. When the lights go out just before the WWE title match, they all sit tensely and glance around, wondering what the Wyatts are up to _now_ , but everything begins to work again within a few minutes and Mike breathes a little easier. However, the pay per view ends unsatisfactorily as Big Show comes out and knocks everyone in the match involved out- ref, Daniel _and_ Orton, no one's safe from his rampage. He grimaces and rolls his eyes, picking at his suit jacket as they all walk backstage, subdued.

Despite what he'd expected, AJ isn't waiting for him but Tamina is standing nearby, eyeing him suspiciously, and he walks over to her. "Where's AJ?" he asks, not liking the look on her face. "What's wrong?" She grimaces and begins to walk back down the hall, leaving him to follow her, which he does. "Hey, tell me-"

"She's in the trainer's office," the tall woman says. "Trainer is examining her, she hit her head."

"She seemed fine earlier though!" he exclaims, wincing back when Tamina stops short and looks over her shoulder at him, quickly losing patience with him. He holds his hands up, shaking his head as she slowly begins walking again. He keeps his mouth shut until they've arrived back at the office, inching inside behind her. AJ is laying on a cot, holding her title close against her chest as the trainer checks her pupils. Her face lights up when she spots Mike approaching, teeth flashing as she reaches out for him. "Hey," he whispers, taking her hand and kneeling down on the cot. Both are relieved when the trainer finishes and wanders off, giving them some space. "Congrats. Are you ok?"

"The trainer wants to keep an eye on me for awhile. I was getting a little dizzy on my way back here, and... some things are a bit of a blur," she says, dark brown hair raining down around them as she leans over to kiss him, the ridges of the title belt digging into both of their arms not distracting them from each other. Until, that is-

"Mike!" Alex calls out, running into the room with a worried look in his dark eyes, waving his cell phone around with his good arm. He'd decided to travel to the PPV after all, his shoulder wrapped carefully under his shirt. "It's Ricardo-"

Breaking the kiss sharply at the desperate tone of his voice, Mike looks up at the phone being held in front of his face, blinking a time or two until the words sprawling across the screen register with him, a tweet Ricardo had sent out only a few moments earlier. He stares at his former rookie and shakes his head, eyes wide and dark with worry. "Have you seen him?"

"No, not- not since-" Alex stares at the text again, rereading where Ricardo's tweet says that loyalty to ADR had failed, and loyalty to RVD had backfired, and that he guessed that was it. "What- what's it? What's going on?" he demands, visibly worried for his roommate.

"I don't know, but don't worry," Mike says, trying to seem braver than he's actually feeling. "We'll find him, he can't have gone too far... it'll- it'll work out. He'll be fine." He stares at AJ for a long moment, weighing what to do as he strokes the hair out of her eyes with a small smile, before reaching out and squeezing Alex's good shoulder. "I have to stay here with AJ, the trainer's checking her out. You go and look for him, if you can't find him, let me know and I'll come and help as soon as I'm sure she's ok, alright?"

AJ watches the two men with a frown before motioning to Tamina, the enforcer walking up to her side. "Go with Alex, help look for him," she tells the taller woman. She may not like Ricardo most of the time, but she knows that Mike likes the ring announcer, and what hurts Mike has begun to hurt her too, seeing him so worried and anxious over that tweet, warring with his need to stay with her and make sure she's ok too, eating at her. Tamina nods and AJ smiles at her, holding her title closer. "Thanks."

Mike turns to Alex, trying not to laugh at the look of fear in the man's eyes as he stares at Tamina, clearly unsettled at having to be alone with the woman for however long it takes to find the wayward younger man, but he is distracted when Mike taps his arm. "Look, it's gonna be ok. Just... stay calm, alright? Call me when you find him."

"I will," he promises, nodding quickly at AJ before leaving the room, Tamina following closely behind him.

Mike watches them go before turning back to his girlfriend, kissing her gently. "Thank you," he breathes against her lips, brushing his fingers through her hair, remembering with some horror how Ziggler's concussion had gone, stories of his retrograde amnesia, losing the title because of it, and everything else. _Please, please... let AJ be ok... and let Ricardo be alright, too._

Alex and Tamina had searched around the arena, finding nothing or no one who had seen Ricardo- even RVD had been clueless, staring at Alex with a deep frown. "I... it's my fault," he confesses, still holding an ice pack to his own arm. Alex stares at him quizzically as he explains lowly. "I told him a little bit ago that I'd decided to take some time off if I didn't- I didn't win this match, walk out World Heavyweight Champion tonight. He, uh..." He swallows. "He ran out of here, pretty upset. I tried catching him, but he's a fast guy. I don't even know which way he went." He stares at Alex, as troubled as the younger man feels, and releases a soft breath. "When you find him... please tell him, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Alex covers his face with a hand, groaning. "Yeah, well, that doesn't do him much good now, but I'll tell him," he mutters, growing more and more unhappy with the easygoing highflyer before him. "Now I have to go find my roommate and make sure that he's not completely falling apart. Again. Excuse me." He brushes past Tamina, uncaring as she stares at Rob with dark, hard eyes before following him out of the room.

They're about to go look outside, just in case he's in the parking lot, when Alex's phone beeps. They both come to a stop as he pulls it out of his pocket and looks at the text waiting for him, hoping it's from Ricardo. He frowns at it, shaking his head. "It's a blocked number," he mutters. "A text message." Glancing at her, he shrugs. "That's a new one..." He reads it a time or two, wondering _who_ it is from before the words comprising it clicks with him, renewing his hope in one flourish. "Come on." He unlocks the car and stands awkwardly as she takes the keys from him without a word spoken, since he can't drive as well one handed, and lets herself in on the driver's side. Alex stands awkwardly by, unsure if he should do the gentlemanly thing and open the door for her, but ultimately lets the moment pass, figuring she'd be the kind of woman who would knee him in the groin for even thinking about it.

The drive is a short one, though it feels like an hour long due to the awkward, tense silence between the two of them. She follows

silently as he walks through the hotel lobby, waiting anxiously as the elevator takes them to the fourth floor, then down the corridor to the room he, Mike and AJ had booked. Sure enough, as the text had said, the slumped form of Ricardo Rodriguez is sitting in front of the door, his knees hugged to his chest as he buries his face against them, arms shaking as Alex hesitantly approaches, Tamina thankfully staying far back. "Ricardo," Alex whispers, heart aching for the younger man as he looks up, eyes red rimmed and face wet with fresh tears. "Aw, man," he breathes, wishing not for the first time that Miz is here. "It's gonna be ok."

"How?" he chokes out. "How? I spent so long... not knowing what to do... and then Rob-... but it only lasted a couple of months? I can't go through it again, Alex. I- I can't..." He groans out a sob as his roommate sits down next to him and pulls him closer, resting his chin on top of his head, not sure what to say or do that would help, if anything could.

"You're not alone," he tells him finally, eyes closed as Ricardo trembles against him. "Mike and I, we'll help you through this, alright? Everything'll be ok, just give it some time." He opens his eyes when the ring announcer nods, looking up to find Tamina typing out a text message on her cell phone, probably to AJ to tell her that they'd found the younger man. He smiles at her in thanks before turning his attention back to Ricardo. "Come on, let's get inside, huh? This floor isn't comfortable at all." He doubts that Ricardo cares one way or another now, but it makes him feel better as they stand, allowing him to unlock the door and guide him inside, Tamina shutting the door with a quiet click behind them.

"I can't sleep," Ricardo mutters pitifully as Alex tries to lead him to the bed. "Besides, there's only two beds and you've had surgery recently... I'll just... take the couch." Alex sighs and follows him over there and, after he thoughtlessly kicks his shoes off, urges him to rest.

"If you're sure... even if you can't sleep, just lay down, get comfortable, and relax," he says quietly. "After the night you've had, you deserve it."

Ricardo grunts softly as sheets and blankets are dropped on top of him, Alex doing all he can to make him feel better, even if just physically. "I don't know what I deserve anymore," he mutters, rolling onto his side away from their gazes.

AJ and Mike return an hour later, the girl still clearly off, her eyes barely focused as she walks slowly into the room, Mike assisting her every step of the way. "Whoa," he whispers, making sure she doesn't run into the side of the bed. "There you go." He eases her onto the bed and carefully pulls her shoes off before kissing her hand, smiling up at her. "Things'll be ok." He makes sure she's settled and comfortable, her eyes immediately slipping closed, before joining Alex in the middle of the room, examining Ricardo and AJ with a growing feeling of dread in his stomach. "Some night, huh?" he mutters, reaching out and patting the unresponsive ring announcer's foot through the sheets, frown growing when he doesn't even twitch.

"Yeah, no kidding." Alex sighs.

"Looks like. Maybe we can get Tamina to stay to keep you company?" he offers with a small smirk, trying desperately to bring some levity into the situation.

"Oh hell no!" Alex chokes out, still unsure how he'd made it through the last couple of hours alone with her.

Mike laughs at him before shrugging. "Just a suggestion." Dodging A-Ri's swipe expertly, he walks quickly over to the second bed and, scooping AJ's sleeping form up in his arms, settles in next to her, murmuring to her when she stirs, disoriented and confused. "It's gonna be alright. Go back to sleep," he tells her sofly, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep himself and leave this evening behind them.

Raw the next night is bad from the start. They all arrive early, as is standard, but the trainer is immediately drawn to AJ, seeing what Mike sees- she's pale, seems shaky, and the only reason Miz _had_ let her come was to let the trainer get a look at her, deduce what's going on. Which, unfortunately, is what Mike fears- she's having memory issues still, and headaches, among other things, so it's pretty easy to guess that it's a concussion. "We'll run IMPACT tests on her at a later date," the man explains to Mike as he examines her. "But she can't compete this way. I'd advise her to return home, get some rest."

It sounds right to Mike, but he can't leave. He has a request to make with whoever he can find in control of things later on, be it Maddox or the McMahon Helmsleys, so he looks around, spotting Tamina nearby, her arms crossed over her chest as she stares back at him. He swallows, suddenly understanding why Alex had reacted to her the way that he had the night before, before squaring his shoulders and approaching her. "Trainer wants AJ to get some rest. Can you take her back to the hotel and stay with her, make sure she's alright? I have some business to attend to tonight, but I'll be back there as soon as I can."

She sneers for a moment before nodding briskly, turning to walk into the trainer's office with nothing else said. He frowns and follows her in, wondering how AJ and she gets along. "Come on," she says, helping AJ up from the cot. "Trainer says you can't compete tonight, he wants you to rest."

AJ's just opened her mouth to complain, try to talk her way out of it, when she spots Mike, pulling away from Tamina and walking towards him. "Mike, I-"

"You need to do it," he tells her softly. "It's gonna be ok, you're allowed to miss a night here and there." Brushing his fingers through her hair, he smiles. "Don't worry about it. Just take care of yourself, alright?" He leans down and kisses her, smirking as her attempt at speaking is muffled against his lips, finally fading away into nothing. He pulls back and runs his fingers along her face. "I can't come with you to the hotel, but you're gonna be ok. And I'll be back as soon as I can, yeah?"

She groans and sighs, finally giving in, swayed by his ministrations. "Fine, fine." He watches with a small smile as Tamina guides her out of the arena, AJ looking over her shoulder at him once more. After waving at her, he turns his attention to other things.

Mainly, Ricardo. The ring announcer had been quiet most of the morning, only speaking a word here and there, and he and Alex had tried to give him space to think, but Mike is growing weary of it. He settles down next to the younger man once he finds him in the locker room, resting his hand on his shoulder. "Hey."

"Hola."

"You ok?" Ricardo shrugs vaguely and Miz releases a soft breath. "You're gonna be, man. You will, I promise. Just give yourself time, alright? It's been a shaky few months for you, but things'll turn around."

"I guess," he mutters, pressing his hands together anxiously. He's still wearing RVD's pink merch shirt, Mike staring down at the garish colors, which somehow looks alright on the younger man, although all of the pink in the locker room the past ten days had been giving Miz headaches. But it's for a good cause, so he doesn't complain. They're still sitting there in silence when a familiar voice comes from a nearby monitor, Ricardo tensing as he looks up to find Alberto Del Rio flirting with Vickie Guerrero, even going so far as to put his scarf around her neck and kiss her cheek.

Mike is staring at him, missing how the woman's face quickly turns from smitten to angry, remembering how, last winter, it had been Del Rio wrapping a similar scarf around Ricardo's neck, calling him his hermano, before he'd gone out to compete against Big Show for the World Title, urging him to do it in style. _How quickly things change,_ he thinks grimly, sighing slightly. Commercials haven't even finished airing when a tech comes in, urging Ricardo to follow him. Mike shrugs when he glances over at him uncertaintly, watching with no lack of discomfort as they leave the room.

Alex rejoins him a minute later, carrying a large plate of food from catering awkwardly, looking around. "Hey, where's Ricardo?"

"I'm not sure, a tech came and said he was needed for something." Miz has just reached to snag some chicken from the plate when Vickie addresses Alberto, announcing his opponent- Ricardo. Alex and Mke both turn sharply then, the food forgotten as the younger man hesitantly comes out, swallowing tensely. He tries again to talk to her but she motions him on so he walks towards the ring, looking ill. It had been bad enough when RVD had had his back, this time he's all alone... Mike begins to truly hate Vickie Guerrero, icy blue eyes glaring at the screen.

Except that, as soon as Ricardo's in the ring, the bell alerting them to the match starting, she speaks up again, announcing that it will be Del Rio vs a returning Cena at Hell in a Cell. Alberto is incensed, yelling at her from the ring, and Ricardo takes the opportunity, dropkicking his former employer into the ring ropes before pinning him. "Holy shit," Mike mutters, eyes widening. "Did that- that really happen?" They watch, floored, as the younger man dashes out of the ring, Alberto all but frothing as he screams at a laughing Vickie.

Mike shakes his head, laughing slightly, before he realizes that Ricardo had remained at ringside, climbing up onto the announcer's desk to celebrate the moment, take in the crowd reacting to everything that they'd just heard and seen. He frowns, not putting it past Alberto to try something... "Ricardo, get out of there, man-" Before he can even finish saying it, there's a tanned blur as Del Rio rushes past and sweeps the younger man's legs out from under him, sending him crashing harshly against the table. "Dammit!" he exclaims, unable to do anything but watch, frozen, as Alberto kicks the ring announcer in the skull, throwing him into the steel steps before then wrapping a steel chair around his arm and stomping it over and over, punctuating it all with the damn armbar.

Alex grabs him by the shirt one handed, pushing him roughly towards the door. "Go, go!" he snaps, the two of them rushing through the halls, arriving just as the ring announcer is being helped up the ramp, his head held low. They pause in front of him, staring at the trainer and referees, who all look grim. "Ricardo?" he whispers, wincing when the ring announcer merely whimpers, not reacting in any other fashion.

"Dammit all to hell," Mike grunts, watching as the referees continue leading him backstage, the two of them following slowly. As soon as Ricardo is settled in the trainer's office, his arm being examined carefully while Alex settles in the chair next to him, squeezing his hand in an attempt at comforting him, Miz storms out of the room, wishing he could run into Del Rio right now, pay him back for everything... but the hallway is empty, dark. He swallows and closes his eyes, taking deep, shaky breaths. _Ricardo doesn't need me losing it right now... but God, I don't know what to do anymore. Does everything have to suck at once?_ He shakes his head, closes his eyes, and instinctively grabs his phone, needing to hear AJ's voice right now.

She answers immediately and barely waits for him to say anything. "Are you alright?"

Tears fill his eyes as he chokes out a bitter laugh, thinking about how backwards it is that she's the one downed with a possible concussion, and Ricardo's the one in the room behind him with a possibly broken arm, while he sits out in this hallway and feels sorry for himself, his girlfriend asking if _he's_ alright. "I'm ok," he breathes. "I... yeah."

"Is he ok?"

"I don't know," he chokes out. "I don't know." Neither know what to say, finding some comfort anyway as they stay on the phone, listening to the others' breaths. "AJ... I want to come back to New Jersey with you tomorrow," he says. "I... don't want to leave you alone, and... I love you," he finally mutters, none of the words coming out in a sensible fashion, adding to his frustration. He hopes she understands what he means

"Of course," she whispers back. "I don't know what we can do... but I'd be happy to have you there. I love you too."

He's distracted when he hears a familiar voice, fingers tensing around case of his cell phone. "I have to go," he tells her softly. "See you soon."

"See you."

He stands and walks down the hall, finding Vickie Guerrero standing there, looking resolute as she continues handling whatever business she has at Raw. "You did it again," he tells her, smirking darkly as she jerks, turning towards him instinctively. "Didn't we have this conversation already? Did all of that look like it was _best for business_?"

She stands her ground, dark eyes narrowing as she stares up at him. "Yes, it was. It was the perfect opportunity to announce Cena's return."

"Tell that to the man with a possibly broken arm back in the trainer's office," he tells her.

She glowers up at him, shaking her head. "What do you want from me? He's not employed by anyone as a ring announcer, he shouldn't complain that I tried to find a place for him on tonight's show."

Miz rolls his eyes at her, growing angrier with her by the second. "What I want from you is pretty simple- stop putting him in positions where you know he's going to get injured. Put your personal biases behind you and be a decent general manager for once, do the right thing." Feeling everything boiling up within him, he leans closer to her. " _And_ you can do one thing for me, right here, right now."

As soon as she agrees to what he wants- what he wanted the whole damn show, and only now's finally had the chance to achieve it- he leaves, still far from pleased as he makes his way to the ring, having only a little bit of time for a MizTV segment before the main event begins. He wants no guests, he just wants time to talk- and what better place to do it than his own show? He smiles a little, standing out there in the ring, remembering how annoyed he'd been when AJ had first given him it. He'd hated it at the time, finding it to be a consolation prize for what he'd _really_ wanted at the time, but now he loves it, even though he ends up getting beat up 75% of the time during it because of his big mouth. But he doesn't get the opportunity he wants to speak his mind about what's been going on lately- Vickie, Ricardo, HHH, Orton, Daniel, Big Show and everything in between weighing on him- because he's barely welcomed people to MizTV when all of the lights go out.

His hair stands on end and he swallows, watching as the titantron glows with a faint light coming from Bray Wyatt's lantern until he blows it out, heralding his arrival. But Miz isn't all that surprised when the lights blaze back to life and he turns to find Harper and Rowan behind him, quickly slipping away and running up the ramp just to come face to face with Bray himself. He swallows and then fights, determined not to allow anything bad to happen to him. AJ is counting on him, Ricardo needs him, and he won't let either of them down, not now. Not tonight. He manages to throw Bray out of his way, turning in time to see Harper and Rowan catch him, the bizarre man hanging backwards off of them and laughing at him until Miz slowly backs away, shaking his head. _Little early for the Halloween crap, isn't it?_

He tries to clear his mind of that, making his way back to the trainer's office, where Ricardo is still where he'd left him, Alex looking up at him. Not liking what he sees on his face, he walks over to the younger man and squeezes his good arm, staring down at him. Ricardo swallows but says nothing, looking away all too quickly. As the trainer continues to wander around, he finally locks eyes with Alex. "Where's my phone?" he asks, voice faint and weary. After the phone is pressed into his good hand, he types something one handed and sends it in, Alex and Mike's phones both beeping a minute later. They automatically find their phones and read the tweet he'd sent, glancing over at each other with equally pained looks on their faces, not sure what he means by what's said in the small message.

Neither feeling that now's the time to grill him for information, they merely put their phones down and resume silently supporting him, waiting for the trainer's verdict...


	179. chapter 179

Late Tuesday morning, Miz wanders through the simple apartment, smiling as he trails a finger along the DVD and books scattered around the living room, pursing his lips as he looks over his shoulder towards the bedroom, listening. Silence prevails so he continues to look around, wondering when AJ will wake up and want something to eat. There's not a lot of food in the kitchen, but he thinks he can make do with what is there, and go grocery shopping a little later for the next few days.

Alex is doing commentary again- a job which, considering all that's going on, Mike decided he can have, Alex much better at keeping his mouth shut on controversial subjects. After all, the last time Mike had commentated, AJ hadn't spoke to him for almost a week. And besides it gives him a few days off to spend with AJ, take care of her while she works through the afteraffects of these concussion symptoms. It's not how he would choose to spend his birthday, but that's ok- he's already had phone calls from Morrison, Alex and Ricardo, passing the time while she sleeps talking to his friends, so he can't really complain. Especially when he considers everything every one of them are going through.

Putting his own beatdowns aside, everything else- Alex's surgery, Ricardo's issues following Rob leaving and Del Rio snapping on him yet again, AJ's concussion- going on seems much more important at the moment. He's just sat down with a bowl of cereal, spooning through the milk that had _just_ passed the sniff test, when he hears his name. "Oops," he mumbles, dropping the spoon back into the dish with a clatter, almost relieved at not having to risk it right this moment. "Hey," he says softly, padding into AJ's bedroom. "How are you feeling?"

She squirms slightly and rubs at her eyes, sighing. "Annoyed," she admits.

He smiles, sitting down next to her and rubbing her side soothingly. "It'll be ok. This'll pass, and everything'll be fine-"

"No, I- I don't even mean the concussion stuff," she says. "I mean... it's your birthday and I can't even stay awake long enough to do anything for you, and you're still content to stay here, taking care of me. I'm so sorry."

He stares at her, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart," he says softly. "Spending my birthday with you is all I would've wanted anyway. Though I will say," he adds, brushing some of the sleep mussed hair out of her eyes. "I wish it was under better circumstances. I hate that you're hurt."

She snags his hand and brings it down to her lips, kissing his palm gently. "I guess we'll just have to plan on doing something as soon as I feel better." He nods and smiles as she pulls him closer, stroking his face as he makes himself comfortable next to her on the bed. They're still settled against each other when he chuckles and she looks over quizzically at him. "What?"

"Just thinking," he says softly. "We're some pair, huh. You get to meet my parents after I've been beat up, and I get to see your place for the first time while you're concussed."

"I guess that proves we're perfect for each other. We both have terrible timing." She grins a little as he leans over and kisses her, nodding slightly.

Alex walks into the arena for Main Event that Wednesday, smiling at the few people he crosses paths with on his way to find Josh Mathews, discuss the evening's matches and topics of importance. He only stops when he hears his name called out from down the hall.

"Hey, bro!" Zack Ryder runs up to him, grinning in his usual way.

"Hey, Zack, how's it hanging?" He turns quickly to keep his still healing shoulder away from the broski, aware of how exciteable the man is, especially when he has a match, which has thankfully become more of a common thing for the man since all of this _Best for Business_ crap had begun, Zack one of the superstars vocal in standing up against it alongside Daniel Bryan, Dolph Ziggler, RVD and the rest. Alex wonders momentarily what, exactly, the loss of RVD will do to the cause, but forces himself to stop considering it as Zack begins to speak again.

"Ah, it's going alright, bro. How are you doing? Heard you had surgery over the weekend," he comments, glancing towards Alex's shoulder.

The part-time commentator grins a little, unsurprised by the speed of the WWE locker room gossip. "Yeah, I'm doing ok, it was minor. Back to commentating within a few days, can't complain, right?"

Zack nods. "Right, yeah. That's good, bro."

"Ready for your match?"

"Getting there, yep." He makes a slight face and Alex considers who he's competing against- Big E is one of those superstars that, no matter how much someone loves competition, facing is always a bit of a crapshoot. He's big and strong and anyone would be a little wary.

"Well, good luck," he offers, grinning as he moves to walk past him. However, he barely makes a step before Zack holds a hand out, stopping him. "What is it, Zack?"

"Well," he hesitates. "I mean, um. I know I usually gave the guy a hard time, but... I saw what Del Rio did to Ricardo Rodriguez on Raw, and, um. Spent a little bit of time around him when he was with RVD before the elimination matches, and it kind of helped me to see him in a different light... you know, when he wasn't around Del Rio, he actually seemed... decent. So, uh. Is he alright, bro? I heard he's living with you now, so I figured if anyone knew, it'd be you..."

Alex pauses a moment and licks his lips, finally nodding, his face clearing as Zack's ramblings trail away. "He's hanging in there, you know. It's been a rough few weeks on him, but he'll be ok."

Zack nods, still frowning a little. "That's good, bro. It's just... kinda weird, you know. Usually there's some word, the trainer will say something when prompted by the interviewers or guys, but there's really been absolutely nothing said about his condition."

Alex smiles wanly. "Well, you know, Zack, that's because there's not a lot to say, I guess. It is what it is." They stand there awkwardly, Zack surprised at the limited news, before A-Ri claps him on the arm. "Listen, it was great to see you, but I have to go find Josh Mathews. Again, good luck against Big E. I'll see you later."

"Yeah, sure, see you around, bro," Zack says, sounding about as subdued as he looks.

Mike and AJ watch some of Main Event together, though she falls asleep in his arms before Tamina's match even begins, something Mike's relieved about as his thoughts about Alex on commentary come back to haunt him when his former rookie talks about AJ, the word crazy being thrown in there somewhere. He winces and glances at her, relieved to find that she's still peacefully asleep against him, considering how best to yell at A-Ri when he has a minute to himself.

But he doesn't really blame him, too much is going on for all of them to be on their best behavior all of the time, and he winces when they re-air Del Rio brutalizing Ricardo yet again at the last half of the show, Alex dead silent throughout Josh discussing the recap. It was hard to watch the first time, but it's worse the second time, taking in all of the things that Mike had missed initially. He wants to call Ricardo, check on him, but AJ is still warm and snug in his arms and he doesn't want to disrupt her to grab his phone, so he makes a note to do so as soon as he's free, kissing the top of her head as the last ten minutes of the show tick past, showing Big Show knocking out their COO. He sneers.

Del Rio is the only one of them on Smackdown that week, Mike this time glad to receive the night off, spending the time with a still languishing AJ in her New Jersey apartment. He sneers as he watches Damien Sandow first own him on the mic and then cause him to scramble out of the ring desperately. His actions against Ricardo on Monday are fresh in the Awesome One's thoughts as their match starts later after some random tag match and a divas match, which AJ watches half-heartedly as she's still feeling the afteraffects of her concussion, the doctors directing them to limit how much TV she watches, or the amount of strain she puts on her eyes as she recovers, not wanting her to over-stimulate herself. He's a little unsettled as he finds himself cheering on Sandow, but it doesn't matter- Del Rio walks out with the win again and Mike shakes his head, sighing as he kisses the top of AJ's head, unimpressed. "Ugh."

Even so, things slowly start to turn around- AJ still has some problems with her memory, and a bit of a headache, so it's a reluctant Mike that accompanies her back to Raw in St. Louis that week, but the trainer allows her to stay, wanting to perform an IMPACT test on her once the symptoms ease more. So Mike stays with her, keeping her company as the show comes closer. To both of their relief, when the trainer finally goes through the IMPACT test with her, she does satisfactorily and is cleared to compete, though she doesn't have a match _that_ night, to Mike's relief.

Almost as soon as the trainer declares this, there's a knock on the door, Mike barely realizing it's for him as he grins down at AJ, stroking the hair out of her eyes. "Eh, Miz?" the tech calls out a bit louder, breaking the spell that the two people are locked in, Mike looking up at him. "Brad Maddox wanted me to let you know that you have a rematch against Randy Orton tonight."

AJ stiffens next to him, her fingers digging into his palm, but he nods almost eagerly, eyes darkening as he considers. Competing against Orton in _his_ home town would be a great way to get revenge for what he had done to Mike in Ohio. "Mike-"

"It'll be fine," he tells her. "It will. I promise you, it won't be like last time."

But she still looks worried, cupping his jaw and tilting his face towards her. "It better not be," she mumbles, frowning at him before kissing him intensely. "We really have to stop going back and forth on the injury thing, you better not continue it tonight. I may never forgive you."

He pouts against her lips. "You wouldn't?" Her small smile gives her away and he nods, running a hand up the side of her face. "Thought so." He reluctantly pulls away and kisses her once more before standing and heading for the door. "I have to go get ready for the match. I'll come see you as soon as it's over."

"Good luck," she says softly, hugging her title once more to her chest in nervousness.

"Won't need it," he responds determinedly. "But thanks, sweetheart."

He's standing at the gorilla position, watching as Orton interrupts Shawn Michaels, the two of them arguing back and forth before Orton tires of it and tries to RKO his former rival, only just ducking out of the ring in time to miss an answering Sweet Chin Music. Seeing his opportunity, Mike runs down and attacks him, taking glee in slamming him into the barricade, the steel post, kicking and hitting him, anything he can think of until referees intervene and separate them. When the match starts, he loses some of the momentum he'd started off with, but starts to think he might have some sort of a chance when-

The lights go off, familiar music echoing through the arena as the lights are brought back, Mike distracted by the Wyatts now sitting at the top of the ramp, Bray laughing at him. He's just remembered the ongoing match and turned around in time to take an RKO, costing him the match. As he leans against the bottom rope, watching the three men stare back at him, Bray saying a number of weird things that Mike can barely focus on through the haze of pain and anger caused by the loss of another match to Orton thanks to these three, his chances of paying him back for what he'd done a month prior slipping through his fingers. When the light flickers again, allowing the three of them to disappear once more, he huffs and makes his way slowly backstage, part of him relieved that all of that's over so he can go back to spending time with AJ.

She greets him with a smile once he finishes an interview for a exclusive, cupping his face as she examines him. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah," he mutters, feeling much better in her presence now. "Friggin creepy hicks." She chuckles slightly and kisses him. "So everything's still going alright? No more dizziness?"

She shakes her head and trails a finger down his lips before sighing. "Tamina has a match against Brie later, so I'm going to accompany her for that but... beyond that, I'm all yours tonight."

He grins at her. "That's good, because Alex and Ricardo stayed in Florida to get some more rest after last week, so..."

"Poor baby," she teases him lightly. "Wouldn't want you to be too lonely, now would we?"

"Damn straight," he nods, lacing his fingers with hers. "Besides you promised to do something special with me once you felt better, since it was my birthday and all..."

"Ah, yes, right," she hums. "Well, let's see. What could we possibly do?"

He smirks as they walk through the halls to pass the time until Tamina's match, Mike standing by a monitor and watching as AJ talks to her title belt and laughs as Brie Bella loses, the tall woman attacking her over and over again when AJ enters, locking in her Black Widow submission hold, torturing the other diva until she cries out in pain and taps desperately, the two women finally leaving while Nikki runs down to check on her sister.

AJ laughs as she runs into Mike's arms, eyes fluttering as she kisses him, overjoyed with the end result of that match. "Let's go celebrate," she whispers against his lips. "I'll make it up to you for ruining your birthday."

"You didn't ruin anything," he sighs into her mouth. " _But_ if you insist..." She giggles as he spins her around and rushes for the locker room to get their things so they can leave. However, when they arrive in the parking lot with their bags, she wraps her fingers around his, tugging the rental keys from his hand. "Hey, what are you doing?" he asks with an incredulous smile.

"Driving," she insists. When he raises his eyebrows at her, she grins. "Don't bother trying to work it out of me on where we're going. You'll see. Come on, don't you trust me?"

He examines her for a moment before rounding the car to the passenger side, dropping their bags in the back seat on the way. "Alright, you're not even going to give me a hint?" She just smirks at him before pulling out of the parking lot, driving through downtown St. Louis. When he begins to pout at her again, she reaches out and squeezes his hand.

"Patience, Mike. We'll be there soon," she says softly, turning left into a shopping court with various stores and restaurants scattered around.

He frowns, looking at the various dark buildings surrounding them, everything around obviously closed. "Um, AJ..."

She still doesn't say anything, coming to a slow stop in front of one of the many shadowy windows, turning to look at him. "Well, are you going to get out of the car?" she smiles, eyes flashing in the faint glow from the street light overhead. He still looks confused but he complies, AJ joining him in front of the car and slipping her hand in his as she leads him to the door.

"I don't know," he hesitates at the curb. "It looks... deserted. AJ-"

"Come on, have you known anyone who could say no to me?" she demands, pulling on his hand. "I promise you- this is fine!" She reaches out for the door and he tenses, expecting an alarm to go off, or something- but, no... the knob turns easily and she skips inside with a happy look on her face, leaving Mike outside to gape after her. "Are you coming?"

He groans and follows her, certain that they're going to get busted and arrested for breaking and entering, or trespassing, or something, but as soon as he enters, soft music greets him and he stares around at the soft ambiance of burning candles, blinking in shock. "AJ?" His hand is snagged when he walks by a table, the girl almost hidden perfectly in the shadows as she pulls him over and kisses him, pushing him into a chair. "AJ," he sighs into her mouth, smirking as she pulls away from him. "What is this?"

"I convinced the manager of this place to keep it open a few hours extra just for us," she explains quietly. "Happy belated birthday, Mike." He pulls her closer and kisses her, shaking his head in amazement. "Surprised?"

"Massively," he laughs into her hair as she settles on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "How did you have time to do all of this around the exams and...?"

"Magic," she smirks. "And... maybe a little help from Tamina." He suddenly understands why the manager had agreed to keep the place open past its hours, looking up when a server lays plates out on the table before them. "Thank you," she murmurs, Mike nodding in agreement as the man leaves them to their meal.

He leans over and uncovers the plates, staring down at the large plate of lasagna, pressing a kiss to AJ's neck. "It looks great," he tells her. "I'm starving." Unwrapping the silverwear, he finds the fork and spears some of the noodles, lifting it to her lips. She takes a bite, blinking at him. "What?"

"It's your birthday celebration, shouldn't I be feeding you?"

He smirks at her and shakes his head, kissing her nose. "Nope, you were the one with a concussion. I'm allowed to baby you a little bit."

"But you spent almost a whole week doing that alr-" He cuts her off with another forkful of lasagna and she glares balefully at him, chewing it quickly to continue speaking, just for him to interrupt again by kissing her. "Dammit, Mike," she breathes, slowly letting go of her complaints. "Fine, it's your party, if you want to spend it spoiling me, who am I to complain?" She closes her eyes as he nuzzles closer to her.

"Damn straight," he chuckles against her skin. They alternate feeding each other, Mike giving in when she grows impatient at his not eating until she's ate almost a third of the plate. "Happy now?" he murmurs to her once the food is gone barely ten minutes later, both of them content and full.

"Basically," she hums, carding her fingers through his hair. "Was it _almost_ as good as that place in LA?"

He narrows his eyes at her before kissing her. "Better, I think, maybe," he whispers.

"Good answer," she sighs, pulling painfully slowly away from him. As he groans and reaches out for her, she dodges his clingy hands. "Mike, I can't get your gift if I don't get up," she laughs, grinning knowingly when he freezes in place, staring at her curiously. "I figured that'd do it."

He gapes as she skips away, blinking. "Hey, that's not fair!" But he stays in place, waiting as patiently as he possibly can, taking deep breaths as she rustles around with something out of sight. When she reappears, he reaches out for her again and this time she sinks into his arms, neither of them paying much mind as the server returns, removing all of the dinner plates from the table. "So what'd you get me?"

She laughs and kisses him, shaking her head. "You're like a big kid around your birthday."

"You should see me around Christmas," he murmurs, staring up at her affectionately as he realizes that... in a few short months, she will, for the first holidays that they'll spend together, as a couple. He hopes they go a whole lot smoother than last year's did, for both of them. "But seriously. What'd you get me?"

She sighs and pulls something dark out from behind her back, twisting around in his lap to stretch it out on the table. He stares down at her Breast Cancer Awareness shirt in some confusion, glancing at her. She rests her hand on the letters, gazing down at it with a soft smile. "You're probably wondering why I'm making a big deal out of this, or why it would be a suitable birthday gift for you..." Turning back towards him, she stares deeply into his eyes. "As you're well aware of, the original design of this shirt says _Love Bites._ When WWE merchandise people came to me, wanting to redesign it for Susan G. Komen, I agreed... and they had a few design options for me to choose from. But as soon as I saw this one, I knew it was the one." She leans closer to him and sighs softly. "See, before you, love _did_ bite. But now, with you, I realize just how much I _do_ love life. And I saw this design and it just... it fit so perfectly, described how I was feeling so well..."

Mike rests his head against hers, smiling in disbelief at how lucky he is to have her, especially after everything they'd been through. "I feel like that too," he mumbles, rubbing his hands up her back.

"So I was thinking about what I could give you for your birthday, and I wanted it to be something meaningful..." She reaches back and scoops the shirt up, pressing it against his chest and leaning back to examine how it looks on him. "So I thought, when I was in New Jersey, and you were in LA- or anywhere else- you could look at this and remember tonight, and how you make me feel."

He grins and shakes his head, pulling her closer once more, trapping the shirt between them as he kisses her. "It's perfect," he whispers. "So are you. I love you."

She sighs softly, eyes fluttering against his skin. "I love you too. Happy birthday."

"Thank you. For all of this. For everything." He smiles, nuzzling closer to her.

"So how about some cake?" she whispers into his ear after a few minutes, giggling when his face lights up even more.

"Just when I think this evening can't get any better," he murmurs back, the two of them looking up as the server brings in a marble cake lit up in a soft glow thanks to the candles flickering impatiently, waiting to be blown out by him. "All thanks to you."

"Make a wish," she urges him, leaning against his shoulder as he takes in the cake fully.

"But I already have everything I want right here," he tells her softly, grinning at the deep affection in her gaze as he leans over and blows out the candles.

"Smooth talker," she sighs as he scoops up some of the frosting with a finger and brushes it over her lips before kissing it off of her skin.

"Just the truth." He smiles down at her, eyes gleaming as she kisses him back. "Now let's finish this cake so we can get out of here and go back to the hotel already."

"Yes sir," she agrees easily, needing privacy as much as he does right now.


	180. chapter 180

The week continues on, AJ leaving for home mid-Tuesday while Mike heads on to Michigan for Main Event. He kisses her lightly before they go their separate ways. "I'll see you for Smackdown," he tells her softly, glancing down at the t-shirt that's on top of his carry on. She smiles cutely at him before skipping off to join Tamina.

He takes a breath and closes his eyes, smiling mirthlessly as he turns for his own car. "Now as long as you don't say anything stupid on commentary tomorrow night, Mike," he mumbles, "this week will continue to be smooth enough..." Thankfully luck is in his favor, even with Ziggler in action, because AJ isn't mentioned once, nor any of his other friends. So he's able to walk away without inserting his foot into his mouth... again.

Which is good, because Smackdown brings along its own aggravations. He enters the arena, AJ's hand warm in his, to find that he has a match scheduled- a tag match with Kofi Kingston vs Harper and Rowan, Miz chewing on his inner cheek as he stares at the schedule board. Below that is AJ's rematch against Brie Bella. "Hm," he mutters, squeezing her fingers. "C'mon."

They walk side by side to her locker room, Tamina lurking behind them. As she settles her things by the couch, he checks his phone before going to get ready for the match, which looks to be early in the card, hers scheduled right after it. He considers the both of them being able to leave early, since it seems kind of boring and quiet tonight. "Alex and Ricardo are still in Florida?" AJ asks him when she notices him still staring at the blank screen of his phone.

"Yeah," he mumbles. "I don't blame them- Alex deserves to have some time to rest after his surgery, and Ricardo... well, he's going through a lot too, so..."

"But you miss them." She smiles sympathetically when he looks up at her, it written all over his face. She leans up and kisses him, cupping his face. "You'll see them soon, I'm sure."

He nods, kissing her back. "Yeah." Pulling away slowly, he turns and scoops his wrestling gear up, slipping into the connected bathroom to change. "I bet you're looking forward to wrestling again tonight, I know how it feels having to sit on the sidelines, how frustrating it is," he calls out to her, looking at himself in the mirror as he messes with his hair.

"Yeah," she answers, leaning against the wall and peering in at him as he pulls his wristpads on, smiling a little. "It'll be good to get back to it. And show Brie Bella what it really means to be a champion."

Finishing wrapping his hands up and stuffing his feet in his boots, he joins her back in the main room and cups her face, watching as she shivers at the rough feel of tape giving way to his soft fingers against her skin. "No one's better at that than you," he tells her softly, smirking as her eyelashes flutter. "I love you."

"Love you too," she murmurs as he kisses her. "Good luck."

"Thanks. I'll be back in a little bit." Another kiss and he leaves the room, not sure how to feel about this upcoming match. He and Kofi had spent most of the previous year feuding for the Intercontinental title, and now to be teaming with him again, especially against freaks like the Wyatts... He sighs and shakes his head, smiling mirthlessly as he joins the other man at the gorilla position. "Hey, ready for this?"

Kofi turns towards him. "Always am, man," he says. "Are you?"

"As I'll ever be," he sighs, adjusting his wristbands once more before his music is cued up, Mike walking quickly to the ring. Once Kofi joins him, they storm the ring and begin the match. Unfortunately, it doesn't go well, Mike trying to get a tag just to be grabbed from behind by Rowan and slung into the barricade wall, crumpling to the floor painfully, which allows Harper to finish off and pin Kofi. He shudders and tries to recollect himself in a hurry, not wanting to leave his tag partner high and dry, no matter what tensions they might've felt months back, but the two members of the Wyatt families are lurking around and he finds it to be even more of a struggle, just making it into the ring and kneeling protectively in front of Kingston, waiting for them to make a move when-

Bray stops them, Mike's troubled gaze flickering between the two men to their leader on the outside, still sitting comfortably in his rocking chair. Mike's body is throbbing, the past injuries caused by Orton brought back to the forefront once more, but he forces himself to listen to every word Bray is saying, trying to read between the lines, figure out what he's trying to tell him. But the last thing he says is pretty straight forward: That he's going to take it all away from him. Things go dark once more and just like that, the three men are gone, as is the chair. He pales.

Kofi sees the look on his face, struggling to sit up. As soon as he's halfway up, he slaps a hand against Mike's chest. "Go, man. I'm gonna be ok. Make sure your girl's ok."

Mike stares down at him, swallowing as he realizes: It hadn't exactly been a secret, his relationship with AJ, and the locker room had to have been figuring it out. Especially with a big mouth like Ziggler knowing, and Daniel too. He closes his eyes, at least helps Kofi to sit the rest of the way up before leaving him with the referee, running as quickly as he can backstage. "AJ," he repeats over and over again, worry pooling in his veins as he races past door after door, making it to her room just as she opens the door, talking quietly with Tamina. He stops short and stares at her, eyes deep and intense as she stares back at him, startled. "You're ok. You're ok," he whispers, reaching out tentatively for her.

She gapes at him and shakes her head, suddenly growing worried for him. "Mike? Are you-" Her words die away when he wraps his arms tightly around her and pulls her in close, losing himself in her. "Mike..."

"I was so worried, for a minute- I just..." He pulls away and looks down at her, frowning. "Listen, I don't care what you're doing, where you're at, you keep an eye out. If anything goes wrong, lights flicker, or- or... Anything, you run, find people. Make sure you're safe, alright?"

She sucks in a breath, gently running a hand over Mike's face. "Is this because of what Wyatt said?" she whispers, eyes filled with compassion for her visibly frenzied boyfriend. When he nods, she nods too. "Of course, Mike. I'll- I'll be ok, he won't touch me, I promise." She smiles as he pulls her in once more, digging his fingers through her hair.

"He better not," he mumbles. Finally realizing that her match is next, he hesitantly pulls away from her. "I'm coming with you, I won't go past the gorilla position but I want to be nearby, just in case. Keep an eye on things. Alright?" She stares up at him and nods, her lips twitching slightly as she leans into his warmth. "Good. Thank you." He leans in and kisses her before resting his hands on her lower back and guiding her through the halls, Tamina following them silently.

Unfortunately his luck this evening seems to pass off to her, Brie defeating her after Nikki tosses Tamina into the steel steps and AJ fails to capitalize on the distraction. The woman regains herself quickly, however, and carries the dazed divas champion backstage, Mike meeting them at the curtains and taking his girlfriend from her, looking down at her. "Are you ok?" he asks, brushing the hair out of her eyes.

"Yes," she grumbles. "Never better." Burying her face in his collar, she groans. "That didn't just happen." He wisely says nothing, carrying her back to her locker room, relieved that- although she's unhappy at the loss- she's safe, Wyatt not taking the opportunity to do what he had hinted at.

"Let's get out of here," he says as soon as he rests her back on the couch, moving quickly to collect their bags and handing over AJ's street clothes. The building had started off benign enough but now it feels creepy and less than welcoming, his breath heavy in his ears as he changes as well. She thankfully seems to understand, ready almost as quickly as he is, and the three of them leave together, Tamina remaining in the backseat like a silent sentry as Mike drives them back to the hotel.

They arrive in time to watch the last hour of Smackdown and Mike is sitting quietly on the edge of the bed as Del Rio is interviewed by Josh Mathews, focusing on Cena and his Mexican heritage... until an evil glint fills his eye and he declares his intention to prove to Cena what will be coming his way at Hell in a Cell. Twisting around, he snags Josh and struggles with him, finally locking in the armbar and pulling back viciously, Mike's lips thinning as he watches. It's so similar to what had been done to Ricardo, though thankfully Del Rio hadn't bothered with a chair this time. It's still uncomfortable to watch, bringing back terrible memories for him. He can only hope that Ricardo isn't watching, AJ leaning against him as she watches too, aware of why he's glaring so viciously at the TV. "Damn him," he breathes, eyes closed. He's had a great many enemies and rivals in this business, but no one recently he'd quite felt so many strained emotions towards.

It's announced early Monday that AJ will be facing Brie Bella yet again at Hell in a Cell, adding to her frustration. "How many times do I have to prove that I'm the better diva?" she grouses as they enter the arena, shaking her head with a grimace. "I revitalized this division, and I still get no respect." Mike squeezes her hand as he pushes her locker room door open, allowing her to enter first.

He feels bad for her, but he's more worried about the Wyatts- even though they're in a whole other city, he can still feel their presence, a dark sort of creepiness lingering around, waiting, watching. He's relieved that AJ has her own locker room, with locks and privacy so he can keep a close eye on things, make sure she's safe. Except that she has a tag team match so this isn't a permanent fix, Mike unable to do anything but watch as she and Tamina head for the ring.

He stays by the gorilla position, tugging on his lip thoughtfully as he watches the match from a monitor, still anxious after Bray Wyatt's warning, feeling like he's being watched even now. Which is stupid, because there are dozens of people around, it could be any one of them, but still... his paranoia is at an all time high. He's conflicted when AJ and Tamina eventually lose again- feeling bad for her, but relieved that it's over, the two of them finding their way backstage. After Renee catches them for an interview, AJ sitting on the floor, bemoaning her loss until Tamina picks her back up and carries her down the hall, he rests his hand on her back as Tamina heads towards the personal locker room. "I'm sorry, AJ," he says softly, stroking her hair.

She grimaces and leans into his touch, her wet eyes flashing with anger and disappointment. "I'm not giving up," she grouses, trying to put on a brave face in his presence. "I'll fix it all on Sunday. This isn't the way it's going to continue to be."

"Damn straight," he tells her, kissing her as he follows them back to the relative safety of her locker room. The two of them are sitting on the couch, AJ staring at the title that's always meant so much to her, when Mike realizes that _his_ tag match is coming up. He instinctively checks his phone before going to change into his wrestling gear, spotting a tweet from Ricardo about going to learn how to wrestle at the Performance Center in Florida. He stares at it for a minute, lips twitching into a wry smile as he resolves again to check in on him when they're down his way this weekend.

Unfortunately, his and Kofi's rematch against the Wyatts go about as poorly as it had on Smackdown- he gets taken out of the match and Kofi is left yet again to eat the loss, this time Bray egging on his family members when they corner Kofi. Mike is still a bit out of it when he scrambles into the ring, wanting to help the other man. But he fails, the two large men too much for him. He lays, beaten down, on the mat, watching helplessly as Bray enters the ring, laughing at him as his 'family' drags Mike to his feet and tangle his arms up in the rope, leaving him trapped as they hold his head back so he can't do anything _but_ watch Bray Wyatt as he approaches, talking about the wars he'd been in, and a myriad of other things that Mike can barely hear over the blood rushing in his ears as their fingers dig painfully into his flesh, stretching his features as he struggles.

When they finally leave, he's stuck hanging there limply, trying to work through the riddles that Wyatt speaks in, his chest rising and falling unevenly as referees arrive and begin to free his arms from the tight hold. When he can finally move again, no longer held back by the hard wires, he falls forward and grunts, eyes closed even as he tries to rub the discomfort out of his biceps. Kofi had already been helped backstage so he walks on his own up the ramp, ignoring the referees as they try to assist him, finding his way to AJ's locker room and staring at her as she stands, joining him.

"Oh," she whispers, cupping his face and looking at the faint marks Harper and Rowan's hands had left on his flesh, wincing. Leaning up, she gently kisses his cheek and around his eyes, trying to sooth him. Her fingers trailing across the faint bruises already spreading along his arms, she leads him to the couch and curls up close to him, resting her face against his chest as he tries to decompress from all of the bizarreness that is the Wyatt family.

However, it all goes to hell again when they both freeze, the monitor behind them droning on as Cole announces that Smackdown will have an edition of MizTV with Orton as its guest- again. AJ releases a deep breath and clings to him tighter, shaking her head. "Not again," she mumbles, looking up at him worriedly. "Mike-"

He shakes his head and presses a kiss to her forehead. "It'll be ok, sweetheart. I'll be fine. I always am, right?" She frowns at him and he revises it, "Eventually."

She groans. "Stupid Authority," she mumbles petulantly, trailing her nails up and down his chest. "It's not bad enough Stephanie has to keep throwing Brie in my way, now they keep putting you in Orton's path... I don't get it."

"A good many of us aren't getting what's going on with this company anymore," he sighs. "But don't worry, everything'll work out. I promise." Despite his strong words, his eyes gleam with uncertainty as he hopes he hadn't just made a promise that he ultimately won't be able to keep...


	181. chapter 181

After another successful enough episode of Main Event, Mike turns his focus to the week's Smackdown, wondering what the Wyatts may do this time. He gnaws at his lip and grimaces, turning with a small smile as AJ walks up behind him and runs her hand up and down his back. She looks about as worried as he feels, both of them thinking about the MizTV that had been announced on Raw. "Mike-"

"It'll be ok," he mutters to her. They're still standing like that when a tech clears his throat behind them, both turning as one to face the man. "What?"

"Vickie Guerrero wanted me to tell you that MizTV with Orton has been canceled," he says. "Instead, you've been put in an eight man tag match with Bryan and the Rhodes against The Shield and Orton."

Mike watches him as he turns and walks off, glancing down at AJ. He feels a little more confident now, knowing that he'll have three tag partners, which means Orton won't have as easy a time to target him. She looks comforted by this as well, smiling up at him. "See, everything'll work out," he tells her softly.

But he doesn't even come close to competing in that match. When it's time for The Wyatt Family against the Usos, he finds his way to the commentary desk to watch the match, make sure they don't try anything against anyone during this match. And he intends on staying in place until, that is, Bray involves himself in the match, trying to help Harper out. Throwing his headset aside, he races around the ring and feels some vengeful pleasure as he knocks Bray away, just to notice out of the corner of his eye as Rowan starts to chase after him. He hurries up the ramp all the way backstage, glancing over his shoulder now and again, certain he'll get away safely the longer he doesn't see anyone behind him, when... he hears the Uso's theme coming from a nearby monitor, proving that they'd won the match, and smirks, just to turn and- come face to face with Bray Wyatt, skidding to an abrupt stop as he stares at the man who seems to have appeared out of thin air.

He chokes on his own saliva and stumbles backwards, almost falling on his ass, when he hits Harper's chest. "Oh, Miz, Miz, Miz," Bray murmurs, approaching him. "Haven't you learned yet, there is no point in runnin' from us? Kane learned... now I suppose it's your turn." He laughs dementedly. "We'll always find you, little lamb." He nods briskly and the large men lurking in the shadows behind him grab him, pinning his arms to his sides as Wyatt nears again and strokes his finger down Mike's pale face, causing him to shudder in disgust. "Get him up," he orders the men, who follow his orders briskly.

They push him into a fenced in area, Mike breathing heavily as he hits the opposite wall and immediately twists around, prepared for a fight. "Bring it on," he pants, fists raised defensively, despite not knowing how he's supposed to hold his own against all three of them, especially in such a secluded place as this. It goes about as well as he'd expected; and although he had managed a few good blows on both Harper and Rowan, their combined strength is too much for him and before long, he's bashed into the wall once more and slumps to the floor, hurting and feeling his vision wavering too much to manage any more defense or offense. But they're not done with him, Bray reaching over to turn on a monitor that he hadn't noticed before this moment, languidly walking over to him and tugging his hair to pull his head back and make him look at the screen. His breath stutters upon finding that AJ is in the middle of wrestling Nikki Bella, blue eyes locked on her as she works over her rival's sister.

Bray leans closer to him, his breath tickling over Mike's face. "She's a pretty one, y'know." He laughs as Mike's struggles begin anew, it clear that The Awesome One wants nothing more than to attack Wyatt, shut him up and keep him from ever looking at AJ again... but each uncoordinated movement he makes only seems to amuse the odd man even more until, that is, he lunges out and kicks Bray right in the leg, nearly sending him to the ground as it gives under his weight. His eyes immediately grow hooded, almost impossible to see in the shadowy area, and he stands roughly, lifting Mike to his feet. "That was a mistake." The two others surround him, lift him and prepare him for Abigail's Kiss.

Everything goes dark.

AJ's almost sadistic glee at defeating Nikki Bella in front of her sister quickly disappears when she arrives backstage to find Mike not waiting for her. She swallows and blinks, a thrill of unease tickling down her spine when Tamina grips her by the shoulders and turns her around slowly, bringing her face to face with a monitor where they watch, painfully quiet as Bray Wyatt leads the camera into the shadows, shifting a light until it shines down upon a downed form tied up, head falling limply to his chest, where the word LIAR is scrawled across, the other members of the Wyatt family standing on either side of him. "No," she whimpers, knowing immediately who it is, even in the poor lighting and with a sheep mask hiding his face from view.

Sure enough, they pull the mask off of his face a moment later and Mike's head falls limply back to the side, the man completely unconscious. Bray talks more, his words barely a buzz in AJ's ears as she stares at her motionless boyfriend through the tears in her eyes, shaking her head desperately. "No, no, no," she sobs. "Mike-"

Tamina still has her hands on her shoulders, however, and begins pushing her forward. "Shhh," she warns her as she chokes back her tears, uncertain what her enforcer is doing. "I think I know where they have him."

"You- you do?" AJ whispers, feeling unbelievably young all of a sudden as she fights to regain control of herself.

"Yes. Come on." They move faster, quietly, until Tamina pulls back on her arm, stopping AJ's forward motion. "Careful, we can't be seen," she warns the divas champion. It's torture, being so close to where Mike had last been seen, but unable to move forward until Tamina peeks around the fence carefully. "I don't see them, come on," she hisses, leading the girl into the area. As she watches for any sign of the Wyatts, AJ slips into the shadows and searches out Mike in the nearly perfect darkness, cursing the men every step of the way.

Finally she trips over something and nearly falls on top of a body that's soft and cool, recognizing the feel of Mike's flesh even as she cries out before clapping a hand over her face, laying in the darkness and listening in horror until Tamina hisses at her to hurry up. AJ sinks back on top of her boyfriend, locating his arms and tugging helplessly at the ties holding him in place. Finally the taller woman joins them and pulls her back to her feet. "I'll try to untie him, _you_ go and get the trainer, anyone you can find to help. Mike's going to need it if he's going to get out of here. Alright?"

AJ nods desperately, breathing heavily as she wrenches away from Tamina and rushes back the way they had come, looking for someone, anyone willing to help. It feels like it takes forever and passes in a moment all at once as she stumbles into the trainer, barely getting past stuttering out Mike's name, almost passing out in relief as he turns quickly and calls for referees and whoever else nearby to come help. When they return, AJ almost not sure how she remembers the way, Tamina has him half-freed and steps back as the referees converge upon the unconscious man, cutting him free the rest of the way. The trainer takes over from there and examines him quickly before calling for a stretcher, all of them working together to transport him.

AJ is shaking so hard she can barely walk straight, once more depending on Tamina to lead her back to the trainer's office, where he continues to work on Mike. "Please," she whispers to his still form. "Wake up. You can't- you can't let them win, Mike. I know you won't... so just... open your eyes, please. I can't- I can't deal with Sunday while you're like this. I can't do it without you. You said you'd be there... so open your eyes!"

This must break through whatever the Wyatts had done to him because he slowly stirs and looks at her, lips twitching as the girl sobs in relief at the first glimpse of his blue eyes. "AJ," he whispers, smiling for real when she scoots over and lays her hand on his chest, just above the now somewhat faded letters scrawled on his chest. "What- what did they do?" He looks confused, and as young as she feels, and it breaks her a little more as she leans over and kisses him.

"Don't worry about that now," she breathes softly. "I'll fix it, ok? You'll be alright..." She scrubs the tears off of her cheeks and walks over to the sink, finding some towels and soaking them in cool water from the tap before returning to Mike's side and gently, carefully running the soft fabric over his skin, rubbing the terrible letters off of his flesh. It takes a few minutes, the word not wanting to wipe completely off, but she works stubbornly, though gentle, careful not to harm him further. Finally all visible traces of what the Wyatts had done fade away from his skin and she smiles wearily, looking up at him. "There, all better."

He stares at his now clean chest before glancing back at her, smiling faintly. "Thank you, sweetheart. Are you ok?" She nods desperately and tosses the towels back into the sink before laying on the cot next to him, running her fingers along where his skin is still drying. "I missed your match, didn't I? You won?" She nods again and he smiles. "I had no doubt." He kisses the top of her head gently and closes his eyes, relieved that, for now, everything is normal again... though he can still feel the Wyatts' presence, his head throbbing from suffering Abigail's Kiss against the floor earlier.

"You have nothing to worry about," she tells him softly. "E is taking your spot in the main event, so just lay here and rest. Everything'll be fine."

"Thanks," he breathes, relieved that she seems to have taken care of everything, as always. "I love you."

"I love you too," she whispers back, kissing his jaw. "Never scare me like that again, though, or else..."

He chuckles faintly and closes his eyes, stroking his fingers through her hair comfortingly. "I'll try not to."

"Hey," Alex says, releasing a relieved sigh as he catches his first glance of Mike early Saturday afternoon, wrapping his good arm around him and pulling him inside. "You alright?" They had talked on the phone to confirm what they were doing this weekend, but still- seeing him in person does a lot more to comfort Alex than just listening to his voice on a crappy cell phone connection insist that he's ok from states away.

"Yeah, man, those hicks aren't going to keep me down for long," Miz mutters, dropping his bag in the hallway and looking up to find Ricardo watching as Alex drags him the rest of the way into the living room. "Hey, Ricardo."

"Hola." The ring announcer follows them, stopping only long enough to move Mike's bag a little more out of the way so no one kicks or trips over it, stopping short as he realizes AJ and Tamina are still lurking by the front door, the divas champion looking almost uncomfortable as her enforcer waits patiently for her to do something. He blinks at them a time or two before approaching hesitantly. "Hey, are you coming in?"

AJ blinks, finally coming out of whatever funk she'd been in. "...Yeah," she murmurs, entering hesitantly and Tamina following as he pulls the door shut behind them.

He watches her for a moment, frowning in some confusion. "Are you... ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." But he notices as her fingers tighten around the straps of her bag, his lips twisting as he recognizes her anxiety as something he endures too often in strange situations.

"Hey, if Mike wants you here, then Alex and I want you here," he tells her. "We just want to see him happy, especially with what he's been going through lately, and you seem to do that for him. Come in and relax for awhile." These words help her to feel more at ease, her tight hold on the bag easing slightly as he smiles at her, the girl finally laying her bag down next to Mike's before following him into the living room, Tamina leaning against the wall by the door to observe everything, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Hey, there you are," Mike smiles at AJ, glancing from her to Ricardo. "Everything alright?"

"Si, everything's fine. We just took a minute to get to know each other a little better," Ricardo says, glancing over at her as she nods in agreement, sinking down next to Mike and resting her head on his shoulder.

"So how are you two doing? I feel like I haven't seen you in forever," Mike says after a moment, glancing from Ricardo to Alex. "Florida isn't that fascinating, is it?"

"Have you _seen_ the beaches around here?" Alex chuckles, glancing towards Tamina in some discomfort as she continues to stare at them all, taking everything in silently. "Nah, we're doing alright. I'm starting rehab at the performance center... but the true story is someone in this room is training to be a legit competitor in WWE." He smirks over at his sheepish looking roommate, chuckling a bit.

"Si," Ricardo murmurs. "It's... going well, I believe. The head trainer seems pleased enough."

"He's being modest," Alex waves him off. "I've been watching him, he's going to be running circles around all of us in that ring before long."

Mike laughs as Ricardo flushes, looking down at his hands. "Well, maybe while we're all in Florida, we'll have to make the time to go see him at work, then. I've always been curious how you would do as a wrestler, man. I'm glad you're finally getting an opportunity."

"Gracias," he whispers.

Alex finally decides to take it easy on the younger man so he stands up, clapping his hands. "Well, let's get you guys settled and we'll go to the beach, huh?" Before leaving the room, he hesitates in front of Mike and AJ and whispers to them, "You guys get the third room... so, um, if Tamina _is_ going to stay here too, uh... the couch is all that I have left really. I'll leave it to you two to tell her. Good luck!" As he rushes off to collect their bags with Ricardo and drop them in the guest room, AJ and Mike exchange disbelieving glances, both looking over at the enforcer with wide eyes.

"Dammit," Mike mutters.

After spending most of Saturday on the beach or exploring nearby restaurants and shops, Mike and AJ both turn back to serious business on Sunday. She stares at him unhappily as he packs for the PPV that night, biting her lip. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she wonders, sitting in the windowsill of the guest bedroom in Alex's apartment, tilting her head as she watches him. "I mean, the trainer says you're not cleared, and The Wyatts-"

"I'm not hiding, AJ," he says solemnly. "I know that it's scary, especially for you, when they do things, but I'm not letting them derail my career. I've been letting too many things do that lately- not this too, I just can't do it." He stuffs another roll of wrist tape into his bag before standing back up and joining her, cupping her face. She looks beautiful with the Florida sun shining down onto her, but her eyes are filled with such fear that he can't focus on the rest of it, leaning down to gently kiss her. "I'll be fine, sweetheart. One way or another. Try not to worry so much, ok?"

"You always say that," she mumbles, slowly pulling away from him. "But what am I supposed to do if you're wrong? Mike, if something happens-"

"It won't," he tells her. "Listen, we know this business and what can happen to people. It sucks sometimes, but I won't let them get the drop on me again. Alright? I promise, everything'll be ok." He strokes her face, smiling as she leans into his touch, trying to trust in his words.

His determination holds true to the event and once he leaves her in the locker room with Tamina keeping an eye on things, he wanders the hallways, looking for the Wyatts or anyone who could help him achieve what he wants. Finally he comes upon Vickie and demands a match against Bray, but she is aware of what the trainer had told him as well, immediately refusing his request. This does nothing to dampen his need to get his hands on the enigmatic man, leaving her behind after announcing that he'll take matters into his own hands then.

Not wanting to wait too late and risk disrupting AJ's match, which is scheduled for later in the night, Mike goes to the ring after the first match, calling out Bray. He knows early on that he's not going to get what he wants as the manical cult leader appears on the titantron screen, refusing to come out and saying more of his confusing things until- Harper and Rowan appear, cornering Miz. He tries to fight back but they overpower him quickly, beating him down until he worries that he's not going to be able to uphold his promise to AJ when- he hears what sounds like an explosion and the crowd begins to react, blinking as the two men leave him behind, disappearing completely. When he slowly looks up, it's to find Kane standing in the ring, staring down the ramp at them with his back to Mike. He stands slowly, grimacing in some pain. "Hey-" he's just started to say when the monster turns towards him, an unreadable look in his eye...

...before he grabs Miz by the throat and chokeslams him hard to the mat, Mike arching off of the surface desperately, his back throbbing all over again. He lays there, dazed, as Kane leaves as quickly as he'd arrived, wondering what the hell just happened. Yet again helped by the trainer and referees to the back, he breathes heavily when AJ meets them at the office, her face tense with displeasure. He grimaces at her, holding his neck as she wraps an arm around him, squeezing his side. "That wasn't expected," he mumbles against her hair.

"No kidding," she grouses, helping him settle against a cot for the trainer to check his neck over more thoroughly. She sits with him, the two of them watching the PPV as it rolls on, Mike blinking quietly as she leans over when his phone beeps. "Here." Handing it over to him, he smiles at her, reading the text alert there from twitter. He breathes heavily, finding it to be from Ricardo about Del Rio, whose match is coming up next. They watch the start of it together until Tamina comes to collect AJ, the two of them leaving to get ready for her rematch against Brie.

Mike sits up and watches the rest of the match, unsure how to feel. He doesn't like Cena, far from it, but yet he has such mixed feelings about Del Rio. And he suspects that Ricardo feels the same, which is the only reason why he cares at all about this match. Not long after Cena wins the World title, there's another tweet from Ricardo where he congratulates Cena and thanks him. "Whoa," Mike mutters, staring at it. "Well..." He can't blame him, all too aware of how much pain and anger the man had been feeling the past few months, no matter what Del Rio had claimed his intentions were. After three years of loyalty, he doesn't blame Ricardo, though he finds himself wondering exactly what Alberto himself had thought upon seeing that tweet.

It quickly fades from the forefront of his mind as AJ's match begins, the action going back and forth while Mike holds his breath, watching closely. When AJ succeeds, making Brie tap to the Black Widow, he releases a deep breath and grins, happy for the girl. He quickly gets up, tired of the trainer's office, and makes his way to the gorilla position, greeting her as she makes her way backstage. Her eyes light up as she spots him, leaving Tamina's side while she runs to him, stopping short of actually tackling him in lieu of his lingering pain from Friday and earlier tonight. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright." He strokes her hair out of her eyes and grins down at her. "Happy for you, I knew you'd be great out there. Congratulations." Her eyes gleam as she steps up on tippy toes to kiss him. "C'mon, wanna go back to Alex's apartment now?" He wants to look in on Ricardo, make sure he's doing alright after the earlier tweets, and had only remained for her. She nods, taking his hand as they walk slowly out of the arena, Tamina following behind them.

It hits him hours after they leave the arena, when the pain killers that the trainer had given him loses their strength. Adrenaline drops and he stares through the darkness, brushing his fingers through AJ's hair as he bites his lip, his body slowly starting to throb. He succeeds at gently slipping out from under her, walking stiffly to the bathroom to look for ibuprofen, but someone's already inside and he groans, trying to wait it out. Thankfully, he doesn't have to as the door is slowly opened, Ricardo peeking out. "Mike?" he whispers, mindful of the people still asleep. "Are you ok?"

"No," he hisses back, in too much pain to try to keep up a brave face. "Everything kind of hit at once... do you know if Alex has ibuprofen or something in there?"

"Oh si, yes, I was actually looking for it myself," Ricardo whispers, stepping aside so he can see the medicine cabinet too. Noticing the worried look on Mike's face, he winces a bit and explains, "Getting the opportunity to train every day to learn how to wrestle has been incredible, but it's... kind of been aggravating what Del Rio did to my arm. The trainer's recommended I take it a little easier for a few days. But don't worry, he says I'll be alright."

Mike stares at him sharply before nodding grimly. "Alright, you better be," he says gruffly as they stand side by side, staring at each other in the mirror as they down the pills. He pats Ricardo on the back before heading back to bed, barely able to keep his eyes open as the pain slowly starts to fade away once more.

As he sinks down next to AJ once more, she curls closer to him and sighs, stirring. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I'm fine. Go back to sleep." To his relief, she drifts off quickly and he releases a soft breath, closing his eyes. He's not sure what Raw will bring tomorrow, but he can't help feeling a fair amount of dread, not sure where to expect a threat from- Kane, the Wyatts, both...

His worry only grows when he arrives at the arena for Raw the next night and sees that he has a match against Kane, his eyes narrowing. His stiffness and pain had been back with a vengeance when he'd woke up, and walking was little more than pure torture, each step reminding him of what both Kane and the Wyatts had done to him the last four days. AJ is staring at him worriedly and this is the only thing that makes him swallow down his discomfort, trying to comfort her by seeming unbothered by the match coming up. When the Wyatts are shown targetting Daniel Bryan, he feels almost bad for his former NXT rookie, but the selfish part of him is relieved that this hopefully will mean that the trio will have lost interest in him.

As it stands, AJ's match comes first anyway and he watches while trying to stretch out the remaining tension in his joints as she wins with the Black Widow yet again, her and Tamina leaving the Bellas struggling to regroup once more. She enjoys the victory but as soon as she returns to the back and skips up to him, her smile slips a little and she leans up to him, cupping his jaw. "Be careful," she urges him quietly, kissing him.

"I will, promise," he mutters to her, kissing her back. "I'll be back soon." He pulls away with a hesitant smile before going out to face Kane. He wants to pay the man back for what he'd done the night before but he's distracted, almost expecting the Wyatts to come out of nowhere and attack him again, but this doesn't happen. Even so, his distraction lasts and works against him, causing Kane to catch him... he loses to another chokeslam in just a little over a minute, rolling out of the ring and staring up at the lights, dazed, as pain throbs down his spine and neck anew.

It only distantly registers with him as Kane calls out Stephanie, announcing that it's _what's best for business,_ before taking his mask off and handing it over to the woman, leaving without further explanation. He's watching the titantron on his side, trying to make sense of what just happened- the loss, Kane's actions, any of it, when a referee tells him he needs to move, he ignores his offer to help and stumbles backstage on his own, head lowered as AJ and Tamina join him, the enforcer clearly keeping an eye out for any problems as the shorter girl massages his back and tries to get him to look at her. "Hey, hey," she whispers, stroking his face. "Mike, it's going to be ok... Come on, let's get out of here."

He's not sure if he can believe her, but eventually nods anyway, relieved to take her hand and let her lead him back to the locker room so they can collect their things and go, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and forget the past few days.


	182. chapter 182

That Wednesday, Mike is preparing for another episode of Main Event requiring his commentary when there's a subtle tap on his shoulder, his whole body tensing as he considers the past week, the Wyatts' actions, on top of Kane's, leaving him jumpy and more than a little unsettled. He turns, bracing himself for a fight, but quickly relaxes as he realizes that it's nothing to worry about- the Los Locales tag team are standing before him, Uno anxiously adjusting his gloves as he waits for Mike to say something. "Well, look at you two. Sorry, kids, I don't have any candy right now. Try again tomorrow."

Dos huffs slightly but Uno laughs anyway, his tension immediately easing off. "I'll keep that in mind, Mike," he says with a small smirk of his own as Miz stacks his papers on a nearby table before stepping closer to the two. "Though considering you'll be using the candy Alex and I bought tomorrow, it kind of cheapens the offer, don't you say?"

"It's the thought that counts, yeah?" Mike chuckles, able to tell that the man's rolling his eyes under his mask. Before he can say anything else, however, he notices Josh Mathews off to the side, watching them, and he quickly clears his throat, trying to seem professional as he reclaims his notes and backs away from the two. "Eh, si, gracias," he says loudly, relieved when Ricardo's lips- his only facial feature _not_ covered by the mask- part in abrupt understanding and he grabs Tyson, pulling him away to get ready for their match later on. "Good luck, guys," he mutters before joining his broadcast colleague.

"Talking with Los Locales, huh? Did they say anything interesting?"

Mike shrugs, trying not to smirk. _If you only knew..._ "I didn't catch half of what they _did_ say," he lies. "They spoke in only Spanish."

"I thought you took four years of it in high school."

"Exactly," he laughs, remembering with a faint pang of guilt how much grief he'd given Ricardo over the summer during that failed commentary team thing. Pretty much the only thing Del Rio had done all year that made sense to Mike was having the ring announcer removed from that mess; he's just relieved that their friendship had recovered in time for him to be there for the younger man when everything else fell apart around him.

Los Locales lose, mostly thanks to El Torito's influence, Mike unable to do anything but watch as the bull attacks Uno right in front of the table, then jumping on top of it to show off to the crowd, Miz holding his hands up when El Torito looks at him sideways. Once the show ends and the cameras are shut off, he gets to his feet and peeks over the table, frowning as Ricardo struggles to stand, a hand gripping the table. "You alright?" he mutters to him, finally giving up all pretenses and helping him the rest of the way to his feet.

"Si," he groans. "Idiota Torito."

Mike squeezes his arm before Dos arrives, also off-balanced after that match. "I'll see you back at the apartment," he mutters, relieved that Josh Mathews isn't close enough to hear him over the crowd as they slowly disperse.

"Mm hmm," he responds lowly, the tag team slowly making their way backstage for the standard post-match examination by the trainer.

The next night, Mike's sitting in the living room of Alex and Ricardo's apartment, staring at the various decorations around. There's a particularly strange pumpkin leering at him from a nearby shelf, and he suspects that he's not going to win _this_ stare-off when the doorbell rings. "Ugh?" he mutters, staring at the clock to find it's barely 4 PM. "What the-? Trick or treaters this early?" Suspecting that, perhaps, it's a little kid out early, he finds the bowl of candy in the kitchen and heads to the door, vowing to go put his costume on after this so he feels a little more in the holiday spirit.

But he stops thinking about such things when he opens the door to find that it's no child on the porch, his eyes pausing at waist level just to trail up higher and higher until he realizes... "Morrison?!" he hisses, blinking away the shock finally as he locks eyes with his former tag partner.

The man laughs at his reaction. "Trick or treat," he offers with a smug smirk.

Mike shakes his head, lips twitching. "Aren't you a little old for that?"

"Never too old for candy, Mike!" he volleys back. "What are you supposed to be anyway, an unimaginative slacker?" He eyes Mike's long sleeved shirt and jeans, laughing when his response is a solid punch to the chest. "Ow."

"So I guess that would make you an uninvited jerk," he snaps back with no heat, not surprised when John brushes past him, grabbing a handful of candy as he goes.

"Oh, I was invited," he says simply, popping some chocolate in his mouth. "By Alex. I suppose they wanted to surprise you."

"I suppose so," Mike mutters, putting the candy down and approaching the other man. They stare at each other for a minute before he smiles, impulsively hugging him. "It's good to see you, man. So much has happened, it... kinda feels like it's been forever."

"Yeah, I know," he mumbles, squeezing him back. "You alright? Those Wyatts didn't traumatize you for life, did they?"

"No," he mutters, sighing. "I think my main problem now is going to be Kane anyway. I have _no_ idea what's going on with him."

"Does anyone ever really know what's going on with him though?"

"I guess not, no," he concedes with a faint smile as they separate and sit down on the couch, Mike idly flipping through channels to find something- anything- halfway interesting to watch while they wait for the others to return from doing whatever it is they're doing with their costumes. He rolls his head against the back of the couch and looks at John with a fond smirk. "Happy Halloween, man."

John grins back at him. "Happy Halloween, Mike."

After an entertaining evening spent sitting around in costumes- Mike spending a good twenty minutes making faces, trying not to laugh out loud at Alex, who's dressed up as the same thing he's dressed up as every year since Miz met him back in NXT (Alex nudging him whenever he sees _that_ look on his face)- and passing out candy to the kids in the neighborhood while watching horror movies that only seem to get worse the later in the evening it gets, Friday brings with it a sharp return to reality, John needing to return to California while Mike, AJ and Tamina drive a few hours to Smackdown that evening.

The group walk out to the cars together, Morrison grinning at his best friend as he glances teasingly at his and AJ's interlaced hands. Not responding to Mike's subtle dare to say something, _anything,_ he snags Mike up in another hug, remembering when they used to see each other almost every day, when he'd been in the WWE. Now they're lucky to see each other once or twice a month. He sighs, unable to ignore the still fresh pang of longing when he thinks about his wrestling career. Not that he's bored, what with all he has on his plate with OOYM fitness, movies and of course the stand-up thing he still does from time to time, but he still misses the rush of the WWE sometimes, when he allows himself to think about it. "Be careful tonight, yeah?"

"God knows I'll try," Mike nods, pulling away after a few minutes.

"And hey, we're going to have a viewing party for Christmas Bounty at the end of the month, right? Consider this my RSVP."

Blue eyes lighting up at the mention of his second movie, his former tag partner nods vigorously. "Hell yeah, man. Just need to figure out the details. This'll be the best Thanksgiving ever."

"You think any Thanksgiving that has a table full of food is the best Thanksgiving ever," John teases him, laughing when Mike huffs and glowers at him. "And, hey, our numbers have doubled this year. That's something to be thankful for," he says, glancing around at AJ, Ricardo and Tamina.

Mike's anger fades away as he nods, tugging AJ closer to him with a grin. "True. It definitely is." His grin slips however when he glances over at the others and spots a look of wistfulness on Ricardo's face, realizing sharply that it'll be _his_ first holiday season spent without Alberto and Sofia. He purses his lips and looks down, kissing AJ on top of her head distractedly as he vows to make Thanksgiving and Christmas as good as he possibly can for them all, remembering how bad the year prior had been, watching AJ with Dolph and what Cena had done to them on New Years, which AJ had blamed on him for what felt like forever.

These thoughts still at the forefront of his mind as he tries to think up ways to make it special, knowing that the weeks leading up to both Thanksgiving and Christmas will go by like _that_ , especially since they're all on the road so much, he barely blinks when he's told that Shawn Michaels will be his guest on an edition of MizTV. Sick of hearing about what's best for business, he's almost relieved when he's told, at the last minute, that the man had up and left the building, despite the disrespect eating at Miz and sending him into another diatribe when he makes it to the ring, just starting to talk about Shawn's involvement in the WWE title match decision when Orton's music hits.

Eyes darkening as he watches the man who'd beat him down so mercilessly not that long ago, he listens as Orton explains that HBK had left in such a manner because Mike is irrelevant, saying that if he had his way, he'd have Mike fired just like Big Show. His hand is so tense around the microphone that he almost expects it to shatter in his hand, but before he can say anything when asked what he thinks about Show being banned for life from the WWE, Orton snags him and RKOs him right then and there, leaving him laying on the floor of his own show yet again, staring up at the lights when he slowly comes to, not even needing to wonder what had just happened. "Dammit," he hisses, slamming his fist against the mat as referees come to assist him backstage.

AJ is waiting there, Alicia Fox and Tamina nearby, her match next. As soon as she spots him, her face falls slightly and she joins him, cupping his face. "I'm sorry, Mike," she breathes, stroking his face as he stares down at her with dull eyes. "Look, as soon as the trainer's done with you, go back to my locker room and rest for awhile, alright? I'll be there as soon as this match ends. It's gonna be alright." Standing on her tippy-toes, she kisses him gently and smiles sadly at him. "I love you."

"Love you too," he mutters before allowing himself to be dragged off to the trainer's office.

She watches him go before sighing wistfully, sharply turning to stare at her tag partners. "Let's get this show on the road, girls. We have some _divas_ to destroy."

Mike watches dully from the divas champion's locker room, his lips twisted in displeasure, as their bad night continues; AJ taps to Natalya's sharpshooter, Tamina having to carry her out of the arena once more, Alicia stumbling after them. He grimaces and shuts the monitor off, relieved to sit in semi-darkness and hear nothing but his own thoughts. As soon as Tamina pushes the door open and settles the girl down on the floor, Mike stands and greets them, cupping AJ's face gently. Her dull brown eyes locking with his, he knows immediately what he wants to do for Thanksgiving, hoping that Main Event somehow won't mess it up, but willing to work around it if the others can also do so. "After the final Raw of this month, let's get John and come back here, to Florida, and spend the rest of the week with Alex and Ricardo. We'll watch Christmas Bounty together, do whatever we want on Wednesday, and then have Thanksgiving, all of us together. What do you say?"

Her lips curve into a smile as some of the disappointment and aggravation she's still feeling from the loss fades away. "I'd like that, Mike. I'm in."

He smiles and kisses her. "Good, I'm glad. This is going to be great, AJ." And better than that, it'll be just the break that they'll all need... especially if things continue going as they have been lately.

After a long morning spent going from one media event to the next, Mike travels to the arena for Raw and stares up at the building, wondering what this week's Raw will bring... He takes a deep breath and gets out of the car slowly, walking inside after shouldering a bag. "Well, here we go," he mutters, pulling the door open and venturing inside. Following AJ's instructions sent via text, he quickly finds her locker room and greets her with a kiss. "Hey."

"Hey," she breathes, resting a hand on his chest. "I checked the board, they don't have a match listed for you..." Her voice trails away as he takes a deep breath of his own, dark blue eyes focused on her. "But," she murmurs, tracing circles in his skin soothingly, "there was a WWE Universe poll listed to see who they want to see against Orton- you, Ziggler, or Big E."

His gaze grows distant as he considers another opportunity at getting revenge against Orton for all of the pain he'd caused him in his home town weeks back- not to mention everything since then- nodding grimly. The worry on her face finally registers with him a few minutes later and he cups her face, gently kissing her nose. "It'll be alright, sweetheart."

But he doesn't even come close. The poll is revealed awhile later in the evening, and Miz watches on in painful disbelief- Big E wins with a decisive 75% of the votes. He swallows and stares tiredly at the screen, reflecting on all of the interviews, autographs and meet'n'greets he's done over the past few months, how none of it seems to matter. He starts to suspect he could bleed himself dry for these people and it still wouldn't be enough, his exhaustion wearing on him. _A utility player,_ Stephanie McMahon's words echo in his mind again and again as he stares viciously at the monitor.

AJ has a match, sitting next to him and pulling her boots on, lacing them up securely, before putting the finishing touches on her wrestling gear. "Mike?" she asks, once she's ready and it's almost time for her and Tamina to go, meet up with Aksana, begin this match. When he doesn't respond, she frowns, growing more and more worried at just how long he hadn't said a word, something very out of the ordinary for him but growing more commonplace the less he's used on TV. She swallows and cups his jaw, tilting his face towards her. "Hey," she whispers, leaning against him. "Are you ok?"

He's just opened his mouth to speak, lie as always, but instead... he clanks his teeth together and shakes his head. "No, no I'm not." He stands, her hand falling limply to her side as she looks up at him, floored. "I need some air." All she can do is watch as he leaves the room, glancing over at Tamina once the door slips shut behind him.

He wanders. Trails a hand along the wall as he goes, just trying to remember how to breathe, how _not_ to think. He passes a monitor some time later and hears Alberto Del Rio on commentary with Zeb Colter, the two men going back and forth between insulting each other and discussing why they hate John Cena- a lot of perros and gringos getting slung around the table- and he sneers, rolling his eyes as he quickly walks away, Del Rio's voice just annoying him all the further as he thinks about Ricardo, once more back in Florida, trying to move past what the Mexican had done to him so he could find his footing as a competitor... He wonders what Tyson Kidd's _official_ unmasked return will mean for the Los Locales, shaking his head at possibly yet another person leaving the younger man in the lurch...

He finds himself at the exit, pacing back and forth as he runs his fingers through his hair. It's too cold to go out, his lifelong issues with the chill of fall and winter making him even grumpier as he misses the bright, warm sun of summer... He's still standing there when he hears vicious mutters in Spanish behind him, the familiarity of that voice causing him to freeze in the middle of the hallway. He turns slowly to find, sure enough, Alberto Del Rio standing there with his bags tightly in hand, staring at him with no lack of contempt. He sneers and rolls his eyes skyward, wondering if this evening could possibly get any worse.

"Out of my way, perro," the Mexican aristocrat snaps, trying to push past Mike... but that's the final straw for the man, his vision bleeding red as he clasps his hand around Alberto's forearm and forces him back around until they're eye to eye, so familiar to the night they'd come upon each other outside the bar, so soon after the initial attack against Ricardo... when Mike had punched Alberto and left him battered and bruised for the PPV. He had made sure to avoid the man since then, not wanting to risk getting himself in anymore trouble with _The so-called Authority_.

"I don't think so," he mutters. "Still stuck on perros and gringos, huh? So imaginative that that's the only insults you can think of for anyone?" He laughs as the anger grows in Alberto's eyes. "Oh, wait, I forgot. Peasants. Yeah, that's a good one. I'd almost think it's because of your still limited grasp of English, but I know enough Spanish to know that your insults there aren't much better."

"You have no room to talk, Miz," he spits out, wrenching his arm loose once more and moving for the door, an odd kind of tension thrumming through his body. He's just touched the door when Mike catches him once more, anger and frustration building- due to the poll loss, and now Del Rio all but brushing him aside, he somehow uses the adrenaline it provides him to sling the taller man into the wall, pinning him there with an arm against his throat and his knee pressing a little too calculatingly close to the scar from the surgery he'd had a couple of years ago, Alberto's breath seizing in his throat as he snarls down at him, thrown by how quickly Mike had trapped him. "Let me go, perro-"

"Nope," Miz mutters, applying even more pressure. "See, I was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt after what you did to Ricardo in August. Tried piecing it all together- you leaving the bowtie behind for him, the look on your face when he returned with RVD, the minimal damage done to him from the armbar after Vickie forced you two to compete, even what you said to him after he and RVD attacked you with the steel chair." Del Rio's eyes turn dull even as his face flushes, and Mike sneers, thinking he's on the right track with this. "But then RVD left and he beat you in that match and you brutalized him again. That's the one thing that makes no sense to me. I can understand if you said too much, if you didn't want him to know that everything you said initially was true..."

Del Rio shuts his eyes, shaking his head against the cool concrete of the wall behind him. "It wasn't. I was delirious, speaking-"

"But see, the thing about delirium is it tends to bring out the truth," Mike tells him, thinking too quickly to let him finish a sentence, risk getting away from this long-needed confrontation. "I've had concussions and a number of other injuries. I know all too well. You're not that special, Del Rio." He digs his forearm into the other man's throat again, watching with some pleasure as he grunts and turns a ruddy kind of grey. "Nor are you strong enough to completely hide how you're feeling when your best friend, the man who's been alongside you loyally for years is looking you in the eye, needing the truth. And I think you gave it to him that night and then regretted it." Pieces beginning to click into place while Miz speaks, he watches as Alberto all but shrinks into himself, breathing sharply through his nose. It all making a sick sort of sense now, he releases his grip on the other man slightly. "That's what happened, isn't it? That's why you attacked him again?"

Del Rio grunts, trying again to fight free and failing. "What does it matter, perro?!" he snaps, his eyes looking suspiciously wet. "Let me go!"

Mike ignores him however, staring him in the eye. "You know, when Morrison's contract with WWE was coming to an end, he came to me. He wanted me to be his last match, he wanted me to give his time here a proper finish. As much as it killed him to have to leave, I'm pretty sure it killed me more to have to be the one to do it. I didn't want him to go... I didn't want any of it. But I did what he wanted, because he was my best friend." He licks his lips and sighs, staring at Alberto's troubled gaze. "But he _asked_ me to do it. You decided for Ricardo what was best for him...? And you thought it had any possibility of ending well?" He sighs and loosens his grip finally, letting Alberto stand by himself as he leans against the wall next to him, free to do what he wants. When the older man doesn't leave, Mike tilts his head and glances over at him. "You know you destroyed everything that was secure in his life in one fell swoop, right? His home, his employment, his relationship with you and Sofia both... If Alex and I hadn't been there to help pick up the pieces..."

Alberto shudders out a breath, staring at his shoes. "I am aware." He groans, digging his fingers into his eyes painfully. "It is all I have been thinking about the past three months."

"You should tell him," Mike mutters. "It might be too late to repair all of the damage done, but... it might help him at least a little... to trust again." Alberto looks over at him, confusion blatant in his dark eyes, and he shrugs. "Alex tells me he hasn't even unpacked that much in their apartment. Like he's scared to get settled, in case it all happens again or something."

Alberto's face falls as he buries it in his hands, shaking his head once more. "Ay... Mi amigo," he forces out, voice trembling. Miz suspects he's crying but says not a word as he watches him, waiting for some sort of activity. When he finally shows his face once more, he looks like he'd spent the time putting himself back together, though his words aren't what Mike had hoped to hear. "You can't tell him any of this," he bites out, eyes dark and lifeless. "None of it. It will derail his progress."

"Progress?!" Miz splutters in utter disbelief of what he's hearing. "You broke him so thoroughly emotionally and physically and you can't even guess how bad it was because it fell on me and Alex to help him try to rebuild! It's been months, just explain to him why-"

"I can't _do_ that, can't you see?!" Alberto finally snaps back, some of his fire returning as he rounds on Mike. "He spent almost three years dedicating his every waking moment to me and my career. I began this all so he could concentrate on himself for once! If I go to him and tell him that everything I've done the last few months was so he'd focus on himself, he'd start to care again, and I can't risk all of it being for nothing. He deserves the opportunity-"

"And he can have it, without thinking you hate him!" Mike yells back, eyes flashing as he stares at Del Rio. "The two things aren't mutually exclusive! I'm aware you don't have much knowledge on how actual friendships work but many people juggle them and careers separately quite well! There are these things called phones, and the internet, and a number of other communication devices now-a-days." He quiets as Alberto once more slumps in on himself, releasing a shuddering breath. Shaking his head, Mike tries to ease back on the anger, surprised by just how lonely the Mexican aristocrat seems when he actually looks at him.

The guy had pushed his best friend away, just to lose his title a couple months later, and dammit all, Mike almost sympathizes with him. Yeah, he has AJ by his side now, and she's great, he loves what she's brought to his life, but it hadn't- and couldn't- repair the last two years worth of emptiness that he still feels the impact of when he thinks about how long it'd been since he'd actually seen John last- the clock at three days now-, or had some setback or success and wanted to run and find him, just to realize that he can't because John's still in California, forced to relay it through a rushed phone call or Skype session. He shakes his head, feeling sorrier over the matter the longer they stand there at this impasse. It's obvious that Del Rio had painted himself into a corner with this situation and can't find the way out... and Mike doesn't know or like him well enough to know how to talk him through it. It's up to Alberto himself to work this all out.

Which, considering how stubborn he is, means it might never be resolved. He closes his eyes, also understanding that one as well. When John had been working to try to get them tag title opportunities so Mike could cash in the briefcase back when the General Manager was making everything much more complicated than it logically needed to be, Miz had done his level best to push the man away, not wanting to fall back into that cycle especially when he could _taste_ the WWE title within his grasp. But John had been stubborn as well, more so, and Mike had eventually given in. Just in time too, so that they wouldn't have to go their separate ways with hatred or anger between them.

Unfortunately things are probably still too fresh for Ricardo, too raw. The situation is a fair deal different than his with John, and he's pretty sure outside forces won't be working to throw them together like his and Morrison being made to tag team together. Finally he finds his voice and tries again. "I understand that you have his best interests at heart, but there were so many other things you could've done if you'd wanted to, to fire him. I mean, God-"

"It wouldn't have worked," Alberto reiterates, voice dark with pain and growing aggravation. "He was too loyal... He needed to hate me... and I accomplished it."

"And was it worth it?" Mike demands, staring at him with frustration at how Del Rio refuses to see sense about the matter. "Truly?" Before Alberto can answer, they both freeze at hearing approaching footsteps, looking up to find AJ and Tamina walking towards the exit, neither looking very pleased. He glances at Del Rio before facing his girlfriend, taking her bag from her, and his from Tamina. "What happened?"

AJ glances discreetly at the enforcer next to her before releasing a tired sigh. "We lost," she finally concedes. "Can we leave now? Please?"

"Sure," Mike mutters, leaning down to kiss her. "Let's go." As he leads her out, he glances over at the still motionless Del Rio, hoping that he had given him enough to think about, that perhaps this whole sad situation will come to a head soon, and Ricardo would finally have the answers he deserves so he can properly move on. But considering how their conversation went, he kind of doubts it, and it makes him feel even worse as the three of them walk through the chill to the rental.


	183. chapter 183

Miz looks at his phone and sighs. Instead of going to commentate Main Event again, he's just received notice that he'll be among the superstars flown out to Europe and will thus be missing both Wednesday's show and Smackdown. Assuming that this means Alex will be doing commentary in his stead, he packs quickly and kisses AJ, wishing her luck on Friday, before leaving for the airport. It leaves him with a whole flight to dwell, think about things, and only get angrier. The conversation with Del Rio had only explained some of what had been weighing on him the last few months, though it had left him with more worries and uncertainty. He can't help but wonder if he should just ignore what Del Rio had requested of him and just go ahead and tell Ricardo, ease the younger man's torment at least a little... but he keeps thinking that it'd mean more if it came _from_ the Mexican aristocrat himself, though he doubts that's possible considering how stubbornly Alberto is holding onto his _not_ finding out at all.

Conflicted, he shakes his head, glancing out of the nearest window at the sky that seems unending outside of the plane he's currently traveling in. Although he wishes everything was as straight forward as fixing Ricardo's problems _could_ be, he has a multitude of his own jockeying for attention. Like how, no matter how hard he tries to be likeable and accessible to the WWE Universe, cheerful and willing to do what's asked of him, it's never enough. The Authority sees him as nothing but a utility player, and the WWE Universe can't even give him 20% of the vote in a poll for a match against the man who'd destroyed him over and over again in front of his family, his friends, AJ... He closes his eyes and grimaces, wanting desperately to know how to fix everything in one fell swoop. Bring John back, let Alex be healthy and have the career he wants, give Ricardo some peace and stability, keep AJ safe and happy, and let himself be liked and successful in the business that he'd fought for so hard, for so long, to be a part of.

But he doesn't, and he's not even sure if any of it's at all possible...

He's been in Europe a few days when he wakes up, groggy and disoriented. It's not until he hears the sharp beeping of his phone that he remembers, yawning and fumbling for it. As soon as it's quiet, he locates the remote in the hazy darkness and turns the TV on, flipping through channels until he finds Smackdown. He half-dozes through the first bit of the show, only coming to when AJ's theme music plays, Mike forcing himself to sit up against the pillows as he watches his girlfriend and her enforcer wrestle- and beat- Cameron and Naomi. He smiles and relaxes against his bedding when she leaves happily, blinking slowly as sleep once more claims him shortly afterwards.

The TV drones on until he's startled awake again, this time by a familiarly accented voice and he squints again at the TV, lips twisting when he realizes that Alberto Del Rio is in the ring, talking about how ill he'd been when he lost the World title. Miz rolls his eyes, sneering skyward. "Yeah, right," he mutters, unsurprised when Cena interrupts and begins mocking Del Rio for his claims. It looks like they're going to have a World championship rematch that night, but Vickie interrupts and announces it will instead be held at Survivor Series.

Mike hums as she, incensed at their insulting her after this, puts them both in matches for that night, Del Rio's against Khali and Cena's against Ryback. His interest waning, he turns the TV off and sighs, burying his face in the pillows once more as he chuckles dryly at the memory of Alberto's claims of sickness... though his humor quickly fades away as he reflects sleepily on the conversation they'd had yet again. With Thanksgiving looming ever closer, he can't help but feel guilty for allowing the ring announcer currently in Florida to continue thinking Alberto hates him. _Even though I still think it'd mean more if Del Rio told him himself, in his own words... if he keeps refusing to, then maybe I should just bite the bullet and tell him what was said anyway..._ He groans, knowing that sleep will continue eluding him the longer he ponders this.

"I'll ask John when I see him next, then," he mutters, closing his eyes. "He'll know what to do... he always does..." Marginally comforted by this thought, his faith in his best friend unwavering, even after all this time, he dozes back off.

"Sorry," Ricardo says abruptly, surprising Alex as he gingerly attempts the rehab exercises the WWE trainer had recommended, his roommate sitting nearby and counting off the sets for him.

Riley pauses and looks up at him, frowning. "What're you apologizing for, man?"

"That I'm leaving for England while you're still here, rehabbing. I promised to help and-"

"Hey, don't worry about it. I know how much you love traveling. Besides, if you get a place on one of the cards, that's great, man. I don't want you feeling like you need to risk your own chance at success just to help me. I'm a big boy, I can handle things around here on my own for a few days."

Ricardo releases a soft breath, staring down at the sheet of paper depicting each exercise. "I know, it's just..." He sighs and closes his eyes. "I'm not sure what to do when I'm _not_ supposed to be helping someone, you know? I mean, I did it for so long for Del Rio... this, here... I guess I'm still getting used to it. Even with Rob, it was... just weird."

Alex winces sympathetically and reaches over, taking the paper from him. "Well, the main thing you need to remember, Ricardo, is I'm not your employer, in any way, shape or form. I don't want you to feel obligated to do things for me, like you might've done for Rob or Alberto. We're roommates, and we're friends, so yeah, we'll still be helping each other out now and again, but it won't be the same for you like it was in the past, alright? This is your home, and I want you to relax, be comfortable here... not feel like you're constantly on the clock or something."

Ricardo nods wearily, opening his eyes and looking around the living room. There's little sign that he _actually_ lives here, everything in the room still Alex's... though his pumpkin from Halloween remains on the front stoop, and some of his favorite drinks and snacks fill the fridge and cupboards. He knows it's not much, and supposes that Alex has begun to worry about it, after three months... his not unpacking that much or spreading out his things beyond his bedroom, but he can't quite bring himself to make that step. Not yet. He had allowed himself to get comfortable in Alberto's house, and had paid dearly for it.

On some level, he figures that Alex would never do to him what Del Rio had done, but then again, he had thought the same thing about the Mexican aristocrat once upon a time... Shaking his head, he turns his attention back to his roommate. "Alright, Alex. I'll... I'll try." Riley grins and claps him on the arm before squeezing his shoulder. "I should go get packed, then," he murmurs, standing up. "Thank you, Alex."

"Anytime, man," Alex tells him, watching as he goes. He tugs his cell phone out of his pocket and sighs, glancing down at it. Mike had been suspiciously quiet, in texts _and_ on twitter, since losing that poll the week before, and although international costs on cell service or mobile web can be ludicrous, it's not like him. He sighs, hoping that Ricardo being in England will at least distract Mike, help him to get past this. At least for a little bit.

Mike sighs heavily as he leaves the airport terminal, AJ by his side as they drag their luggage towards the doors, Tamina following behind them slowly. "I'm glad to be off of that plane," he mutters to AJ, squeezing her lightly as she nods. "Now, let's see..." He only has to glance around for a bit before he spots who he's looking for, face lighting up. "C'mon." He drags her over to the younger man, smirking. "Now, Ricardo, didn't I tell you you didn't need to meet us here?"

The former ring announcer laughs and looks up as Mike snags the hoodie of the WWE jacket he's wearing and tugs it back off of his head, letting it fall against his shoulders. "I know, but I was heading back to the hotel from Old Trafford anyway, so I figured why not? Might as well pick you guys up so we could split a taxi and I could give you guys your keycard to the room."

"How considerate," Mike chuckles, following him out to the taxi while AJ curls in closer to him, all of them pausing only long enough to toss the bags into the back of the cab before getting into the car, Mike's hands steadying his girlfriend as she sits in his lap, Tamina on one side and Ricardo on the other, all of them watching Manchester zip past as Ricardo talks a bit about the football game he'd just seen, the bright red of his football jersey just visible over his jacket. "Sounds like it was a good game, man," Mike says finally, grinning over at the ring announcer. "Glad you got to see it."

"So am I," Ricardo grins back, relieved that Mike seems to be in a better mood than he'd expected, considering what happened the week prior and how it must've sucked for him. "I love international tours... getting to see new places and all of that."

"Well, it definitely seems to agree with you," Miz murmurs, running his hands through AJ's hair as she leans into his touch. They all fall silent, however, when the cab driver begins randomly humming what sounds like an N'Sync song, Mike biting his lip when he realizes that Ricardo also is humming along, AJ's eyes wide as they look over at the younger man.

He flushes when he realizes they're watching him, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Eh... sorry?" Mike does laugh then, shaking his head fondly at him, clapping him on the shoulder. Before anything could be said to reassure him, the cab pulls up to the curb at the hotel they're all staying at and they quickly pay before getting out, Mike, AJ and Tamina grabbing their things and following Ricardo inside. "It's a really nice room we have," he explains as they bypass the hotel lobby and go right to the elevators. "The whole hotel is pretty amazing, though."

Mike can tell, by just looking around the elevator area and hallways on the way to their room, that it's clean and quiet, comfortable. All that a WWE superstar could ask for after long flights and rough matches, really. And more than they usually get sometimes. So when Ricardo pulls out the keycards and passes one over to Mike, before unlocking the door, stepping aside to let them all in, the first thing Mike does is walk over to the bed and collapse atop the nearest mattress, sighing as he breathes in deeply and tension eases out of his body when he exhales.

AJ's laugh is soft as she runs her fingers through his hair, sitting down next to him while Ricardo obligingly moves their bags to a corner with his own, so the floor is clear and no one will trip and fall. She watches with a bit of a smirk as he turns to find Tamina staring at him, her gaze unwavering as he gulps and steps back, almost tripping over the bag he'd just moved. He's starting to stammer and try to slink past her when the Divas champion speaks up, unable to completely hide the amusement in her tone. "Tamina."

The enforcer immediately drops her bag next to where Ricardo's standing and moves away to sit down on the couch in front of a TV, not bothering to look for the remote or anything, seemingly content to just sit there in silence. The younger man swallows and stumbles back over to his bed, still looking a bit weirded out by it all. "AJ," Mike mutters after a moment.

"Mm hmm?"

"Could you keep your enforcer from giving Ricardo a heart attack? Or anyone else for that matter?"

She sighs in a put-upon fashion before leaning over to kiss his neck. "I suppose if I must." As he smiles sleepily, her lips twitch up as well and she nibbles slightly at where his neck meets his shoulders, causing him to shiver a bit, before settling in against his back, releasing a soft, tired sigh of her own. "Only because I love you."

"Love you too," he murmurs, comforted by her warmth blanketing him enough to fully fall asleep himself.

Raw is about what Mike- and Ricardo- expects. They arrive at the arena, Ricardo already dressed in some of his gear just in case Del Rio is there early, and Mike turns to look at him. "You ready for this?" He nods grimly and Mike releases a soft breath, Alberto's words once more echoing in his mind. He shakes his head glumly and hands over the mask that had hidden Ricardo sufficiently enough since all of this mess began to be known as _El Local_ while he works through everything. "Here you go."

"Thanks," he mutters, pulling the mask on and adjusting it until he can see through the eye-covers and still breathe normally. "Look alright?"

"Yep, man, you're good to go," he nods. AJ had arrived earlier with Tamina, since she was always anxious to get a feel of things as divas champion, so they exit the cab together and walk towards the arena. AJ's locker room is close, thankfully, but they only stop in long enough to drop their things off and say a quick hello before walking side by side to the general manager's office. Which is a mess already, Maddox, Vickie and Kane all marking their territory in the relatively small room, since The Authority is apparently on vacation this week...

Mike rolls his eyes, not sure what _that_ will mean for any of them, but he approaches the three with a weighing gaze, staring distrustfully at Kane, who barely seems to even notice his presence. "What can we do for you, Miz?" Vickie asks, her voice going straight through him as always.

He can feel El Local behind him, and this more than anything gives him the inclination to not just give up in disgust and storm off. "Do you have a match for me tonight or not?"

There's a lengthy pause as the disagreeing authority figures stare at him, glance at each other, and then... "No," all three say at once, one of the few things he thinks they'll probably agree on tonight.

He glowers at them, hatred growing more and more until... he feels El Local's gloved hand on his back and swallows, forcing out through grit teeth: "What about him then?" He jerks his thumb back at the younger man hovering behind him.

Maddox and Kane look somewhat perplexed as they peer at the masked man, only Vickie recognizing him from his matches on Smackdown a couple weeks ago. "No," she says on her own this time. "Maybe on Smackdown."

"Whatever," Miz mutters, snagging El Local's bright ring gear and dragging him back towards AJ's locker room, too disgusted to hang around any longer than is necessary. "Let's wait around long enough for AJ's match, and then we'll go find some pub and put all of this behind us, alright?"

"Alright," Ricardo agrees, tugging the mask off and taking a deep breath once they're safely inside and far away from prying, gossiping eyes, Mike's grip on his collar slipping away finally. As he storms off to go run splash some water down his face, Ricardo watches him worriedly, wondering if he'll be ok. Although the past few months had been pretty God-awful for him, Mike also had had a pretty damn bad road, and Ricardo hopes that he'll be alright, get past it all... though considering how fresh what Alberto had done is still in his own mind after all of this time, he wonders if maybe there are things some people _can't_ move past, no matter how much they'd like to...


	184. chapter 184

After some restless tossing and turning next to AJ following spending all Tuesday afternoon, night, and part of Wednesday morning in Alberto Del Rio's hotel room, helping Ricardo keep an eye on his fever and making sure he got some rest and stayed hydrated, Mike sits in the hotel lobby and stares blankly ahead, too many thoughts racing through his mind. He barely reacts when the door to the hotel entrance opens, someone walking over and looming over him. He does, however, glance around when Alex Riley sits down next to him, smiling wanly. "Hey," he mutters, subdued. "I'm glad you're here. Ricardo needs all of us around him right now."

Alex nods softly, blinking. "What happened?" He sits silently, taking it all in as Mike explains the day before, how Del Rio had been suffering from jetlag and stress due to everything going on, causing him to fall ill and spike a fever, his claims about why he'd lost the World title turning into some insane sort of self-fulfilling prophecy... How Ricardo had taken it upon himself to see the older man through the whole situation, despite everything that had happened between them the past few months. Mike's voice trembles a bit as he recalls Del Rio only settling when Ricardo began to call him El Patron once more, the visible pain it'd caused the younger man to rehash all of the old memories of fonder times between the two.

"I wanted to tell him so badly," Mike hisses, staring at his hands. "I just... I couldn't. Not then. Not when he was already hurting so much, not when Del Rio was too out of it to explain his side of it... Ricardo deserves to know, but... I don't think it's my place. Even after everything, I just can't be the one to try to explain this all to him." He kicks his heel against the couch viciously and groans. "Del Rio is such an infuriating asshole, especially when he thinks he's doing the right thing!"

Alex sighs heavily, closing his eyes as he ponders everything Mike had just told him, the impact it could- and will- have on his roommate. "Dammit," he breathes. "Where's Ricardo? I can see him for a few minutes before I have to go to Main Event."

Mike's eyes darken slightly at the mention of this, the main reason Alex being in England now being because he'd been requested to come commentate Main Event and Superstars, which gives Mike even less to do this week, but he bites down his displeasure at once more being overlooked and leads Alex to their hotel room, where the exhausted ring announcer is sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands. As Alex wanders his way, resting a hand between his shoulder blades, Mike heads over to where AJ is sitting with her title, stroking it with soft fingers. He quietly sits next to her, knowing better than to disrupt her pre-match ponderings, content to sit and watch her for a few minutes.

No matter how many things are wrong with his personal and professional life right now, he can't completely complain because he has her, after so many months of painful longing and guilt, and she's beautiful and strong, incredible... When she looks up finally and catches him staring at her, she smiles back and puts the title down, reaching out for his hand with which she interlaces her fingers before resting both on the cool plate of the belt. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he nods, smiling at her. "I'll be accompanying you to Main Event tonight. Alright?" He'll have nothing outside of watching her compete to do, which had become depressingly common the last couple of weeks, but when her eyes light up and she nods happily, he knows it's worth it.

Once Alex finishes talking to Ricardo, who still seems worn out but a bit more emotionally stable once he's done, the four of them leave him behind to get some rest while they go to the arena, once again stuffed in a small taxi, Tamina and Alex sitting side by side while AJ takes back her place sitting in Mike's lap, her title held protectively in her hands. As soon as they arrive, Alex goes immediately to meet with Josh at the announcer's desk and the divas take their leave as well, so AJ can stretch and do other preparing to compete type things, Mike standing blankly in the hallway and looking around for a monitor to watch the show in peace.

He finds one not long before the show starts, blinking when he hears the opening moments of the show echoing back from a ways further down the hall. Peering around during a lull in the action, he blinks upon finding that Tyson Kidd is not that far off, staring intently at his own monitor, all attention on his wife as she makes her way to the ring. Mike can't help but roll his eyes at this, hoping for a number of reasons that AJ retains. Not that it was Tyson's fault, fully, but his leaving Ricardo in the lurch, officially leaving Los Locales in the dust with little to no notice, had rubbed the Awesome One the wrong way, knowing that it's just yet another blow the former ring announcer didn't need right this moment.

He has to fight not to laugh when Tamina enters and kicks Natalya right in front of the referee, allowing AJ to retain by DQ. It's not a clean win, no, but a title retention is a title retention, no matter how it comes about, and he knows that that's what matters most to his girlfriend, so he's happy for her. Besides, he can hear Tyson muttering in annoyance under his breath from feet away and that makes it even better. Especially when AJ finds him, leaping into his arms with her hair raining down around them, and they can both hear Natalya crying to her husband about this being her only chance at the Divas title, and it being ruined. AJ brushes her hair out of her eyes and leans down, kissing him thoroughly, her pleasure thrumming through both of them as he supports her so she doesn't fall out of his grip. "I'm happy you retained," he whispers to her between kisses.

She grins and presses closer to him, the weight of her title cool against his back, causing him to miss being champion yet again with a cold, cruel ache that he hasn't been able to find the words to describe just yet. "Let's get out of here."

He nods, glad she'd suggested it. _Alex is busy commentating, he won't mind,_ he tells himself, carrying her out of the arena to find a taxi as Tamina follows behind quietly.

Since the last time Mike had been on Superstars, its schedule had changed, the show now happening on Thursday nights. Alex is doing commentary here as well, but it's just them for once, as AJ is in London for a houseshow with Tamina. He has a match with Primetime Players against Khali and the Usos, Mike doing all he can to keep his growing aggravation with the situation he finds himself in tamped down until they lose. Disgusted, he walks quietly side by side with Alex to yet another taxi, his former NXT rookie thankfully knowing enough to not speak, let Mike have his time to think and decompress after the crappy week he's so far been having.

He's so disgusted that he barely responds when they enter the hotel room to find Ricardo waiting for them, the younger man wiling time away until Smackdown the following night, waiting to see if Vickie _will_ find a place on the card for him... When he asks if they're hungry, Mike shakes his head and ducks into the bathroom, wanting nothing more than to get in a quick shower and crawl into bed and put this European tour behind him, doubting that Smackdown will give him anything worthwhile to do either. He closes his eyes as water sluices down his face and neck from the showerhead, breathing heavily. _The Authority,_ he sneers, eyes dark as he stares at the tile. _Even when they're on_ vacation, _they succeed at ruining everything..._

The next day does little to ease his turmoil as he wakes up to Alex lightly shaking his arm, Ricardo hovering next to him. It's mid-morning, and the two before him had clearly allowed him to sleep in... which he would ordinarily be annoyed over, but there's a strange, tense look on their faces, and... He swallows and blinks, sitting up. "What's happened now?" The two men exchange looks before Ricardo holds up Mike's cell phone, the man blinking through the blur of sleep to focus on the words written there.

_Text from: AJ_

_Mike, I guess you're asleep right now, but I wanted to let you know before you read it on some dirt sheet... I collapsed at the houseshow in London last night. But I'm FINE. Just a (2/2) little dehydrated... some water and rest, and I'll be good. I promise. I'll see you at Smackdown tonight._

He stares blankly at the screen, swallowing. His chest hurts. While he had been feeling sorry for himself, bemoaning his lack of having anything substantial to do, AJ had been far, far away, ill and with only Tamina around for support. Though he knows WWE doctors are some of the best around, more than capable of getting their competitors back to full health, it still leaves him shaky. "Dammit," he hisses, leaning over and burying his face in his hands. His focus had been locked solely on Del Rio's health and Ricardo's mental stability so much the last few days that AJ and everything else had mostly slipped through his fingers, and he sees now he'd been desperately trying to keep himself busy, his thoughts anywhere else instead of on his lack of a title belt, or any sort of significant role in the WWE, when before he was commentator, wrestler, anything and everything they'd wanted from him...

It's not fair to any of them. It's definitely not fair to his girlfriend. He finally uncurls from himself to stare up at Alex and Ricardo, who are leaning over him with equally worried looks on their faces. "I'm sorry," he finally breathes out, especially towards Alex, who he'd slowly been growing a sort of bitterness towards without even fully caring enough to stop it due to the younger man getting more time on the commentary desk than he'd had the past few months. "I'm so sorry." When Alex's face clears in some understanding, he pulls Mike into a hug and mutters comfortingly to him, careful not to break the hug until Mike makes the first move to do so, giving him the time just to sit there and think, re-dedicate himself to being a better friend. A better boyfriend. If given a proper chance, a better competitor and announcer... _Time for a change..._

When they all meet up for Smackdown that night, Mike greets AJ with a bottle of water and she stares up at him, blinking in some confusion before she realizes just how deeply worried he has been since receiving her text, her expression clearing as she takes the bottle from him, taking a few sips from it until he looks moderately calmer, kissing her temple as he tugs her closer. "It's not exactly the best gift I've ever been given," she hums, smiling up at him as he stares down at her, searching her face as if trying to determine her health by doing so. "But I suppose it'll do... as long as you don't give me a crate of bottles of water for Christmas next month."

He squeezes her and shakes his head, burying his face in her hair. "Don't worry me like that ever again," he mutters. "The concussion was bad enough but... I was reading through stuff from people at the event and some claimed you had a seizure and-"

She presses a hand to his lips and stares up at him, eyes flashing until he stops rambling. "People on the internet are ridiculous drama queens. That's why I sent you that text, I knew there'd been a bunch of misinformation around, and I didn't want... I didn't want this. I didn't want you to worry unneccessarily. I'm fine, I'll continue to be ok. The doctor won't let me do anything that I'm not healthy enough for. Alright? Besides, I don't have a match tonight. It's all Tamina, I'm just going to be watching from the sidelines."

"Good," he sighs. "But either way, now that I have you here..." She releases a muffled squeal as he leans down and picks her up, carrying her bridal style the rest of the way to her locker room, where Ricardo and Alex are already sitting, staring hesitantly over at a lingering Tamina. As he settles her down on the couch, she peers around the room with a vague smirk on her face. He pokes her nose gently until she looks up at him, tilting her head. "What is it?"

"I was just trying to figure out the exact moment this locker room changed from the _Divas Champion_ locker room to _Miz and Friends' locker room,_ " she tells him, her smirk growing into a haughty kind of grin as he leans closer to her.

"I guess somewhere between this moment," he whispers, kissing her softly, "and the moment I told you I loved you." She murmurs against his lips and he laughs. "What was that?"

"I guess you're right," she breathes. "Well, thankfully the room is huge, and I'm relatively small, so there's plenty of room for all of this madness." As he watches her fondly, she stands back up and skips off to change out of her street clothes and into one of her merch shirts for Tamina's match.

Mike sits down next to Ricardo and eyes his bright red wrestling gear, raising an eyebrow at him. "Any luck?"

"No, they have no matches for me tonight," he mutters, picking at his mask halfheartedly. "I asked but Vickie all but ignored me and granted a match instead to Hunico and Camacho."

Mike winces and claps his shoulder. "I'm sorry, man." Ricardo nods but says very little as the show starts, the group of them watching as Tamina loses to Natalya after being sent into AJ by mistake, Mike's jaw tensing until he sees that she's relatively ok, Tamina seeming worse off than her. Still, he has more water on hand when she returns, and she releases a blustery breath but once more obliges him, drinking slowly from one of the bottles while they join the men to watch the rest of the show.

Mike had been tempted to suggest they leave after the divas match, all of them in need of rest one way or another, but he'd taken one look at Ricardo's face when Del Rio challenged Cena to an arm wrestling contest had been announced, knowing immediately that it wouldn't be happening. So he curls AJ close to him and rests his chin on the top of her head as Alberto is shown walking towards the ring, a dark look on his face.

Ricardo speaks up, his voice low and a little broken as soon as it goes to commercial. "Did... he look pale to anyone? I mean..."

Mike and Alex move at the same time, both reaching over to pat his back or squeeze his arm in comfort. "Maybe a little, but he looked fine otherwise. And as AJ said, the doctor won't let us do anything that we're not able to. And it's not a match, just a quick arm wrestling contest. He'll be in and out of there in, say, five minutes," Miz says, trying to smile at the fretful young man. "And the trainer knows everything he was going through, he'll know what to watch out for. Don't worry, man."

But it's clear that's exactly what Ricardo does through the whole segment, his tension only growing when Cena answers the challenge, accepting it. Mike starts to worry he might vibrate right off of the couch, his whole body thrumming with anxiety so roughly that they all can feel it. If not for the way that this week had been going, Mike thinks he might've laughed when Del Rio lost not once but twice to the World Champion in a matter of seconds but he takes one look at the pale, grim look on Ricardo's face and loses all humor, shaking his head glumly.

He's so focused on the ring announcer, he barely notices the moment Del Rio begins attacking Cena and, although his attempts at locking his arm in the chair fails, he does manage to send the other man through the table that had been used for the arm wrestling props, the five of them staring at the TV with varying emotions on their faces. "Damn," Miz finally breathes, glancing once more at Ricardo, who has a distant look in his eye. "Are you ok?"

"Si," the ring announcer mutters, watching as a pleased Alberto taunts Cena while he's still in the wreckage. "Can we go now?"

"Sure, man," he agrees easily, wishing that he had suggested that himself after all, but certain that Ricardo wouldn't have wanted to until he at least had a glance of Del Rio, saw what was going to happen to the older man. "Come on, guys, let's get out of here."

The weekend goes by quickly even after Alex and Ricardo return to Florida following Smackdown, Sunday thankfully bringing with it the end of the European tour, Mike beyond glad to see it go. He breathes a little easier once he and AJ are back in the States as well, the girl thankfully not having any more fainting spells or dehydration issues since that house show in London. Even so, he dreads seeing what they'll make her do on Raw, not wanting her to exhaust herself further considering all she's been going through, until Stephanie announces it in the very first five minutes, his shoulders slumping in some relief when she places the Raw GM in a match against her for later that night. He hugs her close to him, kissing the top of her head before pulling away slowly. "I'll be back soon, I have to go find Kofi," he tells her with a small smile, kissing her once more.

"Alright," she breathes into him, smiling when he struggles just to fully move away from her. "Good luck with the match."

"Thanks," he says, though he doesn't think he'll need it. Not now. Not after all of the thinking he's done the past few days. He'd let his focus go in various directions the past few months; trying to be all that the fans wanted, trying to impress the Authority, stretching himself way too thin to be any good to anyone. Much less to the people that matter the most to him, such as AJ, Morrison, Alex and Ricardo... He had lost his way so thoroughly the past year that it disgusts him to even reflect back on it. AJ fainting and his frustration at not being able to be there for her had opened his eyes to what he was allowing to happen to himself, his career, his relationships.

And so he watches as Kofi gets double teamed by the so-called Real Americans, finally getting enough distance to lunge towards their corner, trying to tag Mike in. _Now,_ he thinks, waiting until the last second to drop to the floor, avoiding the tag expertly. Kofi looks shocked, his dark eyes flashing with betrayal and some surprise, followed by bitter realization. But it only lasts a second as he's once more dragged into the middle of the ring, beat down further before eating the pin as Mike watches from the outside, smirking.

It's with a revitalized spring to his step that Mike heads backstage, no longer feeling the need to acknowledge the fans trying to get his attention or even talk with the other superstars milling around. He does, however, stop when he sees AJ waiting for her match against Vickie Guerrero at the gorilla position, staring down at her while he waits for her verdict on what he's done. She blinks up at him a time or two before wrapping her arms around his neck and dragging him down to her level, staring at him. "That was so sexy," she mutters, kissing him deeply.

He laughs at her, feeling slightly relieved. Though he hadn't thought she'd have minded, it's still nice that she at least seems to be alright with his decision, understand his actions, before he'd even needed to say a word to her. _Now as long as Alex and Ricardo are cool with it,_ he thinks, lips pursing against hers as he ponders what the two easy-going men would have to say. However, they're both distracted when they hear Vickie on a nearby monitor, calling out for help. AJ turns sharply in time to see her opponent look around shiftily before collapsing outside of the trainer's office. The Divas champion sucks in a deep, angered breath, Mike's eyes narrowing as well. "No way," he mutters, grimacing at the gross imitation too similar to what AJ herself had truthfully gone through only a couple of days ago.

AJ glares at the monitor before pulling away from him and grabbing Tamina, heading to the ring with no lack of determination. Thankfully, Stephanie doesn't fall for it either, ordering Vickie to be sent to the ring anyway, where she's rolled off of the cot into the waiting champion, who waits patiently, anger visibly growing as the GM scrambles around, repeatedly faking fainting spells in and out of the ring until AJ pretends to want to help her cool off, just to twist her around in the Black Widow, Vickie quickly tapping out from there as the girl laughs at her.

When she and Tamina make their way backstage, she's still smiling slightly, but there's a bitter sort of anger in her dark eyes and Mike brushes her hair out of her eyes, staring down at her. "I hate her," she breathes. "So much, for everything."

He nods, leaning closer to her. "I know. I feel the same way about her." For the first time in perhaps ever, their eyes lock and there's full understanding there. Whereas when they'd first caught each other's eyes, and she had been about to marry Daniel and he'd been tag teaming with Eve Torres, or every moment since, when he had either been trying to get John his job back by using her or being a good guy and trying to entertain the WWE Universe, and she had been all about Daniel-Punk-Kane-Cena-Dolph, or being GM, or the title, or whatever else had kept them apart, now... now there's no denying. He understands her, she understands him. Yes, they had been together the last few months, and it had been great, but now everything just clicks. They'd both been hurt and misjudged, overlooked by the fans, underrated by management, and both had had more than enough of it. AJ long before Mike, yes, but still. He strokes her hair back once more and breathes, "You're beautiful."

She does smile at this, deep brown eyes locked on him as he lifts her up into his arms, kissing her thoroughly, slowly. The longer they linger, the more intense everything becomes between them until finally he pulls away and rests his forehead against hers. "We'll always have each other. No matter what anyone else does or says."

"Yes we will," she sighs as he resumes kissing her, neither of them caring that they're still by the gorilla position, or who may be watching.


	185. chapter 185

Happy Thanksgiving, Americans, and happy Thursday/Friday to all of the rest of you 3

AJ sighs, closing her eyes as Mike fusses over her. In the interlude between Raw on Monday and Main Event here today, he had coaxed her out of the hotel to go ice skating. Unfortunately his admittedly being not overly athletic had sent him flailing many times, AJ having to bite her lip to keep from laughing at his growing frustration as she helped him stand time and again. But in the end, she had ended up the one hurt- minorly, yes, but still... She had slipped only once but it had been enough to twist her ankle. Not severely, but Mike had immediately looked worried and guilty, not even allowing her to limp off of the ice on her own power. He'd sat next to her, unlacing his own skates right then and there and, not allowing the freezing surface to dissuade him, had stood up in just socks, immediately scooping her up off of the ice and carrying her gingerly back to the benches surrounding the entrances to the ice.

So now they find themselves here, Mike sitting next to her in her locker room, staring at her. "AJ."

"I can compete," she insists, gingerly rotating her ankle. "The trainer can tape it up, and I'll be good to go-"

"AJ." His eyes are deep and sincere and she feels herself giving in the more she stares at him. "Please. If you were hurt worse because of my stupid idea, I-"

"It's not your fault! I mean, how many times did you fall-" He looks even more displeased at this, AJ yet again fighting a giggle as she leans forward, resting a hand on his face. "It was just one of those things, Mike. Don't blame yourself, I don't." He still looks glum, however, like a kicked puppy, and it's this more than anything else that causes her to give in. "Fine, I'll let the GMs know, and ask if Tamina can take my place tonight. Alright?"

His face immediately lights up, some of the guilt and worry fading from his eyes, and she sighs as he kisses her. "Yes, that's perfect," he nods, grinning.

"The things I do for you," she mutters as he nuzzles into her neck, now content. "But you _will_ let me walk out there on my own power, right? I want to accompany Tamina." He looks reluctant as he pulls away to look at her, but she shakes her head with a small chuckle. "You'll be at commentary, and I promise it's not so bad that I can't walk a short distance. Don't you think she's carried me enough lately? I'll be fine."

He sighs and pulls her closer, this time nuzzling her against his chest. "I guess," he concedes reluctantly. "But if your ankle starts to hurt, find somewhere to sit, alright? I don't want you to aggravate it, or something. There are plenty of chairs out there, after all." She smiles coyly up at him, eyes shining.

To his utter relief, it goes alright, Tamina holding her own even when the Lumberjills cause things to devolve into a multi-diva brawl, during which AJ hops up on the announcer's table in front of Mike, glancing over her shoulder and smirking at him as he instinctively reaches out to steady her on the uneven surface, his hand warm on her lower back. Josh wisely keeps his mouth shut and the match carries on to its conclusion, Tamina defeating Naomi soundly.

Mike watches with a small smile as AJ carefully hops off of the table onto her good foot happily to meet back up with her enforcer so they can leave. The next match is Del Rio vs Santino and for a short moment Alberto meets Mike's eye from the ring and he sits back in his chair, tapping his pencil against his knuckles as he ponders what the older Mexican can remember from when he was ill, if it would change anything in the long run, weaken his resolve to keep his distance from Ricardo. Especially considering how things this Sunday may shake out when he takes on John Cena yet again for the World title. But tonight provides no answers as Del Rio defeats Santino and leaves without a backwards glance, clearly not wanting to deal with Mike and everything else right now.

Which is fine with him because he has his own dramas to deal with now, his actions on Monday causing a match between he and Kofi Kingston to be made on the Survivor Series preshow. He smirks as he thinks about it. Although his temper has since eased a little, the underlying cause is still there, so he's fine with it. Speaking of, his opponent comes out then for a match against Fandango and Mike rolls his eyes as two of the men he's had the most issues with over the last year faces off.

It's a standard enough match between the two until it spills to the outside, where Kofi purposely throws Fandango into Mike, tossing him out of his chair and effectively pissing him off all over again. He approaches the ring, yelling at Kofi from where he kneels on the apron, just to get kicked off of it to the floor, where he lays, listening as Fandango takes the opportunity to finish Kofi off, Mike laughing as Fandango's annoying theme echoes through the arena. "That's what you get," he breathes out, struggling to his feet. "Idiot."

His duty done, Main Event now over for the week, Mike walks backwards up the ramp once Fandango is gone, staring smugly at a disgusted looking Kofi as he goes. The only thing he really cares about now, however, is finding his girlfriend and her enforcer and getting her back to the hotel where he can ensure she's properly resting her ankle.

Mike doesn't have a match on Smackdown, but he goes anyway, accompanying AJ just in case Vickie Guerrero has something up her sleeve after Monday. Which, of course she does, putting AJ in a handicapped match against the Funkadactyls, completely ignoring her when she tries to bring up the fact that she'd been kept from competing on Wednesday due to her ankle. When the match starts, Tamina tries to help AJ to avoid their offense, but the two women knock her over on the ramp, dazing her.

Naomi is left in the ring with AJ after Tamina takes out Cameron on the outside, but it's not enough as Naomi hits AJ with the Rear End, defeating her as Tamina looks on in frustration. Once she's carried the diva's champion backstage, Mike leads them to the trainer's office, not bothering to move the dazed girl out of Tamina's arms. Despite being busy, the man pauses and checks her ankle out quickly, visibly displeased at her competing in the match, but ultimately finding her ankle no worse for the wear. "As long as you take it easy tomorrow, you should be cleared to compete at Survivor Series," he tells her blandly before returning to what he'd been doing prior her entrance to his office.

She's relieved at this, though Mike doesn't exactly share her enthusiasm in her competing in the 14-diva match. He keeps his misgivings to himself, however, stroking her hair out of her eyes until he's distracted by Del Rio's heavily accented voice, looking at the TV as he once more declares his intentions to break the other man's arm at the PPV. Mike grimaces slightly, just to have warring emotions when, only a couple of minutes later, a poll taken on is shown on the screen about the toughest submissions and Del Rio's armbar only gets 10% of the vote. It's _almost_ funny, despite his feeling like a hypocrite for thinking so... After all, a poll had opened his eyes to how little the WWE Universe actually cared about him, so he can guess all too well how Del Rio is feeling right now...

Either way, his mind quickly turns to Sunday and the upcoming match he has against Kofi, one of the few things remaining that he has to make it through before spending the bulk of Thanksgiving in California with his friends and girlfriend. He's staring at his gear with a thoughtful look on his face when someone clears their throat behind him, surprising him. He steps away, thinking it's someone trying to get past him, but they don't move. "Hey, man, get thro-" he starts to snap, looking up- just to come to an abrupt stop, gaping in disbelief at who's in front of him. "Ricardo?!" he demands, quickly forgetting the trunks spread out on the bench as he walks over to the former ring announcer and laughs in some disbelief, hugging him. "Why didn't you tell me you were in Boston?"

"They just alerted me they wanted me here earlier this morning, it happened pretty fast," he explains, shrugging with a faint smile.

"Well, that- that's great," Mike says, staring at him. "What are you doing then? Competing, or-?"

"No," he sighs slightly. "Not competing, but they _do_ want me to sit at the Spanish commentary table. So, I- I guess that's something."

Despite his words, his eyes keep darting around anxiously and Mike guesses he knows immediately what the problem is, yet again hating himself for what he'd put Ricardo through the few weeks he had shared the Main Event commentary desk with he and Josh Mathews. "Hey, you'll do great. The Spanish announcers, they seem like good guys. Don't worry about it."

Ricardo releases a soft breath, glancing up to look at Miz. "I hope so," he murmurs. "It's just... it's a PPV, you know. I want- I want to do well. Give people their money's worth..."

Mike chuckles and shakes his head. "You always do, man. And hey, if it helps you relax, I'll give you a pass- say whatever you want out there about me. How's that?" The younger man stares at him in some surprise and he laughs. "The WWE Universe already thinks I'm jerk, it'd be no huge stretch of the imagination." _Besides, he can consider it some recompense for last summer..._

"Eh," he hesitates.

"And I won't know most of what you're saying anyway," he urges, laughing when Ricardo seems to consider it. "Do whatever you want, man. Just take it easy on yourself, alright? You've been through enough lately, don't add to it. Besides, it's just about Thanksgiving week. I want us all to have a good time."

This _does_ make Ricardo smile, though he looks a little wistful. "Si, alright, Mike. I'll try."

When Mike's match starts a little later, he looks over at the commentary desk for a moment, catching Ricardo's eye and nodding discreetly before getting lost in trying to overcome Kofi's offense, unsurprised by the other man's determination at beating him after he'd left him high and dry on Monday. Either way, it doesn't help, Mike eakes out a victory after many pinfalls. He grudgingly has to admit that it was a good match so, when he stands up, he finds himself in a pretty good mood- after all, Ricardo's back on the road, even if it's just for tonight, he'll be spending Thanksgiving with most of his favorite people in a few days, and he'd just won a match. So he holds out his hand to Kofi as he makes it to his feet, waiting patiently for the man to do the polite thing and shake his hand, but instead Kofi slaps him across the face instead. He gapes as his opponent leaves the ring without a bit of regret, almost laughing in anger. _I try to be a respectful competitor, and I literally get slapped in the face for it... Why do I even bother?_

The night only grows worse when, after officially being cleared to compete, AJ is the last diva eliminated in the 14 diva match, leaving Natalya and Nikki the only surviving members of their team. Mike winces and shakes his head, glad when she and Tamina enter the divas champion's locker room, her immediately sinking into his arms. "You're ok," he promises her, kissing the top of her head. "I'm sorry." She mutters against his shirt and nods, visibly angry at the loss against the Total Diva team, when he tenses, realizing something. "Dammit!"

"What is it?" she whispers, looking up at him.

He chews at his bottom lip, staring at the TV. "Del Rio has a match... and Ricardo's out there..." He knows the truth, but even with that fact, it hadn't kept the Mexican from attacking the ring announcer whenever he'd felt like it would be beneficial to his ridiculous plan. His hands tense against her midsection as he stares up at the monitor, feeling a little ill. "If he touches him again, I swear..."

Roles suddenly reversed, AJ's attempts at soothing him only goes so far as he watches the World championship rematch, trying to keep an eye on both the match and Ricardo, tension multiplying as the action spills to the outside, Del Rio landing right in front of Ricardo, who seems to be trying to keep an eye on him as well. Del Rio doesn't approach him, however, staggering to his feet and returning to the match, losing not that long afterwards. Mike can see Ricardo watching closely and he feels for the younger man, knowing it can't be doing much for his remaining conflict towards the whole situation, especially after the European tour. Mike shakes his head and stares at what he can see of the downed Alberto. "Just tell him, you idiot," he grumbles under his breath.

AJ looks up at him but says nothing, certain that he'll tell her what's going on with this whole Del Rio and Ricardo situation when he's ready. She ordinarily wouldn't care about the ring announcer or Del Rio, their issues from when she was General Manager of Raw still fresh in her mind, but she knows that it matters to Mike, so she tries to restrain her lack of interest in the men, for his sake...

Thankfully Ricardo is fine, if a little quiet, when the show ends, and Mike leads them out of the arena, all of them glad to return to the hotel and sleep away this PPV. Not a lot went right, despite Mike's victory and Ricardo being there for the whole night with no huge problems. The issues all weigh on them the rest of the night, exceeding all of the good that the event had brought them.

Raw is another mixed bag. Titus O'Neil has this ridiculous idea to imitate Michael Strahan and asks Mike for help with it, even as Darren Young stays far away from this madness. So instead of having the actual Raw guest host on MizTV, he invites Titus out and indulges his tag partner from the week before's Superstars in this, not that surprised when the actual Strahan interrupts, far from impressed with them. How it goes from Strahan making a tag match- Del Rio and Orton vs Big Show and Cena, of all things- to a hip toss challenge, Mike only succeeding at getting hip tossed himself after failing at tossing the former football player, he's not sure, but he's relieved when it's over.

When he makes it back to the locker room, it's to find that AJ is preparing for the 14 divas elimination tag rematch, looking far from pleased at this all. He cups her face and smiles down at her. "Good luck out there."

She nods, clearly distracted. "Thanks." They kiss quickly and she leaves to meet up with the rest of her team, Tamina following her.

Mike's alone in here now, Ricardo having returned to Florida to help Alex to prepare the apartment before all of them would be arriving at various times tomorrow. He personally has media events to do with Christmas Bounty, but would be flying out in the early afternoon and hopefully be in Florida in time to see the movie's television debut with all of them. Shaken out of his thoughts just in time to look up and watch in disbelief as AJ is eliminated relatively early in the match, he blinks repeatedly, thinking perhaps he had seen things. "How is that possible?" he mutters, unsurprised when she and Tamina storm in, equally as angry, though AJ is much more vocal while Tamina stands nearby and stares blankly ahead, her dark eyes gleaming with murderous rage.

He quickly shuts the TV off and waits for her to notice him, but it doesn't happen for a long time, the diva content to throw things around the room, upend the table and scream at losing two nights in a row. Well aware by now just to let her get it out, he and Tamina both stand back and watch until it seems she might hurt herself, the enforcer walking forward and kicking the table out of the way as Mike grabs the girl and holds her close, letting her scream into his chest until she tires herself out. "You're ok," he mutters the whole time, knowing she can't hear him but somehow feeling better by saying it.

Finally she quiets and he ducks enough to look at her flushed, tearsoaked face, wiping the drying tracks off of her cheeks. "Sorry," she whispers, cupping his hands as he smiles down at her. "I... I haven't felt like doing that in a really long time..."

"It's ok," he tells her quietly. "I'd rather you let it out here than keeping it all in and... exploding in some other, unhealthy way later on." She nods faintly as he hugs her close, murmuring faintly to her before his eyes fall on the clock and he hisses out a faint curse. "Hey, sweetheart, I have to go, my match against Kofi is next." He kisses her gently and smiles. "Just rest, alright? I'll be back soon and we can get out of here, go to the hotel and talk about what we'll be doing for Thanksgiving in Florida."

"No ice skating," she says with a small hint of a pout.

He laughs and kisses her again, shaking his head. "I promise, no ice skating. I like your ankles too much to risk them again."

"Just my ankles?" she wheedles, blinking up at him with red-rimmed, wide eyes that makes his heart hurt to look into them for too long, wishing he could do something to keep her from feeling so miserable as her losses begin piling up as his had for far too long before the PPV the night before.

"All of you," he rectifies, lifting her hands and kissing her knuckles. "I'll be back soon." A subtle nod to Tamina, containing the silent demand that she keep a close eye on AJ, and he's out of the room to stretch before he heads to the ring. On the way, he runs into his Christmas Bounty costar and they talk for a minute, Mike careful to keep it friendly as possible as he's aware of a nearby camera, knowing that AJ has to be seeing all of this, keeping a close eye on any female in his vicinity.

He leaves her behind quickly and goes to the ring for the rematch, unphased as Kofi joins him, even mocks him over the Strahan thing after hip tossing him. It doesn't matter in the end because Miz accomplishes another victory against him, smirking as the referee raises his hand in victory.

He keeps his promise to AJ then, despite the show being not quite done. He knows he can watch the TV at the hotel, on the off-chance that he finds himself wanting to see how Del Rio's tag match ultimately ends, so they leave the arena and he drives them the short distance to where they're staying, relieved once they're inside the room, dropping his bag before going to change out of his street clothes. Once comfortable, he drops into bed and wraps an arm loosely around AJ, blinking blankly at the TV, which is on but muted, commercials running. He chuckles softly as he sees the one he had filmed for WWE awhile ago, where he breaks out of a present at some kid's birthday party, and shakes his head at the two children hanging off of him at the end of the ad while he ate cake.

"So someone said something about discussing Thanksgiving plans?" she asks finally, carding her fingers through his hair gently.

He stirs, surprised to find that he'd almost dozed off on top of her, and nods slowly. "Mm, yep. I did." Sighing, he shifts slightly and smiles at her. "Well, you're alright with spending Thanksgiving in Florida, right? Morrison, Ricardo, Alex, all of us... just hanging out, watching Christmas Bounty and figuring out how to cook a turkey?"

She stares at him for a long moment and he's starting to worry until finally she says, "Tamina's invited too, right?" They both look over at the enforcer who is sitting up in bed, arms crossed over her chest, looking much the same as she does when standing, rigid and on the look out for danger.

He wonders how she could possibly sleep like that, but finally turns his attention to AJ and her question. "If she wants to come, she's welcome to, sweetheart," he answers with a small smile, thinking about how Alex will react at having the woman in his apartment yet again. He fights a laugh as AJ's face lights up and she lunges in for a kiss, nibbling lightly on his lower lip before pulling away with the first truly happy smile he'd seen on her since losing.

"Thank you."

"Anything to make you smile like that." He grins as she taps his lip with her finger, replacing it with her own lips after a moment, kissing him intensely as she leans against him. "I love you."

"I love you too, Mike."

The next day goes alright, although it sucks on some level to have to see AJ and Tamina off, Mike remaining behind in New York for a little longer to promote his movie through interviews and other things. He has a later flight that afternoon, but still. He tangles his fingers in her hair as they kiss goodbye, imagining their first holiday together, watching his second movie release with her- something he hadn't been able to do with her for Marine: Homefront because things had been so badly tense between them at the point of its release to DVD- not to mention watching the Macy's Day parade together, and entering December looking forward to giving her gifts and maybe finding some mistletoe somewhere, ringing in 2014 with her...

Last year's holidays had been such an unending pool of pain, guilt and torture as she had been vaguely involved with Cena, just to rebound into Ziggler's arms when everything with Cena went nowhere, both things full of nothing but bad memories for them both now, that he looks forward to making this year so much better for both of them, itching for the holiday season to begin in earnest finally so he can do just that.

"I'll see you soon," she whispers against his mouth as he nods faintly.

"I miss you already."

She sighs and kisses him again. "And I miss you too, but it'll be over soon, and we'll all be in Florida in a few hours." He nods this time and she hugs him once more, whispering a subdued bye before turning and following Tamina towards the security check point for their flight, Mike swallowing as he watches her go, pausing just long enough to blow him a kiss before disappearing from sight. He loves this life, he does, but sometimes, especially when they have to be separated for any reason, it just sucks all around more and more.

After what feels like weeks of answering questions for this interview and that and handling the Google Hangout thing before heading for the airport for his own flight out to Florida, hoping that it'll arrive in time for him to watch his TV movie debut. Though he's a little nervous because it's a romantic type flick, with AJ already a little off-balanced emotionally due to the last week of losses she's suffered, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, shrugging. _Nothing I can do about it now. She'll just think something's_ really _wrong with the movie if I try to keep her from watching it. It... it's just a kiss scene at the very end... no big deal. Right?_ He gulps and sighs. "I'm so screwed," he mutters, ignoring the strange glances he gets from fellow passengers on the plane.

He tries not to dwell on it the rest of the flight, but still when the plane lands a little after 6 PM, he's nervous even though AJ isn't the one waiting for him, a grin taking over his face as he spots Morrison and Alex in the crowd, grabbing his bags before going to join them. "What a welcome wagon," he drawls sarcastically, his words betrayed when he drops both bags as quickly as he'd collected them just so he could step forward and hug both of them tight, John laughing as he squeezes him back.

"Missed us?" he mutters into Mike's hair, smirking slightly when his former tag partner doesn't respond.

He pulls away after a second and collects his bags all over again, remembering for a moment when it was just the three of them hanging out at holidays and other life happenings. Not that he would change anything now that Ricardo, AJ and apparently Tamina have joined their little group, but he still allows the moment of nostalgia for the brief amount of time that it takes him to collect his things, smirking at his best friends when he turns back to them. "So, what do you say? Up for some Christmas Bounty?"

"I get to mock it, right?" John asks as they walk out of the airport.

"You say that like I could stop you," he sighs. By the time they arrive at Alex and Ricardo's apartment, it's quarter to 7 and Mike swallows, those old nerves returning to him as he spots AJ waiting for him on the porch, kicking her legs back and forth until she sees the car and jumps down to greet them. "Hey, sweetheart," he mutters once he's out of the car, kissing her as Alex and John each grab one of his bags and makes a quick get-away to the apartment, causing him to laugh. "Come on, let's go inside before we miss the start."

"Alright," she breathes, taking his hand and squeezing it.

As soon as they enter, the warm smell of popcorn overwhelms Mike and he grins, unsurprised to find Ricardo handing over bowls of the snack to John and Alex. "Any of those for us?" he calls over to the ring announcer, grinning when he nods back, holding up two of them. "Thanks, man," he says quietly, taking each from him after squeezing his arm. "How are you doing?"

"I'm alright," he answers, smiling slightly. "How was the flight?"

"Long," Mike sighs. "C'mon, let's go see my latest theatrical masterpiece."

"Is it really a theatrical masterpiece if it's on TV?" John wonders, throwing a few kernels into the air and catching them masterfully in his mouth as Mike scowls at him.

Turning his attention to AJ, he smiles as she curls up close to him, already digging a hand into the bowl he's barely been able to settle into his lap. "Hey, sweetheart."

"Mm hmm?"

"This is kind of a... romcom movie, you know," he hedges, watching as she pauses with a piece of popcorn midway to her lips. "Will you be alright watching this?"

She gives a half-nod, half-shrug, motion that does little to ease his discomfort with the situation, the girl saying very little as the movie begins. None of them say anything through the opening minutes until the main character, Tori, is forced to return to her family of bounty hunters when a man they'd put away got free. AJ sneers at the outfit she changes into to fit in once back in Jersey as Tamina coughs, "Tacky."

"Changing clothes in a public bathroom stall?" the divas champion mutters. "Don't even get me started on those shoes..." Mike smirks and holds her closer, working through a few more handfuls of popcorn while waiting for the next outburst.

Which happens when he gets a line longer than a word or two, not even needing to look when John bursts out laughing, trying to restrain himself as not even twenty minutes have passed in the movie yet and he's sure there'll be more to come. "Uh, are you trying to do a Jersey accent?" he finally demands once he can breathe again.

"Shut up," Mike mutters, moodily chewing.

AJ blinks and looks up at him after a moment. "Your character's name is Mike?"

"Hey! Whose side are you on?" he all but pouts, tickling her as she gasps and squirms against his roaming fingers, trying not to spill her popcorn before finally pushing it over to a nearby Tamina in an attempt to save it.

They watch on in silence until Tori's boyfriend, fresh from flying in from New York to surprise her, gets wrapped up in everything, the teddy bear he was bringing her a casualty as its head completely tears off of its body due to gun fire. AJ tsks. "Why couldn't you rescue the teddy bear?" she wonders, poking Mike in the chest. As he stares at her in disbelief, she giggles. "What?"

"Morrison's the one who's supposed to give me grief all of the time with these movies. Et tu, AJ?" he says through a laugh of his own, just relieved that she's not completely hating it so far. If she had, she wouldn't be saying a word, much less snuggling with him at all.

"Wait, wait, please tell me I just heard things," Morrison speaks up after awhile. "Did that blonde chick really just call you Mikey Muscles? ... Oh God, I think that's worse than the accent." He laughs helplessly, unable to stop even when Miz glares over at him heatedly. He finally gets some control of himself, though the more he hears Mike speaking in his Jersey accent, the redder his face gets. "Ah God," he wheezes, barely able to focus through the chase scene that happens after Tori's now-fiancee is kidnapped by the mobster who'd escaped from prison, his amusement becoming contagious as Alex grins too, Mike speaking more in this scene than he had the whole movie yet.

"I hate you all," the real-life Mike grouses, hiding his face in AJ's hair as she strokes his neck and back, trying not to laugh too. Ricardo and Tamina are the only ones having any success at not completely losing it at his accent, the enforcer too stoic for such things, and Ricardo just too kind to laugh at Mike, considering how annoyed he's becoming at the others.

Eventually, the mobster's sister is about to get married which brings about the family of bounty hunters to round him up, just for another shoot-out to happen. "Ok, so far a teddy bear has been shot, and a bunch of ice sculptures," John observes, blinking as the multi-tiered wedding cake gets shredded as well... "Well. I think everything but people at this point."

"This is why we can't have nice things," AJ sighs, tilting her head as Mike pokes her in the side with a soft chuckle.

The gun fight devolves and moves outside of the warehouse the mobster had been hiding in, both Tori and her fiancee held by the criminal when she commands her significant other to duck on three, timed perfectly as Mike dives in slow motion off of an overhang above them to take out their captor- "Uh, gimmick infringment!" John intercedes before being hushed as the movie nears its conclusion-, the two of them fighting together until she places the downed mobster back under arrest.

They all watch quietly as Tori and Mike talk for a little bit about how he's changed, Mike urging her to be happy before he leaves and she turns back to her fiancee, who is sitting in the back of an ambulance. Despite his wanting to try again with her, work past all of the lies she had told him about her family and past, her heart is elsewhere and she tells him she can't. He thankfully doesn't argue and she leaves him there, racing after Mike's car, jumping atop of it just in time to stop him from driving off.

Miz holds his breath as his character gets out of the car and starts demands answers from Tori, who shuts him up by jumping into his arms and kissing him hungrily, worried blue eyes intent on AJ's face as she stares at the screen, taking in the last scene of the movie as the now-reunited couple discuss perhaps taking over the family business for Tori's parents. She doesn't verbalize her thoughts, lips twisting as the ending credits run through, Mike not even distracted from her by John and Alex laughing at the ridiculous dancing the actors are doing. Finally it ends and John, noticing what's going on between them, turns the TV off before nudging Alex, the two of them and Ricardo going into the kitchen, Tamina wandering off on her own after a few moments. "Hey, are you ok?" he whispers to her, growing more and more worried by her silence.

Finally she moves, gripping the back of his head tightly and draws him towards her, kissing him sharply. He squeezes her shoulders, relieved when she finally softens, grumbling against his lips as she pushes him backwards and pins him against the cushions, her hair tickling his neck and throat. When she pulls away, her eyes are fiery and intent but she's smiling too, so he thinks they're ok... hopefully. "Tori was an idiot," she breathes against him, leaning in for another kiss.

He sighs and pulls her even closer, nodding slightly as he remembers the very long, painful road that they had taken just to get to this point as well, the movie reflecting that with Tori and Mike's story in a way. "But everything works out the way it's meant to," he whispers, eyes shining as she looks down at him, so many emotions running through her that he can tell she's nearly overwhelmed to the point of tears. Wanting to calm her down, he draws her back down to rest against his chest and holds her close as he strokes his fingers through her hair some more, staring up at the ceiling of Alex and Ricardo's apartment, wondering with a smile how the two men will decorate for Christmas.

Things are quieting down, John, Alex and Ricardo's voices little more than faint murmurs, when AJ and Mike finally get up to join them, unsurprised to find Tamina lurking a few feet away from the table, listening to them. "Hey, guys," Mike mutters, pulling out a chair and sitting it in, dragging AJ over to join him, wrapping his arm around her as she leans against his chest with a soft, sleepy little sigh. "So... what'd you think of the movie?"

Ricardo glances between the other two before speaking up with a small smile. "It was fun. I enjoyed it, Mike. Congratulations."

Mike laughs, grinning warmly at the younger man. "Wait for congratulations until we see ratings... but it was trending on Twitter, so I guess people liked it well enough." He turns his attention to his other friends and waits patiently for one of them to speak up. "So?"

"You know me, I always enjoy things I can go all Dirt Sheet on, if only for a couple of minutes," John tells him with a smirk. "But honestly, I agree with Ricardo. It was an entertaining hour and forty-five minutes."

"And you, kid?" Mike wonders, glancing over at Alex with baited breath. Like Ricardo, he had spoke very little during the movie, so Mike's not sure how he felt about it either way.

Alex chuckles and shuffles his feet against the kitchen tile, finally looking up to meet his former mentor's gaze. "I enjoyed it too, Mike. Before long, you're going to have movie deals left and right, probably." All of them catch the bit of wistfulness in his tone and Mike resolves to take a minute to talk to him before bed, make sure he's alright, but for now...

AJ breaks up the awkward silence by turning to face him, kissing his nose softly. "I'm proud of you," she whispers to him, grinning as his eyes light up under her attention. Tamina had been the only one amongst them all not to say anything during or after the movie, but he figures it's a compliment enough that she had remained in the room throughout the whole thing.

He looks around at the room full of people and smiles, knowing exactly what he's thankful for this year.

It takes another hour for them all to calm down and start drifting off to bed, Ricardo the first to go after wishing them all a muffled "Buenas Noches" around a yawn, the younger man barely able to keep his eyes open as he stumbles down the hall towards his room. John goes outside to do his nightly yoga on the beach and, as Tamina carries her bag, AJ slips off to the guest bedroom to put her things away, leaving Alex and Mike alone in the kitchen, staring at each other. "You ok, kid?" he finally asks, listening to the soft shuffling sounds of his girlfriend and her enforcer through the wall.

"Huh? Yeah, of course I am," he nods. "Why wouldn't I be, Mike?"

"I'm not sure," he shrugs, though he's pretty sure he _does_ know. When Morrison had been fired from the WWE, it had felt like Mike had been punched in the gut. He can guess all too well how Alex is feeling at the very thought of Mike leaving, be it to focus on movies, or due to a situation similar to John's. "Alex, no matter what happens... we'll always be friends, alright? I'll always come to Florida as often as I can to bother you. But trust me, you have nothing to worry about. The WWE isn't going to get rid of me that easily."

Alex stares at him, surprise and relief warring in his eyes until finally he mutters, "Really?"

"Really, man. Now come on, it's a holiday week!" he exclaims, smiling at him.

"Right, of course," he says, the morose cloud that'd been hanging over him for the last while finally fading away like nothing was ever wrong. He grins at his mentor. "Hey, you all get free reign of the apartment tomorrow. I've been called in to commentate Main Event." He makes a slight face but shrugs. "Should be fun though."

Miz winces. "Sorry, kid. We'll try not to completely trash the place." He laughs at the sharp glare thrown his way before realizing something. "Hey... that's right, what are you going to do about places for people to sleep now? It was one thing when it was just us and Tamina, but now John-"

Alex coughs, suddenly looking awkward again. "Yeah, about that... um, I bought an air mattress, I filled it up and it's in my bedroom, I'll pull it out to the living room... so it's up to Morrison and Tamina who gets the couch and who gets the mattress." He grins and stands up, clapping his hands together briskly. "Since you did such a great job relaying the information last time, you won't mind telling them again, right?"

Mike stares at him. "No, no- you're not doing this to me again- Hey! Alex-" But he's already in his room, not bothering to stop and talk as he drags out the large air mattress, which almost knocks Mike's chair over on the way through to the living room. "Alex-!"

"Good night," the former NXT rookie calls out cheerfully as he power walks past Mike back to his room once it's in place.

"No friggin way," Mike groans, in disbelief that he'd gotten trapped yet again, now needing to tell this news to _both_ Morrison and Tamina. "Why do I like him again?"

He stares into the living room at the mattress and blankets piled up on the couch, shaking his head in disbelief as he settles in to wait for Morrison to return or Tamina to finish helping AJ out so he could tell them about their sleeping arrangement. "Dammit all..."


End file.
